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Selected Poems of Steven Curtis Lance

Displaying Poems 1526 thru 1550 of 2821 Poems

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Apr 8, 2008, 11:27 pm

Close Encounter

for Katy Conrad

What is this in the mirror?
Could this shadow really be
The image of the existential me?
More confusing when clearer
My surprised eyes start to see
Not just themselves reversed but otherwise
This is an epiphany

These eyes of a stranger to whom surprise
Would be as alien as is this face
Of alien familiarity
Familiar once yet unfamiliar now
This face not of what is but what could be
This face of otherwise which wears my eyes
Seeming to bear them more confidently

My conjoined twin separated at birth
When it fell to me to fall to this place
To stumble around without knowing how
To live life first from and then toward the earth
Feeling from and reeling toward fromness of
And towardness of this place where time and space
Move in place here as though from and toward love

The motions of the heartbeat and the breath
I assume now as I assume these eyes
Which comprehend even as they consume
Their parallel existence at a glance
Somehow more like orgasm than like death
And unpresumptuous nonetheless presume
To deconstruct this structure known as Lance

From two sides of the mirror
Face two halves of the whole
As near evolves to nearer
I see into my soul

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Apr 7, 2008, 2:45 am

Change Your Mind

I have been a busy beaver
An overachiever
And I want and need to believe
Sometime before I leave
There might be meaning to be found
Through me by those around

Where would I go what could I do
Except be here with you?
Life may not be an answered prayer
But here means something there
Or so we have been led to say
So they say anyway

Though an uncertain believer
I hope it might be so
And that someday I know for sure
We will be who we were
If only outlines on the ground
But then we never know

And our not knowing is an ill
For which there is no cure
Since the only way to find out
As soon enough we will
Is death the end which leaves no doubt
But leaves the skull grinning

A doubtless and a primal end
Or final beginning
For those who give life for a friend
Who lay it down then rise
Together through shared open skies
Losing and yet winning

We might as well embrace mortality
The better to taste our time as it flies
We might as well be friends here you and me
Together to separate truth from lies
The beast released is what is left behind
When we let go of ego: change your mind

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Apr 6, 2008, 2:45 am


The circle is the shape which satisfies
It shows us the beginning as the end
Symbolic of departure and return
The shape to borrow or the shape to lend
Of new life being born as old life dies
The shape to return by the shape we send

A young man goes on his journey to learn
And if he comes back home again he brings
A lesson learned the hard way home with him
And when no longer young an old man sings
About it gravely though it was a whim
Of a young man who was curious to see
If he could do it and who found he could
I know this because he used to be me
And if I could remember more I would

The circle is the shape to harmonize
Our coming and going the gain and loss
The up and down of both ends as the same
Of our departing and our arriving
The shape which joins the credit to the blame
Of being fired and of being the boss

The circle is the shape of surviving
All the pain of getting back home again
Where gold is gleaned from detritus and dross
Where souls are lost their circles still remain
As ruts worn in the earth by the striving
Of the limited for the limitless
The temporary for the permanent
Like a dog who chases his tail unless
The dog knows it is his and where it went

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Apr 5, 2008, 1:37 am

Night Lights

for Darlene Lance and Christie Torgerson

Is anyone else as disappointed as
I am? Somehow I thought I would be all right
But what the cruel tyrant known as time has
Left for me as legacy seems only night
Without day: origin without destiny

Somehow I dreamed that I might be the one to
Undo such damage as could be undone to
Crushed flowers like us one petal at a time
That maybe I could heal the world by singing
And planting songs I hoped would be understood
Gathering the harvest then in reams of rhyme
With the hope my best would be judged to be good
As it was and is by those who have seen it
In papers they found around the neighborhood
Who never have any money but mean it

And so I have made some friends a lot like me
People who have nothing but will have their say
The songs I planted sprouted and are bringing
Sparks in the dark across the night back and forth
Where my night lights seem to dawn on some as day

Only love can know what a poem is worth
The kisses the poet receives for his pay
But there are few who love and many who wait
For money I owe who will not go away
And no one ever wins who opposes fate
Except for someone as disappointed as
I am who somehow thinks we could be all right
Though what the cruel tyrant known as time has
Left for us as legacy seems only night
Since we are day: origin as destiny

If anything good is to happen then I
Like a spark in the dark from a falling star
Must embrace my origin as destiny
Holding on for dear life to the comet's tail
And do it myself or else die asking why

If anything good is to happen then we
However separated however far
Who seem to have been left here all alone
But surely must not have been left here to fail
Must overcome our fear of the unknown

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Apr 4, 2008, 1:01 am


Come reader on a little ride with me
A magic carpet journey just for two
Let go a little while to come along
And what I show you no one else can see
Unless they see it through that second sight
By which I saw it and now by which you
Will find it spelled out in the stars tonight
A pattern in the pieces of the sky
To map the treasure buried in your heart
Which is the point and purpose of my song

If you are ready now the time is right
For something which need never stop nor start
Or something which can only always be
If you prefer to think of it that way
By which the young bud wise the weak bloom strong
Set free by captive curiosity
It takes some getting used to but you may
Enjoy what is without a reason why
Not needing to know why this is that way
No reason why not (while the iron is hot)

What I would like to see is you be free
So like a grizzled little wizard I
Am here to sprinkle stardust on your day
Until the moon has waned and I must die
When I have lived a long time anyway
And celebrated specificities
Of mysteries I never understood
Except that life is sweet and it is good
To map the treasure buried in your heart
Which is the point and purpose of my song

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Apr 1, 2008, 10:14 pm

Someday When We Look Back

Someday when we look back on all of this
Even if only in heaven by half
Or God forbid only in hell by whole
The only thing to do then is to laugh
To see this from above or from below
Instead of in the middle of it all
And to know we shared a very near miss
Prevented from falling even as we
Spun in the spiral of our fatal fall
Seen from the future of a frightened past

Where we stumbled through a shadowed valley
Of death where breath is never known to last
Past where heartbeat stops when then we must go
From darkness to where they say we can see
The whole of things (but then they may not know)
A perspective change from vain to so vast
It took life to get that fast from that slow
Up to see meaning in its entirety

They say it waits there on top of the hill
A truth so true that no one can control
What seems an improbable climb to me
Although I never was a mountaineer
To climb by blind faith believing that day
Will dawn at last after our night spent here
But I need the exercise anyway
If anyone can see something we will
If not me then you (as you always do)
And if you see it first then show me too

Our climb in any case is underway
We only took what we needed to be
Ourselves our way no matter what they say
The part we never part with is our soul

The only thing to do then is to laugh

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Mar 31, 2008, 7:52 pm


for D. L.

At which point in the song does one begin
To sing? Since I forgot the beginning
My memory of the middle is thin
And what I know of the end is thinning
Into one silver syllable of sound
Spun by a spider as a filament

If there is to be a next time around
The sun for lonely denizens of space
I hope those who come after know I meant
To sing it as they say from end to end
With what comes in the middle in its place
But one end and the other were the same

The song internalized me like a friend
Wearing my face and going by my name

So now the song and I are only one
Whereas one used to think of us as two
Where time and space combine in unity
When the song is done then it is begun
Complete when it is only halfway through
I made the song because the song made me

Here in this overlapping of our sun
My song and I are one and all for you
And all for one great synchronicity
In which we find we finally belong
The universe embracing you through me
Your voice the incarnation of my song

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Mar 30, 2008, 10:50 pm

The Hand You Feel Within Yours

to welcome Darlene to the family

A barking lunatic who learned to howl
I mean to mark my moment of the moon
By meditation and my notation
Of what I might find without and within
The poetry of our situation
And share it in an avuncular growl
With chosen ones who have chosen to be
My relatives by human relation

As I like to be especially me
And now is the only time to begin
So now I encourage you to be too
Especially you as the rose is blown
Where something happens out of our control
We unfold petals we have never known
There where the lotus blooms inside the soul
Unfolding an ever-evolving we

No human being has to be alone
But for the great aloneness we all share
As sign and seal of our humanity
Worn round our necks as long as we are here
Along with philosophy faith and fear
Sharp shards of curiosity of where
We are and how as whom and even why
We are at all if we are born to die

We think about fortune drink about fate
We mean to do good and hope to do well
We try pretty much whatever we can
We scratch about heaven cringe about hell
And end up feeling like an also-ran
Like someone cheated at the starting gate
Where no one sees across the finish line
But the hand you feel within yours is mine:

No human being has to be alone

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Mar 28, 2008, 10:00 pm


My life has not been as I thought it would be
Having known much more of bother than of bliss
I have never amounted to very much
Except for this and this is not very much

At the height of my powers within a few hours
I nevertheless will get depressed again
Having hoped to leave a mark and not a stain

But for the moment I will riddle you this
Little word puzzle and hope you smile awhile

I never was out nor ever was in style
Both of which have worked out pretty well for me
As I have attempted to find equipoise

I made some music and I made some noise

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Mar 28, 2008, 7:35 am


The usefulness of a window or door
Like an empty pot or the hub of a wheel
Lies in the absence these things manifest
Where to be is not to be there less is more

Wherein emptiness is put to the test
Of utility in an absence as real
As a wall or what might go into a pot
And where the spokes converge the wheel is not

The best things ever said are those which never were

Embraced by silence love speaks eloquently
In communication curvilinear

Our emptiness is filled by our propinquity

We find ourselves here where little is clear
Except that it is useful for us to be
A window or a door which opens near
A pot to hold all potentiality

Toward the hub of a wheel we know well but
Only as hope yet our hope no matter what
Of coming together convergently
Here at the clear hub now where the wheel is not

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Mar 26, 2008, 12:38 am

Good-Looking People

Good-looking people have easier lives
They seem to have less trouble than I do
With good-looking houses cars husbands wives
Children pets collectibles and treasures
And then when they want to try something new
Friends with whom to seek forbidden pleasures
Just be good-looking and good things ensue

Sometimes they get in trouble but so what?
When they get out of jail they can go back
To a soft place in a good-looking rut
In their good-looking world as sweet as pie

I wish that I could be good-looking too
But that would be the least of things I lack
I would like some health care before I die
(Do I even dare to dream of dental?)
Though sick I cannot afford to know why
I look pretty bad and I have mental
Quirks (for example: writing poetry)

Is it too late for plastic surgery?
And even if it is not I forgot
That half-a-million figure is in red
Which means not what I have but I have not

So I will just take a shower instead
And be glad my three children look so good
The good-looking genes skipped right over me
My parents looked like models cool and tall
But for reasons not clearly understood
All their good looks passed right over my head
I look like a walking catastrophe

Yet sired good-looking people after all

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Mar 24, 2008, 10:11 pm

Then and When and Now

We might not have been happy when
We thought so since we were
Posed to be as supposed but then
Supposed is never clear
So squinting unsurprised we see
Life squinting back a blur

And this point of infinity
Is what we know as here

So here we are half through the night
Half sleeping half awake
Our day half dark our night half light
And in this give and take
We end up getting only what we gave
And then we disappear without a trace
Except the dust of us at best a grave
Yet warm in someone's heart our smiling face

I believe we are happy then
At first and last and best
The sun will hatch a new day when
It nestles in the west

Then is the time for us to see
What when would not allow
And this point of infinity
Is what we know as now

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Mar 23, 2008, 2:50 am


Ultimately how it will be is you and me
Little else really matters anyway
I have waited for you as you tried to break through
And you have broken through at last today

Congratulations my friend

Let us celebrate the end
Of what we both recognize as the beginning
Of an endgame we know is ours for the winning

Ultimately how it will be is one great we
Across the world and through the universe
As we transcend ourselves into eternity
We hope for better since we have known worse

All we ever have is hope

We never have enough rope
With which to hang ourselves nor restrain anyone
From hanging us as we shine flashlights at the sun

When the sun goes down our beams will shine forever
Though small and weak to shine for all to see
As we wait here on the brink of never
Alone with hope and with our lonely will to be

Ultimately how it will be is you and me
Little else really matters anyway
I have waited for you as you tried to break through
And you have broken through at last today

As we begin at the end
I celebrate you my friend

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Mar 22, 2008, 8:55 pm

The Secret

for the Laughing Daffodil

Is it ever too late
To enter a gate
Of a garden which encloses
A fountain which discloses
Whatever secret it should choose to show?

All it would show is what you already know
You could only see it as you see fit

What I propose instead is that you be "it":
Gate and garden fountain and secret too

You have everything you need to succeed
With all of the universe inside of you

It is never too late
To become a gate
Of a garden which encloses
A fountain which discloses
You are the secret should you choose to know

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Mar 21, 2008, 3:39 am

Existence Without an Apology

Is it just our being human to wait
For some to become like a caution sign
Warning each morning on the breakfast plate
Of fate? By theirs these represent the fate
Of many as represented by mine
For example as I depreciate
In value to me but I hope not you

I deviate from that conformity
Where what is brightest is not what is best
But chosen frozen and waiting for me
Predestined to death by love and by hate
Deranged by dystopic deformity

The time is as short as the hour is late
As we consume ourselves unconsciously
And wonder why we do the things we do
I wonder about the bad and the good

I wonder as I watch them watching me
As though spectators for some sport of blood
The entertainment of an afternoon
Embracing catastrophe fire and flood

Can they not see it come for them? That soon
They may not be secure behind their gates
When vengeance arises red with the moon
In its existential enormity?

Revenge is as impotent as the rage
Of the doomed who just do not know it yet
It seems to animate this angry age
For those who have forgotten to forget

A bottle of courage bottled-up for
Those made too afraid to fight anymore
By hurt upon failure night after day
By day who wish night would take them away
But who by night never got very far
And who never know how lonely they are

Some go on to become so I have heard
Raw-meat volunteers for the thought-police
Those who caution against the written word
And who fold spindle mutilate and crease

Those who fear the writing of poetry
As symptomatic of insanity
And never mind all of that music then
On which I fixed my young years fixedly
Which turned out to be the ruin of me

A cautionary figure of how when
We give our all to something still we die
But by dying live to embody why
We have to do our cautionary best
Why we must do no less to be content
To bless at our last as first we were blessed

As many have cautioned many have meant
There is no escape from the now for we
Who live this game and make these moves as pawns
In black and white chessboard eternity

Like a lifetime of disappearing dawns
With one great dusk coming when none may see
Less judgment than simply the close of day
Now is the forever of destiny

A candle winks out in infinity
A prophet writes of God and has him say
"Vengeance is mine" he says "I will repay"
A caution finds the best revenge to be
Existence without an apology

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Mar 17, 2008, 11:25 pm

She Was a Star

"here's looking at you, kid"

She subsisted on beer and cigarettes
Never ate a bite as far as I knew
But lived better and had fewer regrets
Than me sure as hell and probably you
Living on love and a liquid diet

Dying young and living life black and blue
The good way as she used to wink and say

Back then if you knew you just kept quiet
And no one knew anything anyway
Certainly not what had nothing to do
With canasta nor the horse race at hand
Or shopping or swapping a tale or two

One day they would find she had lost her mind
But I found her easy to understand
And I loved that way she played her guitar

I loved her to death and she knew I knew
As she blew that kiss then left me behind
That she was some-bod-y: she was a star

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Mar 17, 2008, 3:19 am

This Fountain of Us

for Mike Escobedo

The fountain in the spring belongs to anyone
Who needs it in this bright midmorning of the year

We approach this embodiment of memory
Its waters emblematic of our presence here
As through a looking-glass of hope in which to see
What we might do arising from what we have done

And over and under it goes as we wonder
Where we might be next spring and what our days might bring
Just like our parents did and all who came before

All we can do is hope and maybe make a wish
For our kids and us and better understanding
While other people's wishes sparkle in the dish
Which holds our hopes to be drawn up to dance once more

This fountain for all seasons is for everyone
Who needs a penny-wish or wants a memory

The pennies of our memories shine in the sun
Reminding us that we are here and not only
That we are here but also that we need to be
For our kids and us and better understanding

The wishes of all of us sparkle in the dish
Which holds our hopes to be drawn up to dance once more
Wherever our spring whatever our days might bring

What we feel today is what will mean most of all
When we feel confused by the chill of November
The fountain in the spring is what we remember
This fountain of us: winter summer spring and fall

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Mar 16, 2008, 6:55 am

Trajectory of Tragedy

On a trajectory of tragedy
Or else on an ascent to angelhood
I map out the matter of martyrdom
A concept imperfectly understood
Especially by me applied to me

I am not now nor have I ever been
A man of a mind to worry about
Other minds understanding what I mean
I speak when spoken to but will not shout
These things people shout at me constantly

Perhaps they are warning me to watch out
Perhaps they can see what is happening
That horrid inevitability
Which so darkly dominates everything
When dream is run down by reality

It is not that I need to be a saint
It is that I must do my uttermost
Impractical improbable and quaint
Impossible in the end as a ghost
On a trajectory of tragedy

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Mar 15, 2008, 7:07 pm

The Brink of Never

If I speak in riddles it is only because
It hurts too much to tell you how it really was
And even though I was there I never quite knew
What to think of what my young self was going through

Such thoughts as I have are visual memories
Which resist translation into words such as these
By my old self today looking back on it all
Some parts of which appeal while most others appall
An unfinished memoir better left unbegun

A long and hard and painfully protracted fall
In suicidal spiral through the bright spring sun
But I fall free as you will see when I have done
What I came here to do and that it was better
Spoken in riddles than written in a letter

Neither sage nor salesman I am not so clever
As to think I could describe the brink of never

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Mar 13, 2008, 8:45 pm

Emblem and Anthem

Honk louder for our protest than for theirs
Gliding on grease and plastic on pavement
Scream "woo-hoo!" at your TV from the stairs
Emblem and anthem of your enslavement

Big brother as you know is watching you
With one eye on his applause-o-meter
In the form of millions of well-fed drones
Hoping that you will be a repeater

The volunteers are standing by the phones
Rank on rank and ready with smiles of steel
Though they are not actually volunteers
But those sworn to make this unreal life real

So they must be strong social engineers
Though unsung unloved and quite classified
Who listen so well since they are all ears
And are immortal because they have died
When they gave their lives for your liberty
To teach you that freedom is slavery
Mechanical slaves of the agency

If I knew what to tell you why would I
Presume to preclude your own exploration?
And if it were my secret why should I
Not keep it for my own edification?

Yet if I knew what to tell you I would
Should I find an extra answer to share
Though so far I have never understood
Not even close though I hope to get there

Something good might happen to me today
Though it started off depressing as hell
At noon I feel almost hopeful (daresay)
That my tragic comedy might just sell

"Plaudite amici!" Jingle all the way!
When it comes to "commedia finita est"
Gliding on grease and plastic on pavement
Remember to applaud but then forget the rest
Scream "woo-hoo!" at your TV from the stairs
We never got ours but they sure got theirs
Emblem and anthem of our enslavement

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Mar 12, 2008, 12:27 am

Finish Line Blues

When you are at the end where do you start?
When you have nothing left what do you use?
When the race is over should you still try
To reach that finish line before you die
Exercising futility to choose
To go down with dignity in your heart?

So many questions with answers so few
And if an answer comes it terrifies
Nobody cares about you except you
No matter how they seem to sympathize

I can feel my life bleeding out slowly
With precious little hope of getting through
This obstacle course of indignity
Which is not the race I entered at all
I can see death waiting impatiently
But I mean to make my mark where I fall

So I live alone with my loneliness
And a houseful of people who mean well
Not one of whom could ever know nor guess
That I am no longer there but in hell

Exercising futility I choose
To go down with dignity in my heart
And though the race is over I will try
To reach that finish line before I die
Though I am at the end still I will start
When you have nothing left what can you lose?

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Mar 10, 2008, 11:03 pm


2 March 1980

You wore spring daisies in your hair that day
What was it and how did it slip away?

The Christmas cards
The whole nine yards
In hand in hand

Neither of us will ever understand
If there is understanding to be done
Today as yesterday you were the one

Not "were" but are
If a bright star
Is and will be
Though veiled awhile by my insanity

Whatever it is we knew what it was
And did it matter? Yes it did (and does)

We might not know where
It went
Nor want to go there
If sent
Back (since the clock went clockwise and we knew)
But I was there (and might be still) with you

Mother of my children wife of my youth
Maria and Stevie and Teddy are
The proof of the existence of that star
Reflected in their eyes it looks like truth

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Mar 10, 2008, 2:00 am

Private Mass

Sunday morning: I could feel religious
But then again too much so to join in
Manhandling the miracle of the mass
So I will just sit with the homeless now
Panhandling for miracles on the grass
Like finding a quarter somebody lost
Writing as honestly as I know how
While keeping to myself how much it cost

Here as everywhere that white-collar sin
Of the influential and prestigious
Redeems the rapists of the ruling class
Wiping their smug souls clean within the hour
With minimal inconvenience to all
So they can rush back to wielding the power
Which binds us in the darkness one and all
They own everything including the priest

We pass no protestant collection plates
But velvet alms-bags stuffed with envelopes
Unrattled by the loose change of the least
By these our masters would control our fates
And since they own them freely dash the hopes
Of those who only ask that they might live
But the best lives now are sold for money
The rest of us just want God to forgive

The joke is on us no longer funny
The priest just another snout at the trough
If they could they would not let me be there
I cannot pass the means-test given here
Nor could my Lord so we have taken off
But I think he is with me everywhere
Except back there with those people I fear
We will stay where life is free and sunny

Out among the broken where the wind blows
While the fat and lazy priest goes to brunch
To root out any crumbs which got away
His snout smells money and he has a hunch
That the swine will be first on Judgment Day
They have theirs now but someday I want mine
"The first shall be last" I heard Jesus say
And it is he who gives the bread and wine

His body and blood unite with my own
His priest went to brunch and we are alone

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Mar 9, 2008, 1:06 am

Two-for-a-Dollar and One Free Song

to honor my friend Sarah


I have not become what I am to be
(I mean to be better moments from now)
But I am becoming gradually
Such as the limits of spacetime allow
Unto those of human mortality
Which limits I have embraced as somehow
That individual sufficiency
Of what I need and what I would ask for

So I will become what I am to be
Beyond which limits I may ask no more


Hot dogs seem made of such horrible things
That two-for-a-dollar or not it brings
Me to eat something else for lunch instead
(They are grey where they once used to be red!)

In my heart I am not a carnivore
But in the most basic necessity
Two-for-a-dollar has worked out for me
I will eat less even as I pay more
If you will forgive me those moments of
Life interfering with the law of love


I am starting to look like Howard Hughes
Not the young daredevil nor the old boss
But how you hear about him at the end

Looking like that thanks for being my friend
Sharing your victory with me (in loss)
Shown openminded by the friends you choose

But what am I going to do when all
Of the money has been burned through at last
So that I have to fall hard when I fall
As I cling with all my strength to the past?


Mere strength does not matter anymore now
We have become so sophisticated
Our strength sublimated to style somehow
By fashion we are fated and mated
Two-by-two as we dance aboard the ark

Not quite as we had anticipated
In our curiosity (in the dark)
But these are shining moments of our days
The ones we live to remember always
As only now forever undated


This is that which can never be rated
When we come together to strike a spark
And feel something nobody could deny
Some think they know life although they do not
(Especially if they need to ask why)

I remember some magic some forgot
Or which perhaps some never really knew
How life should be heaven before we die
If you feel unloved (too?) I could love you
(There is no answer to that question why)

We have forever right now for as long
As two-for-a-dollar and one free song

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII

Mar 6, 2008, 10:21 pm

Out Here

Being homeless is a hell of a way
To take the air or get a tan or stay
Attuned to the inside-outness of things

Along with the upside-downness this brings
To the perspective of the indoor-bred
Forced thus to think about each night each day
When a bench in the park becomes a bed
And no one gives you orders anymore
Where a lost life becomes a memory

You have to forget to ever be free
So fight to forget what you once fought for
Which is easier than remembering
The shame clinging to you like dew all night
Forgetting seems the most important thing

Being homeless is a hell of a way
To live but more popular every day
There is more to it than just being poor

And although often caused by addiction
Sometimes some existential conviction
Makes someone feel called to go wandering
In search of inscrutable destiny
Blow with the wind and leave nothing behind
But traces which few non-homeless can see

No roof but the skull which prisons the mind
(And maybe that bottle under the tree)
I never want this to happen to me
Yet there are those who come through it all right
If you are home stay in and lock the door

Lest you end up out here remembering
Forgetting seems the most important thing

+Steven Curtis Lance

Copyright MMVIII


Displaying Poems 1526 thru 1550 of 2821 Poems

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