Friday Nite Poetry: Love, Loss and Endings

An artist's impression of Sirius A and Sirius ...

An artist’s impression of Sirius A and Sirius B. Sirius A is the larger of the two stars. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Hey folks, sorry about last week, but Hand of Ananke is back and I have a new Friday Nite Poetry for you. Sorry if it is a bit morose this week, that has been my mood. Hope you enjoy them in any case.

The Longest Queue

When do I get my turn
to feel someone’s smile
as much
if not more
than see it?

When do I get my turn
to know I am the reason
for that smile
to read love
in their eyes?

When do I get my turn
to have my quaking hands
trusted
with the heart
of another?

When to I get my turn
to experience my heart
accepted
as a gift
not a burden?

When do I get my turn
to join skin against skin
an hour or two
of sweaty joy
and giddy laughter?

When do I get my turn
to be wanted as much as I want
to be prized
to be worthy
to be happy?

Of Engines and Eros

I try not to think
about every mistake
misstep
missed chance
misspoken word
the thousand little ways
I complicate us

Focus on the good
everyone tells me
as if positive thought
was a force unto itself
an unstoppable engine
to drive me toward success
or at least a better place

Speaking of driving
I passed the exit again
stayed on the highway
lonely
long
dark
and dreary

I like it here though
the familiarity feels safe
even as I hit the gas
and the momentum
presses against my chest
like an epee sinking
ever deeper
to pierce my heart
and relieve some pressure

It makes a bloody mess
when it finally gets there
and I have no idea
how to clean it up
or even if I should

I earned this
the sticky
sickly
grotesque
paint I now wear

The reminder
of what I need to do
but ever lack the courage

Heat Death of Words

When the Universe
finally stretches far too thin
When it sighs its last
shivering breath
who will record its misery

Will there still be poets,
painters, historians and philosophers
Will anyone take note
and will it really matter

In one hundred trillion years
our need to record
to remember
to remain
will be as strained and faded
as the light
between galaxies
dying as physics
finally suffers from dementia

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