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I wait, I Listen,
For the world is loud in its awe of day,
But its only heard best when all is silent,
And the lights go out.

I feel, I whisper,
For the wind cries out for all to hear,
But its misunderstood and left to only a mumble,
And the world sleeps.

Because I sit and wonder why the wind stays persistent,
For what it wants to share must be to us of some importance,
So then why do we bottle it up to no more than a sound,
So I opened the window,

The sound rushed in with a punch of emotion,
Enclosed the room with nothing but chatter,
The mumbles became clear and the wind became heard.

I sat and listened to the words untold,
As thoughts and actions drowned my head,
All was clear and fine in mind,
Then silence, and nothing but the peace of night.

I will not say what I heard from those spoken,
For thou may know when thou is ready to listen,

But as I am the wind, left blowing in the night,
I speak in mumbles and seem sadly mistaken,
For my words get twisted from thought to tongue,
But thou may not be heard if one doesn't open their window…
August 22nd, 2009
Have you ever fallen in snow?
What of being pushed
And not of anyone but those you trust and know.
Is it only a dream…

Music is what makes me,
People are what confuse me.
I can live loving friends,
Yet still need someone to confide in.

Have you ever questioned the common heart?
What not of love but the silhouette of like
That mixed emotions do hide in such mental rampart.
Is it only how it seems…

If people could see I reside in me,
A life yet to know and I'm fine being free.
A dream as it seems though what does it mean,
For a story untold held stitched at the seams.
November 25th, 2009
I can feel the pounding on my heart get heavy

What feels like pain to my unconscious is merely the act of resuscitation.

For I’m choking on a pit I've swallowed in trying to replace the one in my stomach.
I’m dying and I don’t even know it.
February 10th, 2013
The other day I restocked on peppermint Altoids,
when I always buy the spearmint.
And I'm not sure why,
but thinking about tequila makes me smile.

I've been feeling a lot more lately,
In quantity over quality.
And I haven't been able to place it,
but with the passing days the music's become acoustic.

Between the coffee and the beers,
Father John Misty preaches away my fears.
And although I've disagreed with today,
I know tomorrow w̶e̶'̶l̶l̶ I'll be okay.
February 12th, 2016
Draft to Single Edited Version
[noun: /ärmˌrest/]
The repelling force between two magnets.
February 24, 2016.
Written thoughts after leaving a movie theatre.
I turned to tarot last night in search for answers.
Answers regarding you.
Which only ever lead me to questions,
about me.
I hate when I come up with a piece that could be workable into something long during times I can't write it down. I had so much more but by the time work ended this is all I could muster from my fingers. Back to the drawing board.
From beginning to end,
There are no gray areas.
In between it all lays truth,
Yet truth can often lie in between the fiction.

So where does this lead us;
Into a twisted reality? Or troubled dream?
A nightmare on earth that hides in hate and love?

No.
Rather a lack of understanding,
A clear view of the concept,
But a mere distance away from grasping it.

Everything and Nothing is abstract.
Shear works of art written in the documents,
Signed by the blood and tears.

The uphill battle,
Children pushed away.

The poker face,
Emotions thrown aside.

Lawyers. Stress.
Time stretched like a rubber band beyond elasticity.

It never snaps,
Your heart will stop thinking it might,
But it doesn't.

The hurt is distributed through my fathers stress.
The tears through my mother’s eyes.
All is lost, everything is gained.

With faces of youth in every scene,
The dream of peace passes mind.

The brother,
Staying quiet and still.
His eyes floating in the mixed level of emotions.

The sisters,
One with the scars at the heart of it all.
And the other too young to know what’s going on.

And me.

Too numb to notice,
Too careless to feel the pain.

Till it builds.

The knives of emotions come through the pores.
The ink falls from the fingertips onto the page.

There are no gray areas.
All of it is abstract.
Yet once again, all of it is nothing.

At the heart of it all.
Written March 10th, 2011 and inspired by the novel "The Things They Carried"
Where do we draw the line
Between the difference of wanting something,
And when it's time you need that something?

I'm not unhappy,
Yet the latter is slowly fading.
And as I feel this through I remember,
There's a reason it's called a pursuit.

I don't know if I'm ready
But I know that I want you.
I know that I'm ready,
For that.
"what's truly bothering you currently?"- question I thought of tonight which led me to the first stanza. The rest spiraled from there.
Have you ever been a walking contradiction?
Or a sitting one rather?*
For walking implies movement and
I don't feel I'm going much anywhere these days.

I told a friend Id see a therapist
For one reason-
That "I've grown to become lonely,
Yet I'm more comfortable being on my own".

Complacency - the silent killer

Wake up.
Be a good person.
Go to bed.
-and that just isn't enough anymore.

I know what that means,
I'm just afraid to admit it.
May 14th 2016
The silent awakening, the morning texts,
A dreaded Monday, yet the feel of “okay”,
The early crank of the car, and we were on our way,
It was the start of a good day.

How did the laughter turn into sheer fear?
When did the joy vanish under pain?
Debris, Flashing lights, A choking smell,
All I remembered was the start of a good day.

Then the replay hit me like an airbag to the face,
The gutless fear engulfed me as the tears ran down my face.

A light;
That made all the difference.
For I followed til I heard the MICHAEL!
Then I saw the face of blinding lights coming on my way.

And that was it.
The hit had come
unrealized til the deflation showed me what was done,
A noise came from me
Blood curdling yell for no apparent reason,
A quick scan and everyone was safe,
And that was it.

For now the dream is an endless replay of the mind,
Labelled and forever remembered as “the start of a good day”.
March 3rd, 2010
I don't want to be paid for what I want to do,
But I have to have a living.
Bummed
My problems seem to have evaporated.
Condensing into a clouded form of stress.
Only to precipitate through the cracks of my eyes in my shower tonight.
2012
Ask of me my troubles,
I wouldn't know where to start.
Ask to share my joy,
And I’d get lost in layers of darkness,
Simply searching for a worthy glimpse.

The thing about new lives are —
finding where the old ones end.

Why are the beginning of life stories skipped over?
An authors job is not to choose where to begin.
Why do we feel the need to fill life with action or tragedy?
An authors ending isn't created but rather written through.
Why do we force a story if it doesn't fit the mood?
The fact of the matter is, an author can only choose “when” to write.

The thing about old lives are —
deciding when the new ones begin.

Ask of me my high spirits,
I wouldn't know where not to look.
Ask to share my pain,
And I’d be blinded by the depth of light,
Simply searching for a sliver still fresh.
February 19th, 2013
My bare feet walk this path alone.
Leaving the story it caused behind.
The pain falls away little by little through the hole in my pocket,
like bread crumbs to a troubled past.

I’ve left my shoes at home, broken in and worn out.
Try them on if you’d like,
walk around, get the feel of things.
But don’t try to fix them,
cleaning would only cover the scuffs entailing my journeys.

Next to my shoes is a box,
a place I have collected my thoughts.
Don’t break the lock, for I wear the key.
My thoughts are gone and just for me.
I’ve engraved the top, that who sees will know.
'Stay Gold'.

If you look beneath you’ll find a book.
The pages of irrelevant meaning.
Its wrapped in parchment, as if to ship.
The address line left blank.
If opened the ink runs red for I’ve pressed my heart;
To store it, save it, make it last.

Lastly lays a covered cage,
bird seed scattered on around the base.
The bird inside defines this walk, beginning to the end.
Dead or alive depends on time, the strength of my own species.
A blackbird, or a dove. Me or you, which is my freedom?

My bare feet wall this path alone.
Following the story it left behind.
Pacing the dropped regrets from my pocket back to start.
Counting my steps all the way to you.
September 4th, 2011
I write til my thoughts and body grow weak.
You’re tired, they say.
No… no but alas, I am free- And with feeble eyes, I sleep.
May 5th, 2013
I made a promise to a girl I once met,
Her fearful stutter revealing such challenge to be brought.

In her mind she could see the result,
And eyes like projectors I too saw what she knew.

"Never let me leave, never let me run, just never let go…"

We had only just begun and yet with assurance it quivered,
I Promise.

Yet here I stand, left with an empty hand.
Tracing the foot steps:
The half “toe-heal” running prints back to where she no longer stands.
April 27th, 2013
My bed smells of you.

The aroma of today’s faint memories;
Your face,
Those lips.

Lying here now dozing in and out of reality,
the dreams become more real than the memories seem to be.

I’m reaching for you in my thoughts-
Inhaling your remains til the day you share this empty place in my bed for good.
January 24th, 2013

This one immediately became my most popular and I'm not sure why. It is one draft written late at night and I never even titled it.
A fleeting moment gone too far;

Silence.

The three words come out and — vulnerability.

And the silence comes again.
2012
I've never been big on second chances,
And yet on night like these-
I wish I was
Nobody ***** up,
People just get lazy.
Like two peas in a pod,
We were devoured.
#penumbra #friendship
This is an SOS
This is to keep from blowing my brains out
This is to save another's life
This is for tomorrow
This is what it has always been
Rough eureka idea on my drive to work. Hopefully something that'll become bigger within the next few months.
What say you on the matter?

For,
To say the Pilgrims were not of the Americas,
Or thereby American,
Is False.

For,
To say the life force is not moving, pulsing,
Or thereby alive,
Is Wrong.

For,
To vocalize a sonnet as written,
And not vary tone or infliction from line to line,
Or to sing the Song of Madness.
But not feel the grimy groove,
Is flat out and most indescribably improper and in dire need of revision.

But to break off from the meter,
In travels that lead on out,
Progressing into a voyage of the vastly uncharted,

Is to paint a magnificent beauty,
Or write a tale with uncanny comparatives to a Huck.

And to forthwith stand from the bow of the vessel, not the stern, to say when they say, “Nay.”

From the start, on the breaking dawn of this episode, a new life seemed only natural to resurrect;
A chapter to rewrite that had too long needed a rewrite.
And so perceived and attempted it was.

Then, from the inner yearnings, came a need to profess what so vividly troubled.
But in unsure footings, the tongue could not confess.
But in undone attire, the feet would not uphold.
Repressed.
Halt!

The body comes to rest.
Lain upon the threshing block, to gather.
And preface a proclamation of the more just cause.
Ideals certain to be less casually fit than their predecessors’.
An ultimate theory of outlook.

Thus, this is my prelude, to the coming of age battle, and my constitution.
With most sincerity, this is what I proclaim.

The Right of Understanding.
—The act that in any case, every account and depiction of any story and thereby situation, should be heard, allotted, marked, and understood in full. It should stand, unbiased, before all, prior to any fore coming or hasty decision: the act of listening without interpretation by a lonely mind; of not intruding upon or giving up immoral ground in adherence to a person; of not spreading hell, nor involving the uninvolved in personal matters; of letting people share both the tangible and intangible, without hesitation, or living in fear being persecuted and/or misrepresented; and the understanding of every individual soul.—
The Right of Understanding.

The Right of Albatross.
—The act of grieving over loses, and accepting that things will not be the same. The act that time is so deathly important in revival that the absence of its constant equilibrium will cause damage; of stability in the face of fear, whatever that may be, or the fear that is eminent and sure to catch us all in its foot snares; of compassion to the suffering and those who have lost it all but continue to rise again and prove the statistics, kept and known only by the creator, wrong; and of being unsettled in the grey areas. For no one soul can truly ever make it alone.—
The Right of Albatross.

The Right of Acerbity.
—The act of saying what’s on your mind, no matter how pugnacious or acrid it may come out to be. The act of bluntness in dealings, without further discretion, but only after retched hate has built and anger tormented past its due date; of civility towards others in the postmortem; of biting your tongue until absolutely necessary, and only through well founded intent, however deluded the intent may be to ascertain such conclusive foundation, and of arrogance in expression and language for the betterment of others. The act of ripping out the orthodox for a radical reckoning of souls.—
The Right of Acerbity.

The Right of Escape.
—The act of fleeing tragic misunderstandings, for the sake of saving face, and to make great hast. The act of thinking contrary to the proof, setting a pricey wage on your personal beliefs, dissolving unknown barriers and outward influence, and claiming your stake; of being alone to the mind in hopes of evaporating the exorbitant data; of basking in the glory that swift feet have brought; of turning the corner, and establishing new peace of mind to comfort the once boxed in soul.—
The Right of Escape.

The Right of Pursuit.
—The act of allowance to a pursuit in anything, with the freedom of beliefs, and articulation. The knowledge and acceptance that not all pursuits end, nor will they ever on the intended terms. End may or may not be reached, but the communion of trial, even if failed, is all that is needed. No hatred should come of a man’s choice in their personal pursuit; merely the acknowledgment and appreciation.—
The Right of Pursuit.

The Right of Assertion.
—The act which is commonly referenced, and includes great similarity to, the speeches given on the basis of freedom, with the truth that prior most follow up to the same base rule. The acts that no tyrant or thereby abusive parent should, or has the right to, downsize or ignore the declared speech of his child. Nor should one be angered by the truth that so passively flows through their ears. The right to free a man’s mind without a show of emotions becoming of us; just the listening of and rock like appearance of the stern look upon agreement.—
The Right of Assertion.

The Right of Compliance.
—The idea that man-kind can fit in with man-kind; the ideal template that brother and sister is known and used universally, not just selectively, as a label of people; that an atheist can walk into a church of any religion and fit in among the plenty to find a new assurance and home; that no restrictions are made to shun or cross out those unwanted in group, club, education system, religious aspect, or government area in question; that all of man-kind fits in anywhere they so choose when they are there under the prefaced agreement of good and strong intent. After all, intent is nine-tenths of the law. Lastly, that people can never feel out of place or lost in life.—
The Right of Compliance.

The Right of Deception.
—The knowing that man-kind can easily be duped by the specious mind; that promises aren't always kept, and that some stories aren't always true. Often times, there even a change in maxim just when we all become accustom to order; the idea of flowing emotion from one betrayal subsequently falling and spilling into right into line: next in life; that man could plainly be trying to be grandiloquent and fascinate rather than honestly working to be even with other men; that imagination can take over, yet leave a trail of crumbs leading toward reality, and remain in such a constant comatose state until life seems to become better; the mere acknowledgment that the mind can fully overpower the body.—
The Right of Deception.

It was that long ago that we were invincible,
Or too long ago to remember the good ol’ days,
Or too long ago to remember how past, present, or future,

We would always be friends.

No rivals could break us,
No terror could render fear,
No mountain was too big to climb,

We would always be untenable.

Every time we thought that,
Every time we felt safe,
Every time we leaned closer,

We grew older,
Time set in,
Tearing us apart.

As we fell apart,
Thoughts got the better,
Days turned as years past,
And our minds now seem to confess,

So here we are,
Once more staggered in unity,
And for the last time linking arms,

To exalt a power high above our reign,
And sign the final treaty,
Forever binding our humble beginnings,
Before the long journey,
That will, in retrospect, be a mistake…

But at least they will know exactly what We have to say.
A Co-Written Piece with a very good friend and poet Adam Gresham on June 24th, 2009
I hate finding the beauty in things,
But by now it's all I can do.
And I hate finding the beauty in everyone,
Cause I fear I'll glaze over that beautiful someone.

I'm not weak.
I am scared.
I love you.
Mental monologue.
I can remember your touch
in passing
A slight graze
to gentle squeeze

These words
are driving me mad
So I give them
to you all instead
Dear Love,
I was lost but now Im found,
But Im still blind and can not see,
Without you I would lose my way,
I need you to get through my day.

With every kiss I give and take,
I only hope your love for me isn’t fake,
Cause when Im with you my locked heart is yours,
And you have the key that opens the doors.

You build me up so don’t put me down,
Those deep dark blue eyes pick me up off the ground,
I can’t wait to sleep cause ill dream of you tonight,
And then think of you tomorrow til that day turns to night.

But as the sun rises I only hope,
That the breath you share with me doesn’t burn like a rope,
You’re asking me if our love will grow,
That’s for us to find out and only god to know.

Sincerely,
The one who cares.
September 2009

— The End —