Just Because

The most important things don’t need a reason

  —just because

 

The falling leaves beyond their season

  —just because

 

The sun trades the night to the rising moon

  —just because

 

The lateness that brings one last final adieu

  —just because

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

Copyright 2016 Kurt Philip Behm

Free Of Its Stain

There’s a hope that exists beyond reason,

  like the refrain of a well written song

 

There’s a tragedy entrapped in each season,

  where right is still captive of wrong

 

There’s an Angel waiting to take you to heaven,

  across that river of torrent and pain

 

Where true joy in the act of forgiving

  —washes guilt completely free of its stain

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

No Place To Hide

I harbor a mean spirit

but not in my soul

He roams through my

consciousness as havoc and pain

Trying to break through

to that place where he’s banned

Trying to break through

to where my innocence lives

Again and again he forces 

his will

But it all goes for naught  

and he waits till I sleep

Where Laura’s on guard

in my dreams to protect

With insomniac hell

he still tries to invade

Her will ever stronger

than his fleeting advance

Each night he comes knocking

as she turns him away

Until with mocking futility

he warns me at last

In words that are cursed

and bathed in disgust…

 

“You can run to your Muse

  and hide if you wish

 

“But temptation and trial

  are served from my dish

 

“Go be safe in the womb

  but remember outside

 

“When you leave her protection

   —there is no place to hide”

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016) 

 

As You Speak

Your audience may not be able to listen,

  in the fashion that you speak

 

Your readers may not be able to discern,

  those meanings that you preach

 

Your lovers may not be able to hold

  your feelings in their hands

 

Your future may not be able to serve

  —what the present can’t withstand

 

(James River Writers Conference: Richmond: October, 2016)

My Wait Begins Again

I turn my collar up against the wind,

 and place my eyes along the skyline

 

Hoping in the twilight for some sign of you

 —a colder truth I’ve never known

 

I pull my jacket tight across my chest

 and watch the waves crash upon your shadow

 

Knowing the tide is like your receding heart

 —washing my footsteps from the sand

 

The sun has now gone, the moon in flight,

 and my hopes rise o’er the waves

 

My collar frozen, my soul on fire

  —as my wait begins again

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

By Others Felt

Am I at all responsible,

  for what occurs outside myself

 

Is it at all defensible,

  to ignore those feelings dealt

 

Is my world then co-dependent,

  on what happens somewhere else

 

Are the answers free to self-sustain,

  or conjoined—by others felt

 

(Bryn Mawr Pennsylvania: June, 2019)

Illusions Foray

What side can you judge infinity from,

  the front or then the back

 

If it’s never over, or never ends,

  how then can you protract

 

Can infinity stop and start again,

  would it be different or the same

 

Can judgment ever qualify,

  what it can’t even name

 

If generalizations are generally true,

  what can we really know

 

With the distance between our hopes and dreams,

  beyond what time can show

 

One step forward and one step back,

  micromanaging the present away

 

The ideas you profess, whose laws you tout,

   tethering emptiness—to illusions foray

 

(Dreamsleep: June, 2019)