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Diagnosis

The room was white and sterile
With an odd smell of bleach
And linen

I didn’t like the setting
Anymore than I liked the doctor
Or his news

I listened to his diagnosis
And his recommendations
For treatment

Since there is no cure
I’m given “options”
Two to be exact

He leaves the room
I guess he thinks
My decision requires solitude

After a while passes
He returns for an answer
I went with option 3

With a puzzled look
He relays
“There was no option 3″

Well Doc, I said -
“That is MY option”
And I thanked him for his time

Outsiders

The tough guys
stand on the corner
under the street lamp
(faces hidden)

They are fearless
(in groups)

They steal
They challenge
They fight
They cry
(alone)

They are fragments
(scattered)

They are whole
(together)

We turn away
But why?

Reflex

No
is my first reaction
to everything
human

It is my savior
my rescuer
my buffer
my mantra

Don’t mistake me
for someone you know
It’s likely we never met

Left

They disappear into nothingness
One by one
Over the course of a lifetime
Some early on
Some later
Some later still
Until there is
Nothing left to feel
Or imagine

Only to remember…

Omission

The headstones are covered with snow
There will be no confessions today
Remorse is but a slow death…

Etched

You were standing near the front door
In your long flowing white robe
With the sunshine above your head

At least that is what I remember

And then your ride came
Or my ride came
But that wasn’t the important part

I took you with me
And you never even knew…

12/28/13 Haiku (#2)

Humble beginnings
Home is never far away
Such a special life

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