Daniel Dessinger

Category: Writing

  • thoughts on the brink

    my mind is like a canyon somehow hidden from the sun. my thoughts like buried treasure far away from everyone. sometimes i think i’m falling. rushing forward toward the sky. emptyhanded. falling upward. never landing til i die.

    sometimes i sit in darkness on the edge, the very brink of chasing out the strain with something very cold to drink. i sit and gape and wonder where this train of thought will lead. will i act as though a soldier. somehow manage a brave deed. will i face unspoken horrors. will i stand until the end. will i fall and fail the way i always knew it all would end.

    sometimes i think it’s not so different. i could still go out today. i could take a chance and touch the sun and take the risk today. i could step beyond the shadows. standing under burning sun. let the light play on my shoulders. as i stare a little stunned. i could race through crackling leaves and touch the bark of some old tree. i could meet the earth with something more than thoughts and poetry.

  • a pleasant shade

    these overcast skies
    chase fears of burning heaven from my eyes
    the overbearing gleam
    can blind a mind so dull as mine
    and the dazzling brilliant blue
    an agonizing hue
    forever etched behind my pupils
    as eyes like mine
    seek to crawl away and hide rather than to find
    a crystal clear reflection
    of what i thought i knew

    and should i come unglued, perhaps,
    before the light’s subdued
    offer up a prayer, a wish,
    or something misconstrued
    perchance in undeserving kindness i’ll receive
    your palm, upraised
    before my eyes perceive
    whichever token
    destiny has chosen me to leave

    and should we make it just in time
    arriving breathless in the shade
    as if by Fortune’s grand design
    then i will dance for what we’ve made –
    a solace, a shelter, a place to rest awhile
    and setting sun will hide its face
    relieved, you’ll manage half a smile
    for this, our little saving grace
    and pray that mem’ry soon will lose
    the path we felt we had to choose

    written by Daniel Dessinger
    January 18, 2006

  • fall returns

    the leaves are falling once again
    disquieted spirits on the road again
    we’ve sullied our sunday best again
    the preacher says only believe again

    i cannot return to the pain again
    the sorrows they’ve begun to stain again
    our wishes were baskets of hope again
    and sunday’s our only reprieve again

    they said we could never repair again
    but they’ve only just noticed despair again
    my shoulders, they ache from the weight again
    yet the stars seem to call out my name again

    there’s only one chance at hello again
    but my back turns the color of fear again
    we may never recover to blame again
    but it’s starting to sound quite the same again

  • all for you

    i crush my cigarette in the ash tray one last time
    one last time i feel the sweet heavy burden on my chest
    we weren’t meant to live forever, i heard someone say
    steel resolve pulses through my veins
    i may not live forever…

    …but i won’t leave her to face it all alone

    it’s all for you, i cry with silent tears
    to meet your needs and ease your fears
    a child inside breaks
    the strain of too much reality
    i never asked to be born, he whispers painfully
    i did not ask for this…

    …i stand silently and awkwardly
    allowing the moment of weakness to pass
    before changing the subject to ease the tension

    it’s not that truth is so bad… no… not really
    it’s that lies are so much more comfortable
    it’s that life is hard enough when you’re keeping track of lies
    even without adding the burden of truth

    in the background, a child’s cry can still be heard
    softly now, rhythmic like a rocking chair
    gently caressing and soothing itself with misery

    it’s all for you, i heard her say
    i’m waiting, softly waiting,
    hoping you will make it to me
    hoping for what could and will be

  • how to save a life

    i saw horrible things, my dear
    horribly wasted innocent babies
    your stomach would turn
    eyes would bleed
    and hearts would swell

    we live in a beautiful world
    choose your glances carefully
    shrivelled grass and skin
    blow in the wind like torn pages

    life is but a dream, they say
    tortured by bandits & penniless drifters
    neon markets and cannibals’ songs
    whispers carried softly upon stale breath

  • can you see

    i saw horrible things, my dear horribly wasted innocent babies

    your stomach would turn eyes would bleed and hearts would swell

    we live in a beautiful world choose your glances carefully

    shrivelled grass and skin blow in the wind like torn pages

    life is but a dream, they say tortured by bandits & penniless drifters

    neon markets and cannibals’ songs whispers carried softly upon stale breath

  • On Maturation

    Some day your voice will mature, having lived many more years. Having shed many more tears.
    You will know more about yourself. You will have earned the right to have something to say.
    When the days of testosterone madness and crazed manic proclamations have evaporated.
    Perhaps a small book could be squeezed from your veins.
    There’s a reason why God gave the elderly less energy. Wisdom doesn’t run after every hair-brained scheme. Less foolishness requires less energy.
    Sit and ponder awhile. Stop, rest from your doing and just be be who you are. No tinsel. No gawdy things to make you feel special.
    Sit in silence and know your God.
    Having done this – awkwardly at first – then, IF you truly commit, you will be ready to write.

  • waiting. wishing. hoping.

    i wish i could spoil you. cook you simple meals as best i can. see your teary smile as i propose cry my own tears as you hold our firstborn. i wait and anticipate the day you’ll be mine. every happy couple, every loving mother, every expression of love reminds me of you… of my hope for you. it is true that i hurt you. it is true that i do not deserve forgiveness. it is true that my actions display a wholly different sentiment. somewhere deep within, in the immeasurable soul and spirit, i long for you. i do not long for the cheap gratification of physical desire but, rather, for the realization of a reality i have already only glimpsed. it is a reality beyond my ability. i do not strive toward it, for i know failure lies waiting. instead, i wait. hoping, asking, dreaming, aching for the day to arrive… …when what i was made for, to melt into you, becomes the day my destiny is fulfilled.


  • the end’s beginning

    if the end is the beginning why am i strewn out across your open palms? why am i lost in your sea? you capture me, and i am lost forever. i run to and fro, only to find the time has been wasted and kept us apart. don’t ask why. don’t ever wonder again. the opened eye tells all. we were meant to be together.


  • i do not

    i do not take this cigarette and place it against my lips for no reason i’ve seen the sterile coffee shops restaurants and office buildings i’ve felt the suffocating cleanliness of a bright and cheery world this realm of “clarity” and activity brims with over-anxious sympathies artificial lights with nothing to penetrate it is the life that is a lie feigning decency deploring the darker shade of life i do not accept this smoke into my lungs except to maintain to preserve a sense of self not yet commercialized nor sold to the highest bidder to protect myself from the rays the drowning silence of nonsense to make it through the day participation is suicide it is the death of conviction, hope, and dream i do not want to be a quitter and surrender the one shield i have between self and senselessness.