Nightshift

Can you see it?
The cloud.
It rolls and boils.
but makes no sound.
It hurts.
drains color and noise.
takes senses and twists them around
no up, no down.
just lost.
lost in a cloud.

In my shop I found a square
I think my parents left it there
it was rusty and unused
“I need this at work.” I mused

It was among some others there
planes for wood, a larger square
They had belonged to my mother’s dad
just a few of the many he’d had

It went to work with me that night
to set a blade, make sure its right
and even though it wasn’t new
that little square was perfect true

My Grampa was a quiet man
He worked a lot with his hands
and to me it just seemed right
To re-employ that square last night

Tools were made better in his day
And too expensive to just throw away
They don’t make things like that anymore
use new things once, then out the door

I think my Grampa would be proud
to know something of his was still around
to know that they are treasured things
true as ever, just like him.

Memory, a precious token

against a shield of pride, unbroken.

On this heart, my mind and soul

wage war between desire, and self control.

Do you know how much I want desire to win?
But can’t let go of self control enough to give in?
Even raw pictures,

with which desire fights,

self control wins-

because of pride.

On and on these two they spar,
and you,

calmly standing beside my car
unaware of the battlefield
or how close conquest comes to yield,

Every time I see you

FACE TO FACE