I cast my line and reel in my bait
I cast my line and it's a snake
I cast my line, a reprobate
How much longer till I break

Patience is not a lesson I care for
I like waiting even less
I say, "that's enough", You say, "there is more"
- I'm breaking, I must confess

Vice on my heart, squeezing out tears
Thoughts are swirling all of my fears
Ripples in the pond spread out from my float
All goes still, there is a lump in my throat

Chin in my hand
Slumped and alone
My pole, unmanned
Heart's monotoned

I have cast in shallow waters
And reeled in dregs
Wandered forbidden corridors
And near lost legs

How much longer must I wander?

I trust You not to tip my boat
Believe You've brought me where I float
You've kept my rod from breaking
But not my hands from aching
It's the catch that I doubt
It's all one endless bout

I'm trying to practice trust
Though my heart's dusted with crust

Fishing, endless fishin'
Waiting on fruition
Fishing, oh, endless fishin'
Perhaps I'll reposition

maybe someday
I’ll spill my guts to you
lay out everything that has hurt me and is still hurting me
give the story behind every poem I’ve ever written and heard and loved
maybe I’ll tell you everything,
you who was not here to witness
who didn’t see the rise and fall of rome,
the death of Latin but the survival of it’s plays
you who hasn’t been here long enough for the unfurling
maybe I’ll rip off all my petals
show you the inner workings myself
maybe someday,
I’ll tell you all the parts that I leave out, when I comfort you from the same burdens that crushed me
show you all the scars on my tongue, from biting it around you
tell you the stories these scars held back
maybe someday
I’ll just simply tell you everything
introduce you to my demons
and let you see the monstrous teeth that sit in rows behind my own
the blood under my fingernails, not all someone else’s
and see what you do
maybe someday I’ll tell you everything
maybe someday I'll spill my guts to you
maybe,
maybe one day

I live with
holy sunshine—

but I wake to weep.
In the sun,

shadows stretch
long behind me,

where some things ought to
remain buried.

I did not go digging you up.
Bees do not normally

nest in skulls—
but I know

they hum in your head,
dripping honey of me.

Gentle wolf,
you came in the guise

of a friend.
They tell me that they would have

rescued me
as you made your advances—

except
they were never there,

in your lair.
And by that time

I had already
been eaten.

All that exists
between us now

is a history;
the guilt that still

weighs on you,
and poetry.

And if your guilt ever becomes
too much for you to bear,

and if you ever feel like
confessing,

my poems can be
your Hail Mary’s.

I must confess, that the world is a mess
but it's not to gone to save
it will take time, but with that in mind
how did it get so ”grave”
the people concerned, are the people who learned
what's wrong and will help make it right
it will be rather stark, as the mess is quite dark
but together, we can turn it to bright.....

Brian Hill - 2020 # 214

He asked me to confess expectations
An open dare to my emotions
My heart clanged against ribcage
Shaking the sturdiness of my spine
And I cried, each tear
Their own confession
As my expectations trailed down my cheeks
And I couldn’t tell him the truth
Or deliver him my hope
In a careful created box of words
I could trace the exit wounds of each exe
And the pain lingered, small phantoms
I wasn’t ready to let him go
So when he asked for a confession
I didn’t give him my emotions
Because how could I expect him to stay
When everyone leaves?