This isn't who I am

I wonder where you are as I watch the moon rise,
Sitting beneath its glow and the yellow stars it cries,
This time last year, as I waited for replies,
I felt the lunar pull from your dark, night eyes.

I've traveled neither distance nor mind,
Telling myself I'd been waiting for a sign,
But the paths diverged and I'm still left behind,
Forever searching but not knowing what I hope to find.

I stand, hands in pockets, waiting for my ride,
But the train is long gone and no more will arrive,
I don't walk, run, hitch or even try,
I simply wait, saying "It will be here. In time."

Moving on is a virtue for me that never came,
Letting go of something that meant so much seemed insane,
With time came knowledge, and with knowledge, pain,
The moon rises without you and nothing can ever stay the same.

* * *

I haven't been around in a while. I've been in a coma as far as blogs were concerned. I've been reading a lot in place of writing. So, to the few people that may look at this, I hope to be making a return in full force. But you know how plans go. It's okay to comment on this and earlier writings. I'd like to hear what people think because I'm a harsh critic of myself. These aren't always what I'd consider finished, polished works. They are, more often than not, words that come off the top of my head. So, tell me what you like and what you don't. Or just say 'hey, you never post in here anymore' so I know someone's still reading.

dm

...of mistakes we made.

Sharp, sharp dreams
cutting into the morning
Like Black Kites
Against the mid-day sky,
Tied to our fingers
As a daily dark reminder
that we're stuck..

Stuck staring at silhouette cities
Leaning on landscape ledges
Sunset skyscrapers stand tall
Impeding our well-planned path
Open doors demand more, more!
We sit in stagnant stupors
Drying like circular coffee stains
Whose primary purpose
And solitary service
Is to forewarn
forlorn future friends.....

...of mistakes we made.

Sunken

You're writing pages of a story to me,
but it's nothing that I'd wanna read,
I'm keeping holes in my heart so you can slip it in your notebook,
I'm leaving messages on phones just hoping that you'll look,
Airing out my sins
But this isn't making sense
There's just not enough of you to go around.
I'm talking words that don't make sense to you,
still there's nothing that you'd try to do,
My house is held up by empty pedestals you stood on,
All the candles burnt out on the mantle since you've gone,
Hanging on this anchor's chain
I'm drowning while I try to change
This ship has sailed and sunk, tide's come in, goodbye.

....dm....

It's true, writer's block is a slow painful way to die live.