"This is a Red Line Train to Daybreak"

Hadn't I found the beating heart?
I'd forgotten I was staring at a sunset.
Surprised,
     I found myself
     sitting without light

Wondering
     How
          the clouds lost their brilliance;
     Why
          the sky had dimmed that
               breath-snatching blue
                             captivating blue
                                                 a blue surpassing
                                                     blue I'd seen
          but never tasted before;
     Who
          whispered those empty things in the dark
               that sounded like grayness
                                   and like not being free--
                                            like mediocrity--

And the Christmas lights were muted
     and there's too much time to think
          on this train
     about things that don't matter
                   things that are safe to say
                                 that nothing can be done about them.

How many ways am I!
         pruned tree
    harvested field
    discarded apple core

          sunglasses for a seer
                                         a poet
                 (but mostly a copycat)
     but none of that matters because

I'm on a train at dusk
     that I can't make faster or slower
          watching the sun set
And Daddy is teaching me in his
     cold-hard-facts-cash-and-a-hard-place way
          that you get there
               when you get there
          and how in darkness
               I can't see a foot forward
                    (even if it's my best)
               but I can see planets and stars and galaxies
                    light-years up and away
          and how Eve felt
               because she was happy
          and how a rush of perspective
               is chemo that will hopefully
               kill the right bad parts of you
                    before you die
                    of too much living
          and how there's so so much more
               to be meant for
               than to fall apart
                    over one sunset
          that He made.

The F-Word(s)

When I stand before F, it is the letter of of longing.

Sometimes, F burns like fire or faith.
F is the beginning of forever,
     but not so beautiful if it fails, or falls short.
When offensive, F will spit in your face.
Sometimes, F is flat, a foolish boy, a fickle love affair.

Like his sophisticated cousin, Phobia,
     F tries to frighten us with fate,
But F is just the sound that fear makes
     when your feet are frozen to the floor.
F must be comforted by other, softer letters.

Hesitation

What's in a lie?
A rose by any other name.
The blossom's sweetness may well be
a mustache and glasses;
According to song, it'll turn us to ashes.
Are thorns claws by intention?
Methinks 'tis better to avoid all close inspection.