Things Swing

By Daniel John Gingras

In the "swing of things" 
I am teetering on two feet, 
Trying to catch my balance, 
while Embers of discontent
ignite hopes that burn dreams, 
tearing lines through my cavernous frailties
that gape my misplaced heart, 
splinters of the imagination trick thoughts
to move me through the motions
that serve no purpose. 
Your machine tightens its grip never-ending, 
and loyal, my fearful hands clamp to a lever, 
which pulls out from beneath the
trapdoor that ends a prolonged gloom. 
Black quickly soaks an insipid man
And the curtains close on somebody else's cue.

From my Grave

By Daniel John Gingras

I used to think a razor blade would hurt me more than others. 
But tears of joy dug out the dreams I'd covered: 
To rise from underneath with a single humble breath
And become the blessed aim of a heart's theft. 
How I dreaded your abandon like the dark damp grave
And witnessed your compassion's absence validate my fears. 
But now your face illuminates my once dimly lit position, 
A privilege reserved for the worthy. 
Not only to hear your songs; 
Not only to drift in their current
But to let their sweet melodies drown my aching throat, 
Ragged from your absence and dry with lacking. 
Your footsteps press through the ground. 
I would leap from my grave.

Alone Among Many

By Daniel John Gingras

Blank faces, Dull gazes, and no one relates
to this solitary world I cannot escape. 
Nervous heads turned, and guilty eyes down, 
so how's a lost soul supposed to be found? 
Empty and barren, tears burn sulfur sweet
and I haven't the strength to remain on my feet. 
Bloody, Bleeding, and Bashed; none approach. 
The kindest of sorts I cannot encroach. 
No concern. None give care. I've no friend, love, or foe. 
My mind becomes still, my heart died long ago. 
They trod upon me, as if nothing were there, 
Thin tolerance of this place finally tears. 
And so I ascend, perhaps fall, but who cares? 
To show compassion for me is what no one had dared. 
I disappear, the world is no different, unchanged. 
No grieving, the trodders will still play the same game. 

I was Alone among many.