Lonesome Daughter
L.M. Post
A recluse wanders where she once stood.
Nature, her only friend, remains.
Must life and love have brought her this ache?
Must spring have brought her this pain?
“I am isolation,” she once wrote,
Wearing it as darkness wears the night,
Or as Mama wore her funeral dress
When Pa died ten years ago.
Her beauty still captivates the fireflies,
Only championed by sunset-painted seashells
That swiftly disappear at the first tide.
Once love and life found her again, she settled.
Back out into nature’s call she rode—
Nature, her one true love.
When her memory died,
Mother Nature cried:
What a faithful daughter she had been.
Lament of Spring
L.M. Post
My love lies beyond the meadows of remembrance.
Serendipity is the song that she sings.
But taken was she in a hurry by sorrow and time and me.
I never meant to hurt her—
That you must understand.
All I ever wanted was her love and her hand.
Is that too much to ask for?
Is there too much to see?
You know the world can’t hide its thoughts and feelings from me.
So I go looking for my love
Like a shepherd and his lost sheep.
How many nights have I wandered about without any sleep?
Then finally in the distance I see it—
The meadow so beautiful,
The meadow so divine.
Is there a place inside my heart where my love still lies?
I’m running, I’m running,
But all around me I can see
The ruins of my heart in pieces.
It’s them.
No — it’s me.
I am the reason for this sorrow.
Yes, I am the reason for this shame.
Tell me, is there a place in heaven
For the ones who hurt their own name?
So now my heart goes quiet.
The concert hall empties and the onlookers sway,
Wondering if someone, somewhere
Will remember me at the end of the day.
Trying Not to Wake Her
L.M. Post
Softly I rise, trying not to wake her
The cicadas shuffle a ticking alarm through the trees
Her hair is still on my side
She knows that drives me crazy
The gentle indent she made is still on my pillow
When she moved closer to me in the night
She comes up behind and hugs me
I turn around to kiss her
Before the work begins
She pours me coffee for the road
Nicaragua will have to do
The Measure of All We Lose
L.M. Post
The reckless bones of society crumble and fall as the grave digger tap dances away,
Because the ones who will be there tomorrow might not be there today.
Out in the back they’re howling, the wolves of their own regret—
Oh, how often I long for the times when I could not forget
The heart and soul of happiness now is long gone,
As the dread soon comes that I will never again hold her in my arms.
Then comes in my mother, as I ask her with a smile
If there will ever be a day where we can forget about life for a while.
The hoodedness of death is lingering,
There’s so many that will never know
That the decisions that you make tonight can have consequences on your soul.
So why don’t you just start living with a purpose nonetheless?
It seems like all I can afford tonight is the weight of this regret.
You know, the heart of pain is not always as simple as it seems,
But the longing that I feel for life is more than the heartache of my dreams.
So my love, I have to be leaving upon the waves of color and crime,
But promise me this one thing — that you’ll buy me all of your time.
