the love inside

rusting metal windowpanes…brick-face dingy with black dust and decay…entry doors open to the rain…the roof sagging with the weight of fifty years…wishbone trees growing out of the second and third floor classrooms, like old children reaching now-tired arms toward the  threatening sky…the blocky building, like a cold shell discarded after metamorphosis…so sad, so troubling, so much like a generation lost in their own neglect, their own brokenness, their own rusting lives…

and i ponder their mascara-stained faces as i stand in the parking lot taking photos, capturing time and space within a box…and ageless tears…before i discover they are mine, splashing from my face in the stiff pollen-filled wind.

there is a sea in the wind, and it has washed over this place, leaving debris between the white lines. the fields are raging, and waves of weeds blow and ebb, and i am tossed ashore, washed up against…closer and closer to the edge….to the edge of myself.

and i toss and turn

and i toss and turn

so i tuck in my camera, away from the light, and walk past the edge…into the arms of the present…into the arms of the possible…and reject the rain…

and it may toss, but i will not turn

i will not run

for the world is waiting

the love inside







About thelostkerryman

Thelostkerryman is an author, and entrepreneur- this side of Tir Na N'Og- living in the forests of a consistently confused country. Here in this hill country, hurling doesn't usually involve a hurley, store-made soda bread resembles an inedible Irish megalith, and Kerrygold is only found hidden like a luck penny in the belly of Kroger. His blogs are an account of his adventures, thoughts, eclectic -and eccentric- ramblings, random or insightful poetry, humor and non-humor, pictures (photos), video, essays, fiction, poetic fiction, nonfiction, drama, and writing he has not classified in the description above. All of his posts from,,, and are copywrited according to international copywrite law.
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