Envy

for DJS


I've seen more tears shed in the daylight
than I've ever cried
Have watched the hours slide
across the sleepers' faces
silent, like weeping
Have cried my tears alone, at the bottom of night.

Can't make myself lucky that way.

There's easy grace in those who wear
their sorrows well,
who gratefully take compassion's arm,
and pace the widening aisles of peace.
I cower, coward in myself,
am only brave enough to covet the reward
for what I can't release.

And I'll grow older in the hollow rooms.

Tears left un-shed don't fill the well.

They trickle down the walls and sparkle
in the darkening air, hang like a haze
trapped in the beams
of passing cars, they make a noise like chimes,
like beaded curtains stirred
by breath of slumbers.

Envy is hungry, an open hand
where minutes, dreams and sleep
and memories keep
until they turn from tears to sand.