Nowhere

Truth stammered

at great cost,

sweat and sorrow mingling,

yet so often

lost

to that place where words

are meaningless --

where hearts have turned

to frost. 

The Habit

Some are blind,

not due to any defect of the eyes,

but because they indulge in the habit

of averting their heads.

Not Much, Really

What he wanted -- it wasn't much, really.

He was lonely, aching to feel welcome . . .

somewhere.

He just wanted a little conversation,

a "hello," a "thinking of you," a "how are ya'?"

The people down the road, though,

they were real busy.

Lots of yard work to do, some haulin', some liftin' --

"Gotta' work, gotta' work hard, pressure -- ya' know? --

gotta' make things comfortable."

Sure, he thought.  Sure.  They gotta' get comfortable.

"Comfortable" -- real important thing. 

He wasn't comfortable.

No matter what angle he adjusted his chair on that porch,

no one came.

They'd see him, ya' know?  They'd wave.

He'd wave back.

Charity really fills a body up inside,

don't it?

The Heedless

Shattered -- who knew?

It couldn't be seen.

No bandage, no bleeding, no fuss,

all serene.

But shattered, indeed! --

knew the fly on the wall,

which was far more than anyone else

knew at all.

The fly tried to tell them,

but each turned a deaf ear,

and thus fly became just one more

swatted smear.

Alone now in silence,

the shattered heart crumbled,

while body lay prone on the floor

and lips mumbled

Mumbled a prayer that

someday they'd hear,

that one day they'd notice

and, please God, draw near.

Until then, aloof, 

they would gamely joke,

while in the next room

the shattered heart broke

Broke into pieces

all over the floor,

to be stepped on by all

when they opened the door

And exclaimed, "Look at this!

Our friend is a wreck!

So careless is he,

he could break his own neck!"

Indifference

Warm, no?

But then the cold bares

its teeth

in biting winds,

early frosts,

late thaws,

snow,

and ice.

Gone

the buds and breaths

of spring,

the barefoot warmth

of summer,

the sunset embers of

autumn.

Gone,

gone without

a "Fare thee well!"

or a parting wave.

Gone with the

sudden chill

that freezes the lungs

and racks the bones.

Gone as though

the hat-tipping congeniality

and curtsying welcome

of fair, bright skies

and the winsome "Good day!"

of gentle passing breezes

had never

been.

As Nothing

Sincere words offered to a chilled heart

Received as a cheap auction bid.

Message shattered like glass against a wall,

shards of well-meaning humanity

so much debris on the ground

to be stepped over.