Woodsmoke

The stars were drinking heavily
As my only companions that night.
The children feared the boulevard
And marched past their sweet starvations.
Forsaken thoughts of my loved ones cap my soul

On this day of tradition in folklore
The ones who should have been there to help
Were gone and I’m left with a mask
The orange candle kindling sadness, alone
My senses have gone. I fade.

The décor of my choice was slurred by whiskey
Disappointing locality, as it used to stun all.
Death fairies put out candy for the kids this year.
I know,

A rope my son left behind from a packing trip
Left fortuitously next to the china cabinet by the work chair
For this time
Because,

I strapped the rope across the summit
Let my feet fly free of their pain
As my pocket gives and continues to deepen
Leaving me breathless
With nothing sweet to feed the kids.

Nothing Sweet, No More.