Monthly Archives: July 2012

Escaping With The Wind

Nothing you utter will change my mind
Those words that you used left me maligned
You’ve taken my ability to love and trust
And turned my love into hate and disgust

Nothing you can do will repair my heart
Catching the whirlwind, my way to depart
I rise as the breeze began to lift
Into the elevating winds I drift

Nothing you see reflected in that mirror
Will give you solace; how can I make more clear?
You’ve hid behind masks to keep people at arms length
Drifting over your masks it showed me your only strength
© 2012 Michael Yost 07/12

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Broken Spikes

Fixing those broken spikes with duct tape
Then after having danced through Gotham in his cape
A passerby deep in thought smiled and walked her route
All sucked up and not recognizable, he calls out

“Momma it’s me; momma.” surprised she turns
Memories and tears flowed causing her eyes to burn.
He lied, “Momma I’ve been clean and sober three weeks
You helped twice before and I failed because I was weak.”

It was discussed with his dad and set new boundaries
A third chance was given for his recovery
Not all succeed and the next day was his downfall
Found in the bathroom; his momma now wears her black shawl

© 2012 Michael Yost 07/24

Prick of Loneliness

The prick of loneliness in a crowded room
Waiting and pacing not leaving too soon
The patio offered cool air and a human’s touch
Soft hand curling up into mine exposing too much

Allowing her in to see my soft side
The dripping illusions of my own pride
Gripped with fear and silent expectations
My heart against the soul filled with contradictions

I look down and only see two jewels
Her eyes, dare I say it? Cool blue pools
Taking a knee and kissing her inner wrist
The wind subsides allowing in the mist

Dripping illusions now wrapped around my legs
Mist and patio drifts away and my heart begs
The prick of loneliness invading my schemes
Keeping my happiness in check through my dreams

© 2012 Michael Yost 07/14

Swallowed Words

Your room remains cheerful, even thought it’s empty
Looking over my conscious shoulder expecting
You’re not here but I still sense your presence
White sage sits on an abalone shell billowing

My words are being swallowed and held at bay
Matted green shag carpet muffles my footfalls
Rain begins to tap on my windowed “Pains”
Her last smudging lingers from the egg shell walls

Glimpsing from the corner of my eye tears
Not fast enough to hide her flowing train
Going out; tuxedo now hanging heavily
My dress shirt clinging; soaking up the rain

The white sage cleans us individuality
Blowing softly; sparkling our kindling’s fire
Setting ceremonies and dark skies aside
Shared memories start at the white sage’s pyre

© 2012 Michael Yost 07/12

High Wire

Swaying on the high wire’s windy movement
Balancing between the past and future
Walking the incline too fast in the wind
Slipping only slides you back further

@ 2012 Michael Yost 07/04