Trenton J. Goldsmith

Who can blame the rain’s refreshment or the heat of the rising sun? For the flowers bloom and beauty comes— Who can blame the dance’s disruption or the loss of tip-toe

Dedicated to Deandre Gladden We lost him on a southern spring day. The birdsong ringing melodies in our ears, sunjoy rays accompanied by new air, flowers opened and shouted, “I’m here!” But

In the silence of a gallery where colors dance and gleam, where each stroke has meaning, where reality clashes with a dream, I see emotions displayed in frames much like my own. I

When I rest– my mind still runs. It chases the everlasting sun. Ambitions are high. Dreams are flashing by. My heart beats fast at every thought of my past. Every mistake I made

In my mind gray clouds roll high. They crowd over my sun, and there is no clear sky. But on sunny days, when I look up and see clear sky I remember His

I’m just trying to clear my thoughts with a water  glass at my table, and then I hear out of the jukebox sounds of psyches that are stable. I’m thinking things

He was wandering at dusk, aimlessly walking around Washington Park. He examined all the trees and flowers, except the roses, which stood out in the growing dark. In the middle of the circular

Mind’s moving at a million miles an hour minimum Knees are knocking in a numb nervousness Deafening discussion is diffusing in her dad’s diner Fellow football players fumble while flirting with

Busted boots and broken buckles            Seasoned scars and signs of struggle            Hollow heart and helpless hustle So much harm, the world is shattering— Do not conform! What you see may break you down,

At one Sunday lunch in early July, I built up an army of how’s and why’s. Denial was reeling; emotions, stirred up, led to cracked hearts and glass cola cups. I

The inability to love: You search and find the one! But your past: Burning up inside of you, while cold and lonely. The cold and loneliness disable you. The inability to love feels

My life is like walking, tip-toeing a tightrope up high in the darkness where the stage lights don’t shine.   My life is like running, scurrying around the ring from one act to

I’m stuck in the middle of drama that isn’t my problem anymore.   The walls are caving in, and my escape isn’t through a door.   Only a few could break out

The carpet is complicated So many colors and patterns replicated Never in the same places, relocated   The walls are so bright now Leaves my mind asking why, not how To current trends people

It’s been said: “Hope survives best at the hearth.” Not my hope. Not at my hearth. The tile is cracked And pokers, rusted and crumbling; The forest is now a desert, kindling

He was the oldest brother, An example to the siblings that were younger, Counseling them with golden advice, In the absence of his drunken father, helping his dying, single mother He grew to

My peers shine with genuine joy, and a question of fear comes to mind: Will I ever be that happy? Relationships flood my view of life and my mind interrogates my soul: Will

The watchmaker sorrowing as his shop’s aflame hears a moaning child call out his name. Without hesitation, he runs back through the frame, only to find that the child’s to blame.