After the storm...

As the winds settled down on us,
Whipping up chaos,
Casting down debris,
Washing it all over us with 
furious rains.
As the heavens opened up
It's mouth spilling out 
fits of uproarious thunder,
and fitful displays of lightning,
in our once calm sky.
I matched my voice to meet yours,
Loud and oblivious,
to your feelings,
your heartsong.
You flailed about,
In a marred tirade,
of discarded thought and
painful, unnecessary truths.

As the symphony,
rose to a powerful, listless
cacophony of sounds,
Our anger did too.
Screams and unintelligible
banter,
Yielding to the love and care,
we hold for each other.
I puffed up and out, 
Cyclonic and crippling 
to any of your means and measures,
Disregarding any hope or feeling or care,
And,
you hurt.
Wounded,
Like displaced things,
Broken glass, 
A timid, cornered thing.

And, we danced a dance,
of vengeance and betrayal,
A fight matching the winds and rain,
and thunder and lightning,
No sirens, 
for warning,
No radios, 
for reminders to take cover,
No visibility of this cloud,
standing full on in it's hover.

As, the winds,
lost strength,
and, we grew tired of the fight,
Pride/stills held strong,
Neither would let the other
finish their song.
We each needed the other
to know he was wrong.

And, as limbs and trash things,
and all manner of displacement,
settled around our abode,
We still fought, 
loudly chaotic,
Holding some force of the winds
Inside our hearts, 
Not willing to let go,
No hope to let our vulnerabilities show.
And, the storm calmed.
We did not,
And, we grew tired,
And, still peace would not come.
And, we moved,
outside, this place.
A brewed thing of hatred, anger,
and loss. 

And, peace settled down,
like the winds had,
And, the debris,
were all still, 
and there was only the
foolishness of our voices,
And, birds did began to sing,
Full up with happiness and cheer,
And, in the horizon,
glimpses of sunlight did appear.

And, we stood still,
Taking in the damage we had caused.
Feelings, hope, passion, 
all gone, 
leveled out like some farmland field.
Sprinkled, all over with things,
that did not belong,
And, we were both left wondering,
why didn't I just nurture his song.
To look back now,
And, have to rebuild,
is surely as task,
neither of us would have willed,
But, this storm was quick.
It was strong. 
We kept looking into each other's eyes,
Trying to decide where to pick up and how to move on.

Jason Christopher Johnson
September 30, 2012

The Last Time

To toss and turn to the tune of
your light sleep murmurs,
so rhythmic,
pulsing with the beat of my open heart.

To wake and look at you in
morning's twilight,
beautiful sun-stained face,
half smiling at some distant dream.

To have a bed/ridden,
morning talk with you,
spoken in hoarse lush
half sleep whispers.

To wake and share coffee
and speak of what we both hoped
to do inside of a day, a moment,
a lifetime.

To send you off,
Smelling of fresh, haunting things,
cinnamon and chocolate and tobacco,
spice notes.
And freshly pressed, sharp...
A dapper man.
My dapper man.

To wade through my day,
Waiting for an end,
Just to see you again.
Never to know
That moment would not come.

You would not return to me,
To our heart/place,
To this abode.

If ever I had known,
I would have stretched out that
morning sleep talk,
held onto your every word,
stared deeper into your eyes,
fought for more.

If ever I had known,
I would have lingered on your lips,
wrapped my hands tighter around your hips,
cherished your breath on my skin,
prayed harder for your return.

If ever I had known,
I would have taken in the scent of you more,
your earth notes, and the complex smell of you,
so that I'd remember for
the future.

If ever I had known,
That morning would be the last time,
I could see you and you could see me,
I would have smiled more,
Not complained of your smoke
and hairs in the sink,
and wrinkled clothes tossed about the bed and bathroom.
I would have created a place of remembrance in my heart
big enough for all our past
and, present things.

If ever I had known.

Jason Christopher Johnson
September 30, 2012

Where to go...

With all things said,
And, feelings neatly packed away
Inside dire words,
Everything else washed out
by landslides of tears,
brushed off, missing pieces
like infantile fears.

With all movements forward, stalled
All the nights sitting on hands,
waiting inside of duty for your call.

With all dreams, pushed out of
Our heart/place,
The remembrance of newness,
Caught up in my throat,
Memories, we cannot bear to let
go, and can't begin to look through.

With all hope tucked away in boxes,
Alongside, framed photos and cards and
letters,
and books full up with pressed flowers,
We'll have to leave this place,
Starting over with a new pace.

Where to go...
How to move or forge ahead,
or even breathe.
How to create a home/stead,
with no roots or foundations,
with you.

With all the days and years,
Behind us,
Starting regretfully,
Longingly at our backs,
Whispering to us,
That we didn't try hard enough,
Share more,
Trust greater,
Fear less,
Embrace time/shared,
Where to go...

With all the leanings for some,
Better days pressed against us,
Closed, in and out,
Like some walled in things,
No more voices to sing,
No more tries to bring.

With all sadness,
Pressed down and tucked away,
Into some moving truck,
All, prayers lamented a little too late,
With suns set, and despair,
Sealing our fate,
We moved forward,
Not knowing,
Where to go.

Jason Christopher Johnson