Poetry by Tom-Patrick Reed Hartman

 

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Do we close our eyes to rest…

Or rest--- to close our eyes???

 

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Love me not

For what I was

Or what I soon will be

But love me now

For what I am

For that's the only me.

 

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If I could be anyone

I'd be her…

And though she's there

My own form.

I'm still myself

Within…

 

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Let the hurricane roar…

For in the center

Is a dark, mystic,

Nightmare of silence.

Created…

By the storm itself!!!

 

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To find a friend

I'd look quite far,

You'd be surprised

How few there are

 

From ten to three

And three to one

Then the last

And there were none!

 

I sit alone

In mute cafes

The blackened nights

The lonely days!

 

Silent tears,

Roll off my cheeks

I ask for help,

But no one speaks!

 

Yet before my glass

I paused to see

Her long sought face

Which smiles at me.

 

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Only once

I've seen a death

I coughed

And gasped

To catch my breath

… Then I was lorn

as one could be

with big red eyes

Two green ears

And one big nose

And arms

And legs

And even toes!

I'd walk the street

And watch the sky

Than ask, ask the world

"Why God… why?"

You made me life

You made me see

Just one flaw

There's more…

Of me…

 

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A word

Slid

Out of my

Mouth

Into my throat

Onto my

Tongue

Against my

Teeth

Forming the word

Love

And that

Word

Fell out of my mouth

And splintered on the

Snowy ground

The sun hit

The glassy

Pieces of my

Broken heart

And shone through

For no one…

Heard.