It's Monday

If e'er I find myself alone with hate,
I'll plant a seed among the dankest soils.
The ones inside my morbid garden's gate
Will soak the ground's sadistic oils.

If e'er I walk a dismal fray but twice,
And fight my violent shadows with a swollen heart,
There's nothing for me, not anything nice.
I'm left afraid, alone, and ready to dart.

If e'er I find myself along side love,
I'll harvest the best and tend the rest.
The seed will feed my thoughtful, caring dove -
Although I'm stuck with feigning best.

The dove, unempathetic creature, flees;
Now it has left for me an empty cage:
A memory with myself on humbled knees,
A memory with not but unbottled rage.

If e'er I walk a saddened way but once,
And fend my sullen shadows with a heart a-bend,
There's nothing for me, not anything nice.
I'm left afraid, alone, and ready to end.

-

A yard with browning leaves has plagued this street.
Afar, the owner's just a bag of scum;
An evil person no one wants to meet,
An alcoholic stuck upon his rum.

An evergreen nearby, both bare and grey,
Stands out to those who make to frequent here.
Yet none can peer to past's unbridled day
So warm and bright they'd be worth holding dear.

But long ago, a life in black and white
Held that which he would take a bullet for.
And now a yard, once green, is stuck in blight:
The loss of what he cared to adore.

With well-known friends a plenty, rakes in hand,
A house in need becomes a loving home.
Despite the work, this group's a cordial band,
And soon enough: a shine that's never shown.

-

My heart is lost, the lights are out.
With fingers numb, a mind in doubt,
I'm left with nausea: thought of theft;
It seems that I will never find whats left.

Forgetting

For fun

From the greenest field I picked an ugly flower.
For who but me would show it love has power?
It spends a week inside,
In a vase for which it vied,
And now it wonders why it hadn't tried
to it's beauty more abide.
For this it would have cried,
If my ugly flower hadn't died.