PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

After over 200,000 miles of unpaved road and terrifying turbulence and rickety train tracks

And more than 800 restless, lonely nights in the back seat of a creamsicle colored Volkswagen Bus

I have come to find myself lost in the maelstrom of love

Calling you from an obsolete payphone underneath a burnt out street lamp

Next to an abandoned brick axe factory on the clamorous corner of Silent Street and the path less traveled by

In Collinsville, Connecticut

With only seventeen minutes or seventeen sunsets separating us…the choice is yours

Using the last quarter from the spare change in my pocket which I was saving to buy a cherry flavored Trojan in the next truck stop restroom

Only to hear the computerized voice of your answering machine once again



However, this time…I decide not to say a single word when I leave a message, for sometimes…silence is the best sound of all

And when you get back home, and listen to your new voicemail from me, I want you to hear nothing at all

As a reminder of what you’ve let slip away from your grip since the last time we’ve said “goodbye”

And since then, I’ve forgotten how to even say “hello”, for I’ve had no need for communication on this endless unspoken expedition

So if and when I finally lay arid eyes upon your phantom face again

I will only be able to shed a tear and hope that you can decipher the hieroglyphics on my heart

And make some sense out of this mute mess that I’ve gotten myself in



We…are not Egyptians

Nor are we detectives

We are merely mechanized, melancholy, miserable marionettes

Manufactured from the mute mannequin masquerade machine

The only things we can decode are cross-world puzzles

And sometimes maps

But certainly not highways to the heart

Or shortcuts to the soul

However, we certainly can holdfast to hope

And attempt to erase the question marks and illuminate some light on the truth once the sun shines through those stratus clouds



Yes…we can holdfast to hope…but for how long?

What if those stratus clouds are stitched together and never sever?

What if Cupid completely misses Collinsville and aims at our Armageddon?

What if a butterfly manages to rip out its very own wings?

What if these silent stitches that once held us so close together spontaneously start to sever?

What if we never see the sun again and in our head we only always see this stormy weather?

   What if forever…becomes…never?



Not wanting forever to become never

I decide at that exact second to elect the seventeen minutes instead of the seventeen sunsets

And I parade straight to your front door on the path less traveled by

But as I arrive, I quickly notice that all the blinds are closed

And all the lights are out

And there’s no “welcome” mat on your porch

And the key I have doesn’t fit in your lock anymore

And the only thing I hear is your voice calling another lover’s name into the wind



I quickly realize that there is no darkhorse in this one horse town

So I paint myself black and gallop out into the rain and wind

And like a ghost I vanish into the night

Because that’s all I am to you anymore

Disappearing without a single trace

Between us creating even more space

Just hoping that at least you'll remember my face

Will you remember my face?

Disappearing without a single trace

Disappearing without a single trace

Disappear

Disappear



…And as the silent stitches and sutures that once held us so close together start to break apart

I fade away into the New England night and throw away our forgotten future and the key to my heart…