15 Tears, 88 Years (Select Edition)


Dirty Chair


A gray chair sits,

Covered in dust,

Folded raw.


Sat there for 16 days,

Not one less,

 Not one more.


I brought it there,

To enjoy its comfort,

Left for ease of use.


Taken away once it was over,

Dust still sits,

But no dirty chair.


Evening Rain


Built far up,

Thrown down hard,

With a tap on the roof.


Cold and sharp,

Broken away,

To reveal peace and calm.


Heavy as butter,

Smooth as frosting,

As it layers the cake we call home.


Hung on branches,

Then finally,

Released back home.


Drawing A Blank


All around me,

Pages fill,

Silence is upheld.


I can see clearly,

Minds turning,

As if there was glass.


But I look down,

And all I can draw,

Is a blank


Picture Window


Colors blinding,

People passing,

Splats of water.


When the day turns sour,

The glass of beauty is always there,

Waiting for a boring moment.


The birds tell me the weather,

The plants tell me their mood,

The road tells me it’s wear.


Sky to dirt,

Building to building,

It all looks different


Cloudy View


A gray blanket falls,

Darkening the paved roads below,

A sheet of fondant laid on a cake.


The sun seems too far away,

And the fading of night slips in,

Undetected.


As fast as a hummingbird,

As sharp as a pencil,

Yet warm and soft.


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