writing "poetry"
has made something apparent
which everyone else
already knew
poetry and good writing share
pace
it's not the poem
it isn't the rhyme
it isn't the length of the sentence
it is the rhythm
I am now realizing something
that every high school student
realized a long time ago
what made Hemmingway great
wasn't what he wrote
or how he phrased it
instead it was all about pace
it rains
each drop
takes me back to an afternoon
in a courtyard
in a chair, a shallow pool, a deep cold place
how can someone
ignore what I feel
I don't chose my feelings
they are a part
of who I am
it is a part of my core
something in my heart
the heartbeat, the pace
are we your memory
or some unknown future
of a very thin present
move on
try to move on
don't feel the disconnection
my separation
from your Einstein-Newtonian
space-time
my personal nightmare
because
right now
there is only time
life doesn't exist
there is no pace
what I envision
is something
that does not exist
a warm place
in a cold world
a dry carpet
on a rainy day
a view out a window
it is only an illusion
it doesn't exist
because someone
is missing
I am not here
I live in place
that is in the past
the only part of me left
lives only in the shared pace
of two people
of me and you
of the past
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