Molding

Molding

(after Broken Wing by Martina McBride)

His happiness is built on her tears

and silence. she is made to build Him

up, leaving her dream buried in the ground.

when His dream fades, she is expected to fade

                                                                              as well.

her happiness has to be built on His

dream. His dream is her happiness . . .

                                                               according to the teachings.

her dream is only her dream,

and it has to be kept silent, done

with leftover time, if it comes . . .

                                                        but there is never her time.

she cannot blame it all on him.

a girl’s dream is taught to serve a man.

a girl’s happiness is taught to be his happiness.

the teachings still go on.

rarely is the molding broken . . .

                                                    and when it is, it is often too late:

damaged goods.

I Am Now Dead

I Am Now Dead
to my child, Jessica

                                                                 

All the words I wanted to say

I could not speak

Through your shouts,

Through the bitterness

Your tongue announced,

Condemning me like the Pharisees—me silent as Jesus.

I do not say I am Jesus.

I do say that my words could not be heard

Over the cinder blocks,

Over the unforgiving,

I      not knowing      what it was      I had done

So many years ago in your childhood.            I thought I was there,

I thought I gave my best.

Your grievance I cannot answer

Without the knowledge of the transgression

I am supposed to drown in.

It does not matter, now.                     I am dead.

I am dead,

Standing in the shallows

Of your baptism

Watching you,

Seeing your life crumble,

Wondering how it is my sin

That you are not happy.

I cannot give you happiness.

I cannot give you peace.

My responsibility ended when you became your own.

My time came back

Into existence upon the birth

Of an adult child.

However, none of this matters.

I am dead to you.

Since I am dead,

These words do not exist.

Forget what you read.

Forget me,

But know I will not forget you,

Know I will love you,

Know I will take the pain

In my death

Because you will always be

My child.

naked

naked

I dance for me

naked
in our living room
in the living room
I so long waited for
a freedom I hadn’t known
not until that moment
I realized
this is my space
and I can dance

naked
for me
for me
and you                       if I wish
and I wish

These are poems written about 2004/5 by my son. My son is a cancer / stroke patient in his last days. I gladly share a part of my son that many people did not know existed.

Crying Dreams
by Vincent Luebke

Bleeding out your name under my unbeloved pain.

Missing every breath I take.

Skipping pictures through my brain.

Crying from every missed thing.

Painting your soul on my fading screams.

Praying for it not to float away.

Standing on the devil’s wing as I’m trying to dream of the unforgotten days.

Can’t sleep with out seeing your sympathetic graces.

I’m tired of not seeing your pretty faces.

Must be Me
by Vincent Luebke

He’s clawing at the door as he’s lying in his masculine grave.

            Fallen away from the forgotten places.

                        Dropping tears as everyone fades away.

Watching as his ashes are scattered to this day.

            Seeing every dead men’s dreams.

                        Wait one second I see me.

                                    I see my body in the eight-foot grave.

                        Everything I saw must have been my dying soul.

Pinch The Pain As You Fall
by Vincent Luebke

Try to pinch the pain
looking for it to come again
so use to the apathy
beneath the fallen sins

We all know the Devil’s coming again so pinch
the pain and watch your very breath
                  be taken in

Cold air broken threw my skin, death is following

My whiten faces

I stumble into the Devil’s furnaces

The unforgivable sins are inhaled threw
            my lungs everywhere                   I run                       Death
comes, I guess my death will never end

(Note: “threw” is not an error.)

Running Down our Cheek
by Vincent Luebke

Running down our cheek.

Sadness is like Jesus’ cry to God
            and we say Why!             Why     why   me . . .

            Why do we have sadness in our lives
                        it just makes us want to die.

                                    Sadness tastes
                                    like the tears
                                    running down our cheek.