My Heart is in it For the Killing

My Heart is in it For the Killing

You,

You are always in my prayers

(and in my thoughts);

I hope to God we do not get caught

Up in a tantrum.

I find myself attached,

like a ladle to your handle;

Scoop me up with your soft hands.

Time and time again

I remind myself every story has to end…

This though, please be gentle.

A knotted ball of yarn – impossible to singly untangle.

(The words I speak, no dissection necessary – the cost is pure evil.)

For you, love,

You are my song bird.

A muse that amuses me.

Do not let me be…

I would hope you will catch up

and chase after me.

Mast in Home’s View

Sing me soft sounds – soothing drowned melodies

Of children begging on their knees

(Drink another scotch at this lonely saloon)

A dream come true

   Encompassed by a

             Fairytale point of view

Elapsing into a never parting perfume

Aromas of sorts, shot blanks to end wars

Of course,

My remedies of memories

Are

(At most)

Haunted beliefs.

Avoiding the sirens, Odysseus trampled with Trojan horses,

            Getting forever better – or am I worsening?

Spirits cry out, helping hands; bounds tied,

Bodies

In a

Prayer position.

Fool for a muse

Tools put to good use

        Walk aimlessly

Point taken; and being

I have been

Staring facelessly at a hero

Who admits he could have saved me.