The words were never able to escape my throat
while I stared at you in awe at each restaurant
and let them be drowned out by the clinking of silverware
and the endless spewing of nervous verbiage.
But between the span of weeks that you spent away
convincing the government agents of your accuracy,
I drug broken chains attached at each of my wrists
that left a trail through the sands as I visited my goddess.
You never saw the anchor that they were attached to before you appeared
or how the whirlpool drug me under and left me gasping,
but your tenderness shattered what was left of the memory
and started to heal the splinters left by the shipwreck.
I believe she heard the metal links colliding with one another
and she was by my side before I could summon her,
but with one glance she knew something was amiss
she tilted her head and whispered “What is it child?”.

The words were barely able to escape my throat
as I gazed over her and sighed “I love her more than mountains”.
The waves tumbled and crashed with vigor
as the winds struggled to carry the heaviness of the utterance.
Her silence begged an explanation for what was heard
and so I began a faulty attempt to provide clarity,
each word passed through lips trembling with fear
and was drowned out by the storm so no others would hear.
"I have encountered majestic mountains many times
but there is no surface on any that has carried her warmth,
there are none that have made me desire so greatly
or any that have provided the happiness she causes effortlessly.
They have not moved me to rethink eternities
or caused me to reconsider my path in this world,
they lack the capacity to understand me as the ever-shifting waters do
and their beauties combined do not compare.".

A single knowing tear escaped her eye and collided with the waters
causing time to run as slowly as the moment before the first explosion
the same moment that birthed Father Time himself
and she took my hand and carried me on a journey to change my mind.
She brought me to each mountain on the body of Tella Mater
silently hoping that one of them would change my mind,
I cannot explain the beauty that they held, but still I shook my head
and she started to understand what was meant in those few words.
I do not know who she consorted with for permission to leave her stead
but we became astronauts and sailed through endless darkness,
until we crash landed on ground covered in red, powdered rust
and looked upwards at the most majestic mountain we had encountered.
There was a hope in her eyes as I stared at it with contemplation
but it dimmed and she sighed as I shook my head yet again,
I could feel the heaviness that was exhaled in that sigh
as if she held a secret that she could not yet share with me.

We escaped from that world and into another immediately
neither she nor I were aware of how we traveled there,
but we stood on solid nothingness at the intersection of oblivion and eternity
with a mountain before us whose peak could never be reached.
Without hesitation she fell to her knees and beckoned me to follow
she trembled as she searched for words to explain where we were,
but when I did not fall to my knees or disavow my statement
a wind fell off the mountain that spoke every language and none.
“What will soon pass you have caused yourself.
The mountains possess an endurance that your love will not.”.
Then we found ourselves at the same shoreline where we began
with the rattling of broken chains scraping across the sand.
In that moment I knew the words you spoke would come
though I was not aware that they would assault my ears so quickly,
perhaps I should hold my tongue now as I should have held it then,
but the universe already knows that I loved you more than mountains.

We stood alone in the lowest point of an empty pool
the same one that used to be filled with cool, restorative waters
I still carried the lacking waters within me daily like a pufferfish
thinking I could restore the oasis that once kept us from drying out.

The words used to taste so sweet when they passed across my tongue
in the days when they traveled to your ears by the silver cord that bound us
and flowed through them to the mirrored soul that awaited them longingly
but now they taste of carrion baking during countless summer days.

As soon as my lips parted to refill the pool so that we could reach the ladder
I dropped to my knees and the corrupted sentiment started pouring out
the vile and viscous remnants were colored a sickly shade of green
and they escaped with such a force that they pushed us both backwards.

When the words first started spewing I felt each one fully
with the same vibrations as when they were first taken captive
but their ******* coated my tongue so that I could taste nothing
except for the desire to find the ladder and leave all of this where it fell.

I searched for the beauty I remembered for as long as any mortal could
and I glanced back one last time to make sure you did not linger in it
I took each step towards the hill I swore I would die on
and the oozing corruption left a trail of footprints that would never be followed.

The hill that I sat on for countless summer days was no longer there
and I remembered the fire lanterns that were carried on the wind
what we were had disappeared beyond the clouds and fallen
sinking to the bottom of the depths to never be sought or found again.

I used to fear the emptiness that might replace this when I let it go
but it is as calm and soothing as the waters we used to swim in
and I had almost forgotten the whispers of the soul of the world
until I heard “you loved her as much as you could for as long as you could,

it is done”.

I can’t remember the color of your eyes. As much as I hate to admit it to myself. I hate myself each time I say it aloud. How could I love you so much more than myself and forget such a thing? And it’s too odd to ask now. If only I could see you. The sunlight would reflect off your eyes and I would remember why they always called to my own to rest on them. I would remember the only place I ever truly felt safe. I can’t remember the color of love. Its brilliance once dazzled my eyes so that I almost looked away, but now it is a colorless campfire that keeps me warm. I want to say they were brown. There are moments when you walk through my mind and I can almost see them until you close them when you smile.  A man could travel through every level of hell for a thousand years and not forget your smile. I remember your smile, but it’s difficult to remember you without it. Even when we poured out our sorrows until we needed to open the doors and let them out into the world. Even then you smiled. For you and I emotions are the air we breathe in to feel life and out to keep it. I don’t think they were blue. Or green. Brown or hazel still seem more accurate. I want so badly to see them but they keep closing with each caress.  I remember your caress. It was soft, calculated, delicate.  It’s the only time I’ve ever felt like the China plates that are pulled from the cabinet for important guests. Like you were so terrified you would break me that you took slow steps towards the table. It makes me laugh to remember that you talk like a nerd. I do too, admittedly, but the thought still makes me laugh. Like neither of us thought we were good enough and tried to be more proper and correct to make up for it. I’ve always been attracted to women who can explain why I’m wrong when I am. But I’m not wrong now. I’m a registered ***** donor, but I didn’t know they could be taken while I am alive. It seems fitting since you were the one that taught it how to beat against my chest in ever quickening rhythms. I can remember what your hair smelled like. On the day you brought the beer that neither of us were able to drink. You always smelled like you had crushed flowers pressed against you just before you walked through the door. I don’t know what the flower is called but I can see the farmers picking only the best one from each field just for you. I can’t stop remembering how much I miss you. It plays over and over in my head like the cd you bought me when I turned 18. I had no idea who the band was but I loved them as soon as you handed it to me. I’m so grateful you have good taste or else I would have fallen in love with ****** music. It’s all pouring onto the page like you asked, not because you asked, but because there’s no weight we ever shared that we didn’t both already carry. I know I should have fought a thousand times harder for this, but I didn’t. We didn’t. I remember the sunset on the beach. The assumptions that were made and how I wished more than anything that they were true. I can almost see your eyes before you turn to the truck so we can go back to the house. I have always let you walk in front of me. I preferred it. No matter where we were headed I would happily follow you. You helped me understand what old men spoke of when they discussed the pursuit of happiness. And why it’s so difficult to actually catch it. I keep looking at the clock and can see you napping somewhere on the west coast. The rain is falling and there’s warm whole leaf tea brewing on the stove. I’ve lost track of how many hours it’s been raining but every time I try to see your eyes the lightning crashes and you close them in anticipation of the thunder. I can’t remember the words to your poems, but the force that they carried by your tone let me know that sometimes your share of the weight was more than you could bear. And I would have carried all of it and you if you would have asked. But now I am asking instead. The next time we meet, stare into my soul and remind me why I can remember every single detail except the color of your eyes.

We found a complicated dance that we practiced for years
so often that from watching, each knew the others steps better than their own,
but you feared a misstep on stage and trembled violently in fear
and exited stage left, so I turned to the crowd and tried it alone.

Tell me how I am supposed to dance
when I have never practiced without your warm embrace,
and every concerned face with furrowed brows in the crowd's expanse
observes as I stumble clumsily in place.

I found you sauntering down your own path in the wild
staring at a dying flower that you picked but could not sustain,
but as you handed it to me you were wide-eyed and beguiled
as the thorns pressed into my flesh and opened a vein.

Tell me how I am supposed to bleed
when my hearts still lies on the stage where you left knowing,
that I will smash my fist into my chest to try to keep the beat
with faulty attempts to keep the blood flowing.

I watched you flee to the cliffs with raging waters below
grabbing a waiting companion by their hand,
you crashed into the current while I rocked with the waves to and fro
waiting to see if you would return to my side on the land.

Tell me how I am supposed to feel
when the waters that once calmed my raging soul,
stopped their gentle caress that once helped me heal
and eroded the hopes that kept me whole.

Now you return to land with dagger pains in your feet
tell me love, how far down did he get before craving air,
and we stand at the cliffs edge where land and water meet
staring at the distance to the depths that most wouldn't dare.

Tell me how else I'm supposed to love
when I never practiced without your warm embrace
and my heart still lies on the stage where you left knowing
that the waters that once calmed my raging soul
only did so because you were in them with me.

Her silent steps were not as effortless as they once were
with footpads worn down from constantly having to walk away,
she tiptoed around the beast that blocked the path she had traveled
hoping it would not awaken when she crept closer to view it.
What caused her to veer so close she could not explain
with a thousand paths that would have provided a safer distance,
but one step too close and the deep rumbling sleep halted
and a quick gasp was consumed by the quiet that preceded it.
In that moment her curiosity turned into caution
as she saw the tiny scythes attached to each finger,
the trembling escaped her core and into her limbs
as she thought it reached to take what it wanted before departing.
What could a beast want except the same as those before it
but it turned slowly and stared through your eyes,
you thought that it might pour you into a cup to consume your essence
and you flinched every single time it caressed you.
Each touch and caress built a bridge of bone and flesh
for exhausted souls to travel across to meet,
in hopes she would wear down her footpads just a little more
to escape the walls of the hedge maze she was in.
So that she may be as enlightened as the moon
as it illuminates the path for earthly travelers at night
while the sun ceaselessly pours its energy over it
and glorifies how brightly it shines.

I was born a hunter.
A rush of blood surging through my veins
with each poke and **** that might bring sustenance.
With trembling hands I returned to town
jowls heightened in satisfied grimace.
How the others glared enviously
when I returned over encumbered
with the weight of game upon my back.
In time I gave in to their requests
when they had contorted to desperate demands
and I shared the only truth I knew
“be patient and listen with intent”.

With age the encumbrance became too burdensome
but it was was not possible to hunt with less vigor
and still stave my insatiable hunger.
It was by chance that a merchant approached
with a cart full of seeds that are difficult to sell
in a village where every respectable man hunts.
I gave him every implement that I owned.
Every bow and spear and knife were taken away
and I was left with seeds and infertile soil.
How their envious glares so quickly shifted
to confused glances that carried pity with them.

As I toiled in the fields they became more adept
and day after day I watched them labor back to town
burdened by their accomplishments.
They gave little heed to the words of a man
whose surging pulse was made still,
so they developed ingenious traps and snares
that required neither patience nor effort.
I could not help but wonder
how much of what they attained was wasted,
when fresh meat spoils so quickly
for those that never had need to learn
how to preserve the unused amount.

I rested in the afternoons under the trees,
beneath the branches bowing with the burden
of sustenance I once had to carry on my back.
The insatiable hunger was never quelled,
nor was it ever for a single moment forgotten
when the creatures of the forest I used to hunt
came to consume the fruit I labored for.

At least now there is enough for us to share without the weight of burden.

You were not supposed to recognize me.
How could anyone believe we are as similar
as we seemed to think on that night
unless you were a magnet without bounds,
without universal laws of attracting opposites?
I was not supposed to recognize you,
but how could I overlook my favorite fixture
that the carousel brought back before me?
A unicorn with a mirror for a horn.
“You are comfortable with me.”
“I am comfortable with you.”

You were not meant to become words on a page,
no, words were the last thing on my mind
when you laughed when I told you
to think and speak freely without my assurance.
You effortlessly pulled the words from my lips
and still they hover in the winds that surround you,
but in that bliss I could not tell
exactly where it is that they did land.

If they fell to the ground where we sat
I would not have known the difference,
but I was sure that they did not miss their target
when the pressure of your hand
reminded me that we exist at least once
somewhere in the space of time.
“How do I get on your level?”
“I do not want to get that deep.”
Remember the words that were spoken
and let them haunt you when you need them,
with the weight of a stone pendant on your neck.

There was not a comfort you could have requested
that I would have turned away
and so you were granted freedom for your hands,
because if only for that night
we found shelter in ourselves
from the storm of chaos that waited for each of us.
I was not supposed to remember that night,
but it is difficult to drown out
how our words brushed gently against our skin
and the desire in your eyes
as you stared into my own
trying desperately to remember
what place and time this happened before.

The Mycenaean people carried Tiriseroe as a god
his valor with the capacity of any three men
and he rose into the divine realms,
but still his body fell with age
when time pressed into his existence
and he received the fate that is bestowed upon us.

I carried you over the the threshold of my temple
my hands with the power to shape water and sand into flesh
and you floated above them weightless,
but still my lips trembled with desire
when they pressed into your skin
and you received the blessings that you bestowed upon me.

In the same way that you receive my words through text,
my words with weight much heavier than you
and they sink below you like anchors,
but still my ears rang with distress
when the spoken words pressed into my brain
and I received the contempt that was bestowed upon me.

If Tiriseroe, with all of his valor,
could not overcome the fate that he faced,
then I would be foolish to believe
that my hands and words and the blessings they bestow
can overcome the fate that awaits us.

How was I supposed to try to save you?
As our souls were seemingly hanging
from the same silver cord
and we found freedom in letting our feet dangle.
Mundane marionettes clumsily controlled by their astral bodies
orbiting too closely and with excess vigor
their silver strands became tangled too tightly
to distinguish one from the next.
My eyes were too focused in their gaze to have noticed
until you, ever so gently, nudged my head
and asked that I explain the knots that bound us.
In that moment I desired to love you
whatever smaller amount
that would let me tell you anything but the truth.
No love miser could have resisted
a request whispered out of such necessity
that it tore the breath from the room.
With shaking hands I traced the path
from the bottom of a dangling soul
to the apex of the celestial cross bar
and noted every intersection our silver cords made.
What is it that you thought would happen?
It was not until I reached the top
and every notation was written in fresh red
that I saw you already possessed the graphed coordinates.
How many revisions can be requested
of a map that consumes you when you make it
for a scene that never changes?
Please nod yes when I ask
if you momentarily forgot when making the request
that you and I only write in blood.

I told you that I had no choice but to love you
and you smiled and nodded as if you were giving in to the thought,
but your eyes brightened and your mouth contorted
into the smirk that you give me when you're quite certain
either someone offered me thirty silver to say it
or I'm full of ****.

I lacked a taste for coffee when I was young.
Patience was a commodity in short supply,
and the few times I had tried to drink it
I found nothing but pain and bitterness in the beverage.
Yet, every time you came you brought it with you
and you brewed it with so much care
that I did not have the heart to tell you
how difficult it was for me to drink it.
Did I never tell you how you always forgot
to turn off the machine when you left?
I would follow behind you and switch it off ,
after you departed,
because you were too busy to stay
and drink what you had so effortlessly made.
I think my hands were too rough for the machine you used,
and when I broke the machine,
it continued to trickle slowly.
I knew how much it meant to you
so I did everything that I could to keep it off the floor.
Teacups and coffee mugs and plastic cups were the first to be filled
followed by punch bowls and baking dishes and iron pots.
It still dripped slowly and I started to panic
when the bathtub and the washing machine both started to overflow.

In those years I had become a sprinter
yelling at the masses to keep up during a charity marathon.
How many women delighted
in the seemingly endless supply of coffee that I brought to them?
It was often lukewarm at best,
and tasted nothing like when you had first brewed it,
but few will complain about the taste of a free drink when they thirst.
While they delighted in coffee I drank San Pellegrino in a glass
and the most sanguine sangria when I thought no one was watching.
Who was I to think them less evolved for not knowing the difference?
It is hard to keep sight of a finish line so far away
when the thought never leaves your mind
that if you ever stop sprinting and  you fall behind
you might return home to find it submerged.

I did not stop running until I could no longer breathe.
When I woke up I was sitting in the same house
that you used to brew coffee in while we visited.
I did not know what else to do,
and so I started pouring the coffee out.
I could not slow down once I had started.
Gallon after gallon poured out
and it rushed down the drain so willingly
that I wondered what stake gravity had in the matter.
I took the time to learn how the machine had been broken,
and with effort I repaired it so that it no longer trickled.

You still brew coffee every time that you come to visit,
but you brew it with so much care
that I have learned the patience to drink it slowly.
What choice did I ever have but to learn to drink it?
Did I never tell you how you always forget
to turn the machine off when you leave?

I started to love her in open view.
In the mornings we would walk together
and she would reach out
and try to pull me in with her gentle beckoning.
At first, I think, we sank into the background,
but each day that they saw us together solidified the emotions
that the inquisitive observers realized through our shared whispers
and the smiles caused by the revelation of what those whispers meant.
They began to wave each day
as I floated by with her lips gently pressing against me.
I could not help but wave back to respond
that all they had assumed was true.

I appeared to love her too suddenly for open view.
They saw her gentle beckoning pull me into her in the afternoon
of the same morning they realized our whispers.
Objections were called out and followed with reasoned fear.

She is still too cold to hold you.

You cannot tell me that you are fine when your lips are trembling.

It would be wise to wait for a better season.

What do you think you are proving by doing this?

I had started to love her in open view,
but what the observers failed to realize
was that I was trembling before my body ever touched the water.
While they slept at night I longed for her,
and rose out of the comfortable warmth of safety.
In nights of frigid cold I ran to her
and poured myself into the only container
large enough to hold the emotion that it caused.

I appeared to love her too suddenly for open view.
I could not wade in slowly enough
to let the water get acclimated to me.
I longed to be surrounded by the one
that pulled me in with her gentle beckoning.

I gasped, wide-eyed, as I broke the surface,
with the lively smile of a man
determined to swim in the waters he loves
regardless of the season.

When I look at you...

I see an inspiration to be a better person. I see a reason to make the world a better place. I see someone that it makes me proud to call my equal. I see the person that I cannot think of without my soul hungering to be near to them. I see hands that can calm my soul with a single caress. I see eyes that throw my soul into chaos with a single glance. I see the one that I cannot fathom living life without. I see kindness whose rarity cannot be comprehended. I see wisdom and insight that can only exist in an empathetic heart. I see a patience for which I will always be thankful. I see the greatest reason that I have ever found to close my eyes and thank the universe. I see a smile that causes me to forget hesitation. I see arms that provide more warmth than a million stars. I see a hope that refuses to be broken even when the heart that holds it is. I see a love that grows like ivy and overtakes all in its path.

I see a questioning of intentions. I see a fear of being loved for the wrong reasons. I see a doubt of self caused by men that could not accept you for everything that you are, and everything that you are not. I see insecurities caused by loneliness. I see desires longing to be fulfilled. I see a mind that longs for companionship on a deeper level. I see a broken heart that craves to be made whole. I see daily progress in looking past the shadows to see the trees that created them. I see a natural depth that most could not even attempt to pretend. I see a reason to answer the same question a thousand times until my meaning causes clarity.

I see a person whose existence causes my emotion to overpower the logic I cling to. I see the one that I would fight a thousand armies to keep safe. I see the one I have spent countless sleepless nights thinking about. I see the muse that inspires my heart to create. I see the person for whom a replacement does not exist. I see the cause of a desire that overcomes any willpower I possess. I see the sun by which my world rises and sets. I see the only definition of beauty that ever made sense. I see the only person that has ever been able to render me speechless. I see the catalyst for a love that cannot be contained. I see a girl that I was enamored with that has turned into a woman I am inspired by.

I see the only person that I want to hold close. I see the cause of trembling because of emotions longing to be freed. I see the person that has taught me countless lessons. I see the person I would rather spend a day with than an eternity without. I see the person I cannot help but touch to remind myself that they are real. I see the ghostwriter that has influenced every word I have written by guiding my hand through my heart. I see the one that sustained a love so great that it could not be transferred to another. I see the only person I want a future with. I see the person that I want to grow with.

When I look at you I see the answer to every question I have ever asked that mattered.

The smoke that billowed outwards following wind current
was visible even from the horizon,
and served as a beacon for a curious mind.
So the troubadour wandered to find what did warrant
a terrible curse that could brighten
the sky with fires furious enough to blind.

He heard a proclamation from the city's king
as it burned down before his eyes
that it was not worth his time to save.
A gift of buckets the man did bring
in hopes that he could make the flames subside
as its owner abandoned it and walked away.

The supports of each tired building that collapsed
reached out its fiery tendrils to the next
until all that was left of this city was Ash.
The time to save the molten city had lapsed
and though the troubadour was vexed
he continued with buckets of water unabashed.

The foundation survived the hateful flames
and the inhabitants of the city flooded the streets
to salvage the jewels that had been hidden inside.
A lyricist knows nothing of building frames
or the noise of impact as the hammer beats
so as not not impeded progress he stood aside.

He watched as the builders replaced
the crowded wooden buildings that had fallen to fire
with heavy and beautiful marble walls.
After each travel into the world he quickly raced
back to this city to inquire
if the buildings within had been reinstalled.

He pleaded with the builders to not neglect
the necessity of the simple buildings that were
a house for those without houses for so long.
Again and again the builders did reject
until he begged enough that they would concur
as long as he continued to bribe them with song.

He wandered the world and wrote every word
that the concert of the world whispered to him
and he learned to play every riff.
To make sure he inspired the builders that heard
the truth of this city's love hymn
and he played it to them every day as a gift.

If he inspired  the builders he could not know
but they built a city worthy of the praise
that claimed her the most beautiful city of all.
When they finished they brought him in to show
the new buildings that they did raise
of gold and gems that would never fall.

Each night was spent singing in her ear
as he traveled through the darker places
that the builders forgot to place lights.
He did not have the wisdom to hear
her whispers or feel her missed embraces
as he reveled in her delights.

A lyricist knows nothing of structural support
so how could he know he was to blame
that the city was collapsing under the weight of its beauty.
Further the city suffered because of his tort
as plunderers with their war wagons came
to claim this city as their *****.

They burned what was left to the ground
as they left with what they desired
and forgot about the the wreckage that remained.
The troubadour sat without a sound
for an elegy his voice was too tired
and his tears could no longer be contained.

The city he loved was Ash as he had found it
and he did not know what could be done
to show the world the beauty it held.
Travelers and merchants that passed were astounded
as he stood by it in the rain or the sun
because none could see the beauty that he beheld.

His clothes became damp and torn
and his singing voice a shrill
as he continued his labor of love.
He began to believe his welcome was worn
and his sadness began to make him ill
as he watched from the mountain above.

A troubadour knows how to sing
of the beautiful things in the world
yet knows not how to sustain them.
But if he finds his words can bring
hope to a city or a smile to a girl
he will collapse from producing constant hymn.

Each lover placed a single part of me into the conglomeration
that became the person you know,
once the blood between each of the pieces cooled
and sat still for a duration lengthy enough for it to congeal.

The first placed a heart on the mass
and showed me just how swiftly it could beat.
The second ****** on eyes that had been concealed
and granted me the ability to observe the beauty that others hide within.
Another attached arms to the naked torso
so that I could hold others close and feel their warmth.
The next applied lips to my face
and taught me how to use them to make skin shiver and tremble.
As they stood in line and waited patiently
each one added another portion to the being that you know.

Each gifted me with a portion of myself that did not exist previously,
but now,
with their lips dripping venom
they ask me in whispered tongues,
with the sheets that conceal their motives waving carelessly in the wind,
what gift it is that you can grant me that I do not possess.
What knowledge that one so full of youth could possibly bestow
and I cry out with a frustration
that I will never take opportunity to explain to them.

For all of the gifts that they were able to bestow upon me
none were able to calm the trembling of my cowardly soul as you can.

You and I,
when we were yet in darkness,
we stumbled to find our own paths until we collided together.
In this collision we found that we were able to grant a light
each to the other.
And in finding this we decided to provide that light
for as long as it could be sustained.

You, love, were not a guiding star
you were the sun around which all things revolved
and your gravity pulled me back to the path that I was meant to follow.

As I followed mesmerized behind you
in one of those dazed steps
my light began to falter
and I forgot to lead you from the darkness you continued in.

So I took every emotion that you granted
and used them as a source of fuel
so that I could create a conflagration
large enough that the darkness could not compete.
This burning that you inspired became your guiding star,
brilliant and always visible when you are in darkness,
but too far away to offer the warmth and light to keep you out of it.

There is so much that you have already taught me,
but I need your help to continue what I have already started to learn.

You have taught me that with a loving touch
my trembling soul can be put at rest,
and then it is possible to be comfortable within my own skin.
You have taught me how to love someone so completely
that their world changes
from shades of black to sepia tones
and then explodes in color so vivid
that they can scarcely walk outside without collapsing
from the beauty that you have granted to life.
You have taught me how to patiently listen
to the chaos of another's life,
and make no move,
but to only hold out my hand in case they should reach for it.
You have taught me that sorcery exists for converting restless sleep to rejuvenating dreams.
More than anything,
you have taught me that it is possible
for a person to have a love for another that is greater than their love for self.
Not through your words,
or through your ideas,
but through your actions as you drew me from the dark.

So if the venom drips close enough to your ears that you should hear it fall,
observe the way color leaps at me from my every surrounding
and know that you have taught me everything that they could not.

Structures loomed over indecisive tide
to grant approaching vessels a warning light,
but this vessel ignored their granted sight
when her heart cries called him to sit beside.
Lighthouses pointed home to be his guide
as he held her on the rocks until night,
the vessel's heart learned of the towers' fright
as the cold replaced her warmth at his side.

Expecting crushing on the rocky shore
left, unexpected, the falling of heart,
and his spirits when time came to depart
back to the lives that they had known before.

Beacons could not shine brighter than her eyes
that brought love to a heart as tides did rise.

I was taught that a man is a house without a fire.
A shelter made to protect those near from the elements of the
outside world.
Some hardened structure that was much softer on the inside,
but housing a maid that was ordered to keep the blinds closed.  
A house lacking the warmth of pure passion and emotion,
because they were always tempered with cold logic.

Yet the words that fell on your ears never escaped my lips without
the heat of passion propelling them.


You were taught that a woman is a fire without a home.
Bright and intense, but without protection from the elements of
the outside world.
Some radiant energy that is too warm to touch,
but enclosed by a lantern to keep others safe from your burning.
A fire lacking the understanding of cold logic and reason,
because the flames always flickered with the winds of emotion.

Yet your ears cooled the heat of my words and translated the
meaning that they carried.


I need no fire to start my inner passion,
and you need no house to protect you from the world.
I wonder why we were taught these things
when they never made any sense in regards to the two of us,
and why every single time we are together
I feel like at any moment
we might start setting houses on fire.

All of the senses I had before now
I was born into the world with.

From the first moment I was able to see,
the colors streamed in from every angle,
and the shapes that accompanied them
made my kaleidoscopic vision grant meaning
to the world that surrounded me.

When the first thing I heard
was my own wailing and moaning,
how beautiful the voices and songs were
as each note and each word and each sound
floated their way into my ears.

And when I felt my soft warm world
of skin and pillows and blankets,
I had no idea that everything I touched
until I learned to create new soft, warm worlds
would not be quite so warm, or quite so soft.

In those days before I could understand what 'no' meant
I did understand that everything that touched my tongue
had its own specific taste and flavor,
but somewhere along the line in my mind they all combined
into the two flavors of yes and no.

And in my first years I could smell so vividly
that the sometimes terrible scents that I encountered
were strong enough to make me weep,
but in time I was able to walk into different rooms
and keep myself safe behind walls of Febreze.

All of the senses I had before now
I was born into the world with.

But now I can sense the love in you.

I cannot see it with my eyes or hear it with my ears,
and I could not fathom explaining to someone
exactly what it is that your love tastes like on my tongue.
Your love leaves no scent to be remembered,
and though at times I hang on each sound you make,
I know that it is not the love in you producing them.

No pheromones that my body can sense could define it,
and my heart is lacking any sensory mechanism
that would lead me to believe that I pick up on it there.
My brain knows the love that dwells within you,
but I cannot feel it nearly as strongly when you are far away,
so I think my brain is only remembering what I have already sensed.

No sensing ***** that is a part of me
can sense the strength of the love that I feel
in your every glance and your every smile.
So this morning I woke up to the only logical conclusion:

You are the sensory ***** that I observe love through.

You are beautiful.

The words whispered without doubt.
Each syllable slipping through smoothly,
as if somehow shaping this statement supports
and supplements its substantiality.

You...are beautiful.

A falling phrase fathering the feeling,
that every fleeting fear has found itself futile and foreign.
Until you find yourself yielding and yearning to yip,
as you did in the yesteryears of youth.

But these words are not spoken with enough clarity.

These words are taken as a compliment meant to leave you blushing.
They are understood as a revelation encountered after you are found to be the victor
of a superficial comparison with those around you.
As if each attractive feature earns you additional points,
with a judge that can be bought with each glance and smile and touch.
As if each insecurity that you feel,
or each person that you think is more alluring,
can somehow subtract from the meaning of the statement.

Your beauty cannot be compared.  

The beauty that you contain cannot be explained
to joking friends when they ask where you fit in on a 10-scale.
You cannot put numbers next to the hope and insight that you so freely give.
There are not enough hedons to quantify it.

You are beautiful.

I will repeat it until you think it echoes off the walls surrounding you.
Until every time you look into a mirror you believe you have x-ray vision,
and you can see the warmth of your soul,
with the clarity of vision that you have granted me.
Until you realize that every smile that appeared,
every laugh that escaped,
and every brief happy dance that was ever done in your presence
was caused by the beauty that rests within you.

You...are beautiful.

Wielding the talent to brighten a day with a single smile,
the power to make all of the worries and doubts in a person's mind disappear
with a single thoughtful statement,
a capacity for selflessness that allows no cynic to doubt your motives,
and the ability to make others realize their own beauty
just by interacting with you.

The world is more beautiful because you are a part of it.

Lost in the single thing that complicates more than I could know.
Confused as the silent zephyr blows my emotions to and fro,
but my steady gaze cannot be averted even by the beauty of the skies
because I've found something more beautiful in the depths of your eyes.
This hoping, longing, burning for something more than the mundane
has now been quenched to the point that I can't find reason to complain,
and the smiles that were once so hollow are now filled with bliss.
Never could I ever wish for something more than this peacefulness that persists.
With only a glance and a smile you have driven all the doubt from my brain,
and if I could forget everything else, then only this moment would remain.
Even though I can't vocally explain how I feel inside without it coming through
I know that it doesn't bother me when I"m standing here with you.
You've caused me to feel some things that I've been fighting for so long
and no matter how hard I fight them it seems that the feelings are just as strong.
So as I give in and fall collapsed at the mercy of the world and its harms,
I relax when I realize I'm being held up by the support of your arms.
As the dark night continues I find this simple notion to be true,
That as much as you are holding me up, you're relying on me too.
The idea that seems so simple stands like stone in the blowing wind
and that thought lingers on my mind until time forces the embrace to end.
So as I drift into the darkness of midnight's fast enveloping shroud
I know that to feel all of these feelings is more than should be allowed,
but the single greatest battle that I doubt I shall ever win
is to leave this place without wishing that I were in your arms again.

To be imbued with the conviction that empathic listening is a panacea,
by the surreptitious, murmurous harbinger and his mellifluous words,
provoked brooding that my comprehension of his susurrous eloquence was a mondegreen,
when this scintilla of sagacity left a fetching ingenue crestfallen.

By the surreptitious, murmurous harbinger and his mellifluous words!
I adopted a propinquity to this furtive, ephemeral epiphany,
but when this scintilla of sagacity left a fetching ingenue crestfallen,
I discerned this lagniappe beleaguered our dalliance.

I adopted a propinquity to this furtive, ephemeral epiphany.
When she became inured to petrichor I knew my method pyrrhic,
and when I discerned that this lagniappe beleaguered our dalliance,
I vowed to rectify the imbroglio for my quintessential cynosure.

When she became inured to petrichor I knew my method pyrrhic,
and I ruminated that her insouciance was only forbearance.
I vowed to rectify my quintessential cynosure of the imbroglio,
and fabricated a denouement to return her to halcyon incipient.

I ruminated that her insouciance was only forbearance,
until hearing her state our conflation made each a moiety of our own panoply.
She fabricated a denouement to return us to the incipience of halcyon
with ineffable felicity, and I remembered with ebullience my inamorata's words.

Hearing her state our conflation made each a moiety of our own panoply
provoked brooding that my comprehension of her susurrous eloquence was a mondegreen.
With ineffable felicity I found ebullience in my inamorata's words
and was imbued with the conviction that empathic listening is a panacea.

A lachrymose ebullition,
unable to be muffled by its producer,
is postulated idiosyncratic,
and erupts behind locked doors of each abode.  

Remembrance trailing each hastily inhaled sob
of each adolescent informed of responsibility,
and of how appearances are more important
than actualities,
but not the stones it chains to their feet,
nor how they must repress sentiment.

If the building blocks of Stonehenge
were to frolic and wriggle voluntarily,
what force would fight the gravity
always pressing downwards on those below,
from collapsing the entire structure?

Without convenience to focus on sentiment
the neglected portion of our humanity
congeals until it can no longer be contained,
until it metastasizes from heart to brain.

Until the bulldozer rolls through you without resistance,
to create a more scenic landscape,
or else,
a multistoried parking garage for others to leave
their possessions they do not require at the moment.

Inaudible to distracted passers-by
wrapped up in their causeries,
of the scores of their preferent Colosseum teams,
or else,
sensational stories relayed by jovial faces
from the teleprompter directly to their subconscious.

This outburst,
anticipated to reverberate only within the confines
of the relative safety of this shelter,
until the sound waves of each echo
slowly
lose
momentum.

Who could be expected to hear each cog,
slowly being worn down,
while hidden within a working machine?

When those that convince the populace
that their lament will be heard and mended
urgently cram currency into their ear canals
when their position has allowed their own
muffled cries to cease.

This begs a question from the masses.
A question, muffled, and without words.
Each raised hand stretched upwards
as the inattentive teacher ignores,
causes another hand to reach skyward.

This populace never intended for their own
whimpers to be heard,
not heard, but heeded.
While the torment of their tear filled convulsions
bulldozes through them,
not heeded, but auscultated.

Yet, these proceedings were never attended.

Not even by those same
that attempt to muffle their own ebullition
within the sound-proofed walls of the shelters
that they conceal themselves in.

Each, alone, quietly succumbs to the pressures
of waiting out
jovial sentiment with uncomfortable contentment.
Waiting,
to not exhale each murmur,
but to consume the promises they are fed
by those same whose ears are plugged with green,
until the protecting walls grow bars
and all are provided with solitary confinement.

Until it is only logic that guides the thought
that each is truly and irreversibly alone.

Until all are singled out in their struggles,
until they are uncomfortable recognizing
that they exist.

Until, separately, each attempts to smooth
their worn edges,
as to not break down the machine.
To hide the nicks that they have endured
lest they should cause,
a momentary lapse,
in productivity.

Each gear is further deformed
by this bending and contorting,
as the fear of protest causes them
to endure the pressure of warping
to try to fit a position
that they were not molded for.

Until they believe that unrepressed sentiment
has been made illegal,
and that unmuffled voices
will only cause more harm.

Yet, there are those that hear,
and heed,
and auscultate,
each muffled cry.
Each weeping convulsion,
and the pressure caused by keeping them in.

For those,
each turn they make within the machine,
is made with the sole purpose
of removing mufflers.

Until each muffled sentiment is uninhibited,
moved by the tsunami of a zeitgeist,
and ascends toward the empyrean.
Until each cultural center covered by a filter
inverts the filter's position
to collect sentiment from the base,
and send the congealed, concentrated,
neglect of humanity to the precipice.

Each syllable combining with the next,
working in unison,
as those that participate in primal dances,
to take a new form.

Not even those that release this unmuffled sentiment
know the form this conglomeration will adopt,
but it will move from one coast to the next.
A tidal wave of tears that will push
from one corner of humanity to the next,
until we again understand that it is acceptable
to feel our pain in unison.

So that we can begin to make progress
on the alterations that are necessary to the machine.
So that we are once again able to produce something,
besides awkward struggle.
So that we can stand on the highest precipice
of every unmuffled sentiment,
with unimpeded hope that one day we may relearn how
to hear, and heed, and auscultate,
happiness in unison.

The beholden larva beckons
for none to behold
the simplicity of its movements.

The predator of hole-ridden leaf fields
begs for notice
to be postponed.

There is safety that will follow
the eyes that continue
to follow past it.

In another cycle it will leave
behind the simplicity
that it now knows.



The beholden chrysalis beckons
for none to behold
its lack of movement.

The loiterer of leaf-ridden branch
begs for notice
to be postponed.

Lacking the safety of hymenopterans
its predecessors continue
to follow past it.

In another cycle it will leave
behind the simplicity
the pharate now requires.



Behold the transformed beckon
for none to behold
its clumsy movements.

The maunderer of pushing winds
received no notice
of what it postponed.

There was safety before
the forceful gale
followed past it.

In this cycle it has left
behind the simplicity
it now longs for.



It struggles to hold fast
to the branches
it once traversed so easily.

A gift to observers
is the burden's cause
carried in silence.

The most momentous utterance that has ever summoned forth an alteration escaped from his lips.
The room forgot its dimness as if the attribute had never previously existed.
Each syllable bombarded their surroundings in waves of brilliant neon.
Each percussionary word collaborated with the next to create a rhythm remembered by only two.
This unforeseen ballad to avoid embarking on Sisyphus' task.
This single verse sang by the jester to relieve Orsino's passions.
A battle song of beating drums being pounded by a racing heart.
A lullaby in remembrance of the warm pillow where her head once rested in soft slumber.
A requiem for the dying desires breaking through their cages behind her eyes.

The most momentous bravery that has ever required assistance was gasped into her lungs.
A dimness crossed her face following the shadow of her hand.
The room erased the color from each syllable that he had previously uttered.
Each syllable became a tiny vacuum attempting to pull the air from within her.
Each chiming tear collaborated with the next to create a rhythm remembered by only one.
This unforeseen ballad was a spell to repel erotes.
This single verse sang by Phaeton to Zeus in his last breath.
A battle song of once intact dreams being beaten by a false heart.
A lullaby in remembrance of the warm heart that put her mind at rest.
A requiem for the dying innocence uncaged for all to see.

He keeps the contents of his life in boxes. The clear Rubbermaid totes with the locking lids that keep the contents from spilling out across the floor when they are least needed. The same containers that keep everything within protected against assailing liquid falling from above. Most of his possessions have long since been discarded, but there is an odd assortment of memories that are kept safe.

A model rocket that his grandfather, long since passed, used to take him to open fields to launch towards the heavens. It never quite reached, but in his mind he was chasing down the parachute of a spaceship returning from a long voyage.

Birthday cards received when it was still exciting to count the years. When the cards still had happy monsters devouring birthday cake and the short handwritten messages read "We are so proud of the person you are becoming".

First place medals from sports competitions, spelling bees, and field days. A single second place medal from a martial arts tournament where brute force could not overcome the wisdom of an elder opponent.

The metal plates off of every baseball trophy earned since playing teeball at age four. When the shelves could no longer support the weight of the trophies they were discarded, and the cheaply made nameplates are the only reminder left that they ever existed.

Too many years of school yearbooks with sloppy signatures following words of wisdom reminding him to stay cool, and that he would see you all again after the summer.

A red, sweat-stained Schlitz hat that was stolen from the older, much more cool, cousin. He stopped asking for its return years ago, and has probably forgotten that it even existed.

Certificates that prove he was once a member of Builder club, Beta club, Phi Theta Kappa, National Honor Society, Student Government, and Junior Ambassadors to the Chamber of Commerce. Reminders of times when joining clubs meant you got to miss class to hang out with your friends.

A single blue ribbon knotted three times as a reminder that it should never be untied. Beyond those simple knots are all of the love letters that were written between him and the first girl that was able to open his eyes so that he could see what love, and loss, truly meant.

An old, barely functioning, paintball gun that he bought with the money from his first real job. The same gun that, through some miracle, gave him and his father their first common interest. He picks it up from time to time and pretends that they are still hiding behind bunkers ready to charge the opposing team.

A tiny red Rock 'Em Sock 'Em robot ring used as an excuse to wrestle around in bed with one of his closest friends on a lazy Sunday afternoon. The blue ring moved far away and has long since stopped answering her phone, knowing that the rematch of the century will never occur.

Diplomas from high school and college that will probably never hang framed on a wall. He was never truly proud of accomplishments so easily attained.

Hiding in the shadows of these boxes is each first kiss that is a stone sitting beneath the shattered mirror friendships that could not hold their weight. He is reminded to find either lighter stones or more sturdy mirrors in the future.

Friends that he has met in countless towns huddle together, trying to stay warm amidst the bitter cold they perceive around them. He calls or texts from time to time, but the embers cannot replace the pyre he used to provide.

Lovers that never expected the love they received in return bask in the solace of the fact that they are rarely seen or disturbed. He smiles when he comes across them, but knows better than to retrieve them from the storage where they are kept.

He still keeps all of the contents of his life in boxes. The same clear Rubbermaid totes with the locking lids, whose transparency allows him to view the contents from afar without disturbing them. He says he uses them so all of the contents don't spill out when he doesn't want them to, but his blurred vision reminds him that he chose the waterproof variety for a reason.

It would only take an hour or two to unpack everything at each new location he moved to, but he knows that the next time he unpacks he will not be doing it alone. It becomes more difficult for him each time he has to condense everyone and everything of import into totes light enough to carry to the next location.

All of the toothpaste has now been pushed from the tube.

Pushing the substance out was a simple task at first. When the toothpaste would overflow at the slightest compression when the cap was removed.

Day after day there was less and less minty paste within the tube, and this is when the struggle began. I pushed so hard that my fingers became reddened and sore just to get enough to produce a thin layer over the head of the brush.

As time progressed, there was scarcely anything left within the container, and that which remained started to harden and cling for its life on the edges of the tube.

The less that remained, the harder I pushed, and the more the tube resisted.

I put all of my weight on a large brush and compressed the plastic until I gave up with frustration. Then I just sat and stared at the mostly empty container of toothpaste. I contemplated why it would fight so hard to keep that last little bit.

I threw the container to the side and replaced it when the struggle became too much effort.

Then every day, for what seemed to be years, that tube sat in front of the mirror and never shrank in size. Even still, I'm not sure why I kept it there. There were moments when it looked up at me with its spiteful reassurance that this rubbery tube would never be fully devoid of its contents.

Even when other containers were completely emptied and discarded into the waste, this one stayed on the counter where it had always been.

I often wondered why I let it sit there for so long.
Decaying.

And then today something happened...
I saw your picture and realized I don't love you anymore.

All of the toothpaste has now been pushed from the tube.

His books are all jammed in the closet.
With clasping arms and cautioning lips
the Crier's voice would tell me --
O love is the crooked thing.
What weight o' woe.
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
What did I know, what did I know?
But opportunity is real, and life is free.
Love strikes away the chains of fear.
It's the fire in my eyes.
That's what good for the soul,
and life is too much like a pathless wood.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
Through living roots awaken in my head.
(But near his ears, above his brains)
I don't want to go on being a root in the dark.
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
making the pathways neat.
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
that passes for thought.

And he likes having thought of it so well.
I am heir, and this my kingdom. Shall the royal voice be mute?

I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled.
Slowly the sounds came back again.
A fearful trill of things unknown
occasionally breaks the silence,
which is the bliss of solitude.
I want it to confirm,
but the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
to shut the other's gaze down.

If unto me all tongues were granted
to never say nay,
for still I hoped to see the stranger's face.

Oh whence do you come, my dear friend, to me?
What makes thee startle
if you have seen all this and more.
White woman with numberless dreams,
dreaming of heroes.
Ever serene and fair,
seeker of truth,
your heart is luminous.
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a-crowding.
You are violets with wind above them.
Red roses at her feet,
her voice was like the voice the stars
had when they sang together.
So shake the very Heaven on high,
lady at whose imperishable smile,
on whose forbidden ear,
with love in the loving cup.
Does it come as a surprise?

Come! vouchsafe to me what has yet been vouchsafed to none—Tell me the whole story,
"To save my lady!"
Ye bid me tell a story too,
and you may see me cry.
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
And mix her woe and tears with mine.

But that too, I am afraid,
is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said?
For if it were where it is not,
to weep would do thy glory wrong.
And I watered it in fears,
and it gives me a scare,
like a heavy load.

All the world wondered:
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows.
I speak the truth in soberness, and say,
“I want you to know
one thing.
In all the creeds there is hope and doubt, but of this there is no doubt:
I would dare to say,
you made me want to be a saint,
and that has made all the difference.”.
I wonder do you feel to-day,
somebody loves us all.

And one man in his time plays many parts,
and, in parting from you now,
I walk away into the night.
He shall write no more.

Placed in plain sight as a place for curious eyes to rest
Lying upon the mantle was a single picture
Each day, the dust surrounding it seemed to swell,
And further shrouded the frame's crack
Shards of glass still fell from time to time
Each landing in its own bed of dust

To himself, he muttered that he should dust
Each time the phantom passed it to rest
And as always, he did not have the time
Claiming that in his mind there was a perfect picture
Heavy footsteps gave him away as the floor started to crack
Memories overcame and caused his heart to swell

Even then he wondered why he painted her so swell
How could he adore the one that blew his dreams to dust
Over the phone, he tried to answer, but his voice did often crack
When he tried to reproduce what he had with the rest
Too many times he had tried to create the same picture
Of what he once had, but in a different time

Finally he decided that he could waste no more time
Each day for a week he paddled over swell after swell
Each day for a week he could not jettison this faded picture
Lines blurred as tears mixed with paint and dust
Each obscuring line brought his soul more rest
Violently he hurled the picture, hoping he didn't crack

Each lonely moment inspired him to give it one more crack
Realizing that in this world, he only had so much time
Young love sank with the picture, and on the ocean floor it would rest
To move forward, all of his courage he had to swell
He put behind him the times of darkness, phantoms, and dust
In the days that passed he learned how to paint his own picture

Now more faces pass the mantle than he could ever picture
“Good thing you removed that horrid painting” they crack
“You finally took the time to clean up and dust”
“One day you will admit that we were right this time”
“Until I saw her today I thought my heart would never again swell”
“Friend is the best word for someone that makes you forget the rest”

Each day he tells himself he needs a little more time
Every smiling glance she gives makes him feel so swell
Letter one of each line will tell you the rest.

Thoughts escape through cracks and crevices of the swelling gray matter. Each breath forcefully exhaled through thinly parted lips pushes the unfinished coliseum constructed of heavy stones, weighted with unsure purpose, out into the previously unoccupied space before me. Each exhalation creates small beings composed of struggle that march mechanically into the arena. Ready to throw their lives on the line to fight for recognition. As these thoughts battle one another, one falls after the next. Once the battles between these thoughts has finished, and the coliseum is filled with dreams and ideas that will never find themselves fully recognized, only one stands victorious. Though battered and broken from the ****** battles it has fought, selflessness has conquered any that would seek to oppose it. It inhales the dire wounds caused to the others, and they stand before the crumpled mass that saved everything they fought so hard to achieve through personal sacrifice. Not knowing the events that occurred, they cannibalized selflessness to sate their primitive greed. Now a small portion of him exists within every ideal that escapes through pursed lips from the fields of grey matter where they were conceived. Through this process the idea of love was given life, and it will forever seek that selflessness that gave birth to it.

These unfailing ocular orbs did not hesitate to be drawn to the one that would give it all to be given the same. Peering into the depths of the mirror I can see her reflection. A realization that slowly caused my stomach to toss and turn as if within a sleepless night. I counted the temporal grains as each fell into my outstretched hands and piled into an uneven pyramid. It was in this moment that I decided to give this captured time as a gift to the one that inspired it. To the being that I have known since the single supernova explosion that inspired existence. The ***** pushing vitae through this shell quickened its pace upon noticing its other half within reach of the arms it sustains. Neurotransmitters being fired out as quickly and brilliantly as the fireworks of the mid-summer gathering. Chemicals carrying the message that she exhaled effortlessly to me. "We are the same". My body fully realized the gravity of the situation as I was pulled downwards into the chair resting beneath me. As a scientist that has come to the realization that they have discovered something that will alter the facts of reality for those that understand it. I am the other side of the mirrors that she stares into. A mirror that long ago cleaved a single soul into two parts that would meet again in each lifetime that they shared. Two parts separated by no secrets, as the words both thought were whispered into the darkness to never be heard again were received by the other half.

How else would someone know every feeling that I felt without me having to verbally express a single one?

She smiled as she told me her name.

Many artists create for approval, to translate the beauty they find in the world so that others can feel what they feel (which is second hand at best), or to try to better understand the world that they are in and communicate their findings with the rest of the world. I would stand here today and say that is all meaningless to me. If one cannot find their own truths, then they do not deserve the truths that they find. Everyone can see 'the beauty of the world' that surrounds them, and far too many people try to turn their senses into tangible words on a page. What difference does it make, better yet, what difference should it make to a person if others view the world in the same light that they do? It is for this purpose that I do not view the world in any light. When I create I view the world without light. Feeling my way through the darkness trying to find something that I can hold on to. I am a horrible and pitiful creature when I search for ideas, but when I can wrap my hands around these ideas with no light shed from an outside source there is no greater sense of accomplishment. I write not about the beauty of the world, not about fantastic imageries that could be on an inspirational poster, nothing of the heavens and angels, because when I write my demons take over. Every doubt that sits in the back of my mind unanswered. Every amount of corruption that I have seen in the world. Every hope that has been shot down to crash as a fallen spaceship. Every desire that I will never see fulfilled. These are the things that give me the passion and inspiration to create. Perhaps it is for the balance of the world that I write with such things in mind. As I watch so many writers fail to create what it is that they pictured in their creative vision simply because their minds are cluttered with preconceived notions of love, of good, and of this great being that will provide them with their every desire (deliverable on death, as I have been told); I know that most will surely continue to fail. The world does not have a perfect clockwork structure that they would have everyone else see. I hope that in controlling my demons I will be able to create something that is more authentic. More pure.

Art is struggle.
Creations are covered with our sacrifices.
Without the grotesque, beauty cannot truly be seen.
Without darkness, we cannot understand light.
My cup runneth over.

Seven great inspirations
I remember being young and thinking that there was no greater goal to seek than the goal of love. I had told myself countless times that my greatest goal in life was to find someone and make them the happiest person in the world. I know now that the naivety of that statement is enough to make even the most romantic shake their heads. It was from this naivety and hope that a young man fell in love. As all things that are destined to horribly fail, it failed horribly. The joy in this young man's eyes dissipated and he was left horribly confused. How could my greatest inspiration and the goals that I had set for myself fall apart so swiftly? It was around this time that I slowly started seeing the world for what it truly was. There was great sorrow in this time, but it was a time of more beauty than I had ever known. Years that I thought were wasted were resurrected as emotions and perceptions that slowly found their way from my hand to paper. I learned from a very young age that it was proper to hide emotion, and so many of these creations were destroyed after I had pushed them from my mind. It was not until I let a few close friends read some of what I had written that I realized the value that words held. I used these words to bring happiness to others and evoke emotion where there was none before. All of the ideals and emotions that I held in high regard for so long slowly withered away. It was in this time that I slowly learned that because there was so much good that came from something so devastating, that those things I once thought were so evil may have something good to be found in them. There were great inspirations to be found in those things I had once discarded as sinful and without worth. I found beauty and inspiration in what most would call corruption and imperfect. These things, which were taught to me as sins, gave me more inspiration than any rules or restriction would ever be able to. For the first time in my life I actually felt free. It was with this newfound freedom that I was finally able to express what I truly felt without fear of guilt or punishment. My outward appearance stayed approximately the same (as I was taught that appearances were always important and some habits were hard to break), but I realized that I was a completely different person. It is these differentiations from what I considered to be the norm that allowed me to grow as a person instead of as a machine that was built by those around me. It is this facade of normality that I will forever wear as a defense mechanism to keep those as closed minded as I once was from prying. It is the sins that I once fought so hard against that would help me realize the person that I truly was. This is not merely a documentation of the things that inspire me, this is a tribute to the realizations that allowed me to grow as a person. A great deal of my writing tends to come out as metaphors, but in what will follow I will do my best to write clearly and without riddles. These are the thoughts that bring my creations to life. This is the fuel that drives a man down a road comfortably, no longer worried about speed limits or street signs. Now I will explain how these seven deadly sins breathed life into an otherwise lonely and discarded man.

Pride
Are we all not more important than everyone else in our own universe? Is there some secret kept within the recesses of our mind that perverts this self preservation into something that is frowned upon? Are we not supposed to be proud of our accomplishments? Where are the lines between what is appropriate and a horrid vanity drawn? Would we not become Lucifer if the feeble minds trapped in these mortal shells were placed in a shell more beautiful and eternal than anything we have ever seen? Are we so quick to judge those guilty of our same crimes? Tell me that if you were given the chance you would not change places with a god, and I will never believe another word that pushes its way past your lips. We are wired to attempt to gain higher standing wherever we are. When I have created something that I believe holds truth I am proud, and I am proud that I am proud. If it were not for pride where would that sense of accomplishment come from? Should I allow my pride to turn to shame, and **** a driving force to create something even better next time? I think not. In the universe of our art, we are the gods. We manipulate every word, every pixel, every stroke of the brush. We have ultimate control of the characters, the situations, the emotions, the outcomes, and do not have to provide an explanation to anyone unless we decide to. When we are done with our creations we stand back and say that they are good. A faulty attempt to turn the artist into a god, but the intentions are thinly veiled. To create and to have others look upon your creation with wonder and awe, is that not the intentions of almost all artists? What purpose does this serve other than the creation of pride? I would say that there are none. My writing is the universe where I am god, and there are none other as powerful or that have as much say as I do.

Sloth
Call me cynical for not seeing the absolute beauty of the world around me. Sloth, the great sin of sadness and despair. I look at the world and am dissatisfied with what I see. I have always been fond of Poe, because he wrote about this more than anything else. Why should I be any different than this? The only love I have ever known was ripped from my hands, and I was left with nothing but a feeling of wanting. I watch people walk by with their masks of happiness and content, and when the day is done I see these same people left shaking and world weary. How much rain should fall from my eyes before they become as black as the clouds they do their best impressions of? With every attempt to better the world thwarted on each turn, it seems as if things are not going to change. The problem with writing on the subject of sorrow is that many view it as unhealthy or look down upon it. It is only after putting words to the things that bother me that I have control over them, and can manipulate them as I wish. Sorrow and pain are less of a threat when they can be controlled. Where is it that this sorrow and despair comes from? Perhaps I read too many fairy tales as a child. Perhaps I have yet to get to the end of the story of life where the moral will be revealed to me. Perhaps it is this surreal world that I could never persuade myself to live in. A world where I am to put on a mask of happiness and pretend that everything is going just the way that it should. A world full of everything that I could ever desire. It is because I cannot alter my senses that give my perception of the world that this demon resides within me. My writing is the realization that the world is not what I was led to believe it to be. My creations are the sorrow and despair of living in an imperfect world, and wishing that it was perfect.

Gluttony
Do not overindulge in anything, not even those things which bring pleasure and have no consequence. I think this is a flawed statement at best. In my writing I discuss extraordinary circumstances or situations that I have been involved in. Many of these situations happened only in my own mind, but a number of them occurred when I overindulged in certain things and saw the world in a completely different perspective. If we all lived in perfect moderation, would the world not be boring and uninspiring? I choose to do those things that bring pleasure, and if I do them too often then the result is simply more pleasure. Gluttony is the cause of many interesting nights that allowed me to step outside of my protective shell and experience things that I would have never experienced otherwise. How could I not pay homage to such a thing? How could I desire to cease doing something that only opened my eyes? Gluttons will be looked down upon and called drunkards and addicts, but I have never met a being that has not committed gluttony at one point or another. I was once told to overindulge in moderation. Where does the line between an altered state of mind that we can learn from and a sin stand? In my creations there is no line, because there is no sin. My writings are guilt-free and full of overindulgence of thought. My words are my minds altered vision grasping for truth.

Wrath
These **** words will not flow from my mind, through my hand, and onto this god forsaken medium. What is it that I need to do to express my emotions so that others can understand them? If my words are too abstract it is only because of the thoughts and emotions that they follow. If people cannot follow my metaphors and hidden meanings then it is of no concern to me. The fact that they will not try to stimulate their intellectual ***** in order to understand something more complex than they are used to drives me insane. My pulse quickens with each thought of the issue. It is impossible that I left my metaphors too veiled or did not give enough surrounding exposition. These creations make perfect sense. Then I step back and look at the gibberish that I have created and hurl it across the room as harshly as possible. The thoughts and ideas are all here, it all makes sense in my mind, so WHY WILL THE WORDS NOT COME OUT RIGHT? The inability to explain senses or perceptions in a concrete manner that the audience will understand creates more anger in me than I will ever understand. An anger that refuses to subside. With a clenched fist the pens and pencils are broken, the keyboard is shattered, and the words are broken down into the letters that sit in a pile on my floor. My creations inspire nothing more than they inspire my hatred for ignorance. My creations are an angry conglomeration of letters wishing that they could show the emotions that inspired them. My words are children beaten for insubordination.

Greed
Greed is the greatest inspiration that most will ever know. To bathe in golden bullion and never have another care in the world. Greed not for the sake of greed, but for the sake of freedom. I am inspired by greed of a different sort. The desire to gather every idea that I can find and horde it as my own. The greed of knowledge and experience. When I was younger it was interesting to be the most mature person my age, and now that I am older it is not knowledge that is sought, but wisdom. I horde this knowledge and wisdom in my own personal compressor and squeeze them until they are in the purest possible form. It is this ink that I dip my quill into hoping that my faulty hands can transfer such a perfect concoction onto the parchment without ruining it. Without poking a hole through the parchment. Without deciding after I am finished that the words do not hold the meaning that they carry, and having to destroy everything and start over. I would gladly give all the wealth that I have to be able to sate my greed for the expression of perceptions and knowledge. These are the pains that I have endured, and they are mine and mine alone to claim. There is no greater value on this Earth in my eyes. People can have their tubs of golden bullion, and I will help them with generous contributions when able, but if they ever decide they want my words there will be war. A war of greed. A war of necessity. My creations are my glorious mansion that holds the treasures of experience and knowledge. My words are the golden bullion that so many men have fought and died for, and I will horde them until some greater force can pry them from the hands that created them.

Lust
Love is an illusion that was created for your confusion. Those that speak of love are disillusioned into believing in some extrasensory emotion that they allow to consume them. Love is the most abstract emotion or idea that anyone could ever base a creation on. I tire of reading of love at first sight, love found upon a spring morning, or love that has been discarded. These things are boring, and as long as people persist in writing on these things I will always have kindling for my fires. Tell me about something that I know. Lust is the most pure form of the idea of love that is kept in circulation for no apparent purpose, besides creating sorrow for those that cannot find something so perfect as it has been described. Lust does not mislead and has no ulterior motives. The warmth of another being pressed tightly against you in a shared ecstasy. That is all. There are no complications, there is no confusion, there are no forced rituals that you have to fake your way through to get to another goal. Has the world become so confused that it forgets its instincts. They tell me that lust is a sin, but I know very well that it has created more pleasure than any restriction I will ever be given. I have heard many times to wait for love and it will come in time, but never have I heard anyone told to wait for lust. There is something unexplainable about finding oneself in a passionate situation that they had never even thought about before the moment that it happened. It is the same way with my writing. My writing is the beautiful girl whose name I do not know, as she is leading me across the house to a more secluded place.

Envy
I was taught never to keep up with the Joneses, and I will never attempt to. I had planned to accomplish such great deeds that the Joneses would be found as a wreck of green helplessness. In my great plan I had no intention of ever envying another person. It was not until I fell in love with words that my great plan fell apart. It was these words that would be my downfall. Writers, publishers, artists, and editors all held titles that I wanted for my own. Those that were far more lucky whose works were published. We use the same letters and words, but I could never convince people to see the appeal in truth. It was when I realized this fact that I became envious. I was not envious of the titles, or of the money

i swear tis dreadful my dear
to face ones greatest fear
to have nought and none to hold near
to lose control and let life's wheel steer,
i'll cry out, i swear, in dismay
if for one more fretful day
i hear not the words you say
yet doubt not my intent to stay,
only for your sweet words of peace
that so oft give my soul release
will make these worries cease
and take these fears from me,
they still tell me my dreams are untrue
that my smiles do not come from you
but if, only if, they knew
my desires they would not misconstrue,
so as this day comes to end
my mind to my heart i will send
and i'll see your face my friend
until waking from slumber once again.

with that distant look again overcoming my ability to conceal
all of the things that i try to pretend aren't really real,
trying to find the hope that i once help so close and dear
but i wake up to find myself alone with you no longer here.
i fall to my knees hollow and empty in both arms and soul
smiles have digressed to the bitter glares of old,
i try to capture the tears before they fall from my eyes
so that you cannot see all that i would hide and deny.
i have lost the will that once drove me to strive for more
and this failure has left me in a drunken heap upon the floor,
for that is the only warmth that makes its way into my core
and the fears go away so quickly when i can't remember anymore.
and one more drink i am sure could not hurt at all
until i stumble around lose my feet and start to fall,
i find myself without the strength or will to rise up once again
so i close my eyes and wait for the room's spinning to end.
and in this state i realize that i have not had a drink all night
but the alcohol content of life sometimes is too much to fight,
i am but a lightweight next to the thousand proof bottle of reality
and once again i have drank too much and it has overcome me.

you stand there wide eyed overcome by disbelief
that you find yourself in these situations once again
after your turmoils you will breathe a sigh of relief
and the birth of realization will start to slowly begin

i reach out for something you cannot grasp, believe in something you cannot understand, and long for something you do know know how to feel. it is beyond you. if only i would have known this sooner, i would not have wasted so much time trying to explain it to you.

i count the sleepless nights like some count sheep
it's because of these broken promises that i can't sleep,
this misinterpreted flawed logic that you want to keep
in hopes that eventually into my brain it will seep.

there are some that i gave all to that deserved nothing, when the one that i should have given my everything to is the only one that has really mattered all along. and now she is only in happy memories. the rest of you do not even come close to everything that she is...and i'm tired of trying to find someone who does. she has weighted my scales heavily against all of you, set the standard so high that none of you will ever to be able to tip the scales in your favor, but my soul will never be at rest until i find someone who can.

when you put as much energy into something as you possibly can...you will be selective about where you should direct that energy. and sometimes you find that all of your energy was spent running down a dead-end alley. so you simply walk back to the road and remember to never deviate on that path ever again.

if you feel that you must love, then love with heart, soul, mind, and strength...without all of these your love is incomplete...and destined to fail.

to forget is to lose regret or to misinterpret the goals we set. to gain is to maintain without the possibility of losing it again. to remember is pointless once it is done.

that which you lack none can give you but yourself. there are none that can make you complete or make you feel whole, that is your task. it is not until you have mastered your own mind that you should search for someone to compliment the person that you have become.

your mind is your greatest tool, your thoughts your greatest weapon, your words are everyone else's greatest enemy, and unfortunately being closed minded is your best defense.

vague predictions are rarely untrue. but to see what happens exactly how it happens before it actually happens is a gift and a curse. it gives insight and knowledge beyond the realms of the senses, but if one would share such things with others they would be considered mad.

it is almost surprising how people are so kind and open to people they do not even know. a simple smile, meaningless conversation, or common courtesy shared with a being that has nothing in common with you except that you are both in a state of being referred to as life and are in the same place at the same time. it shows that people really are good at heart. but when you get close to some people they are corrupted by their own emotions, confused by the situation, or scared of what may come. it is not that these people are bad people or bad friends, they have just not yet come to terms with the fact that people can mean well and not expect anything in return. that people can care about them without any logic or reason behind it. when if they would only open their eyes they would see that there are people who would like to do nothing more than celebrate their oddities, their peculiarities, and their differences. the things that make them unique, the things that they would try to hide. there is good in everyone, some just hide it better than others.

in a conversation a friend told me that you can't just drop people out of your life, you can't just burn bridges, and you can't leave people behind so that you can become something greater. and we argued about this for a short while. but by the end of the conversation, after i had explained all of the circumstances and everything else was taken into account, this person looked me in the eyes and assured me that there was nothing else that i could possibly do. the sad thing was...i really didn't believe anything that i was saying, i was just saying it to make me feel better about what i was going to do. are people so eager to agree and fit in that their morals are thrown to the side? i wish i could say no.

i am not telling anyone the secrets of the universe. i am not some great thinker that tells people things that they would have never thought of. i just pay attention and make observations about the things that happen around me on a daily basis. i am not doing anything that most of you could not do. i'm just bored enough and have enough time to actually do it.

when the morning comes and this bliss ends none of the trivial problems that i worry myself with will be gone, the worries that burden my heart will still lay heavy on my being, and there will still be no way for me to do what i wish i could do. but if i can escape it for a few more hours, if i can keep it off of my mind for just a few seconds, then i will feel like i have accomplished something.

i have proven my abilities once again. and they wanted to know how i did what i did so easily, when they knew that they could not do the same even if they knew what i did. but it's really simple, you just have to look straight through people, past all of their fronts and all of the things that they want you to believe, straight through their eyes and into their soul. the body is just a shell to carry around the soul that is within it. once you learn to see through that shell and into the depths of a person's very being, then you will understand how i can do the things that i do.

my body betrays me. when people see me all they see is the shell. this big intimidating guy that seems to stand behind a clear wall of stone, untouchable. but if you only knew what is beyond the surface then you would see why this has all become so difficult for me.

it is better to say nothing when you mean everything than to say everything when you mean nothing.

is a person considered a success or a failure when they can have anything that anyone else in the world could ever want, but they cannot find the only thing that means more than the world to them?

if i could only open your eyes. enlighten your soul. so that you could see the things that i see. feel the things that i feel. then you would see that i am not the one whose thoughts are off target. but truth cannot be taught or learned. it can only be known by those that have found it on their own.

what i have done was no easy feat. it has troubled me greatly but i know that it was the right thing to do. not for myself, but for all concerned. and i now have happiness back in my grasp. i just have to tighten my clinch and pull it closer to my heart. because a person can cry until they drown in their own tears and no one will ever notice, and it will not make them feel better nor will it fix any of the problems. but once they take control of a situation and dispose of the cause of it then the changes themselves will make a world of difference.

i would say i love you more often, but it is often mistaken as a passinng sentiment. because most people do not truly understand what love is. but just as it would make no sense to give a painting to a blind person, or to play a song to those who could not hear it; it is just as senseless to give love to those who do not know how to feel it.

i almost feel as if i should apologize at my inability to show mercy to the ignorant, but i cannot convince myself that they deserve even that much.

sometimes i wonder what it is like to be one of those people that life just leaves behind. the ones that can't keep up. the ones that have gone as far as their potential can carry them. the ones that no amount of power or influence can push them any further. and then i smile, because i know that i will only ever wonder about this.

only fools declare that beauty is only skin deep. because beauty never truly begins until you get past the surface. to the very depths of a person's being. but it is kind of hypocritical for me to say this, because my standards are so high that they get mistaken for me being shallow all the time.

was it hope or the cause that was lost?

the world will never be short of actresses. pulling you into the story, stirring your emotions with their always interesting dialog, and making it so interesting that you can't look away for a single moment. and then one day you wake up and realize that it is not a play at all, it is your life.

i pray that one day that i find the one person that makes everything that's happened so far worth while. i pray that one day i will find love. that one day i will find the one that deserves everything that i want to give someone. one day...very far away. because right now i do not even want to entertain the idea. i'm so sick of love. sick of seeing it. sick of believing in it. sick of it evading me on every corner. so at this point in my life i would just like to say "******* love", i'm better off without you anyways.

all of our fates are the same. death is inevitable. but is a great person one that ignores their fate and enjoys life for what it is, or one that lives day by day evading their fate for as long as possible?

there are questions that we all have in life. and sometimes the answers that we find to those questions do not give us the results that we expected. but i would like to say that the answers that we find are never incorrect, but some of the questions that we try to answer are trick questions and should be thrown out.

never accept what anyone else declares as reality. the only person that you can truly trust in this world is yourself. people try to make this world into something that makes them happy. and as much as this may seem absurd, you should try it for yourself. happiness is nothing but a perception of circumstances. so either change your circumstances or change your perception and you will be the happiest person in the world.

the person that i thought i cared about the most. the one that i could have given the world to. the one that i thought i meant something to. the one that i thought could do no wrong. what foolish thoughts i think. and then i did something that hurt me more than i thought it would, but it hurt less that to keep the foolish thoughts going. to pretend that i didn't feel something that i did. sometimes the best thing you can do for someone is what they really want you to do, so you let them go. and in doing so i lost a dear friend, someone that i did not realize i would miss so much. but i know that i cannot and should not try to undo it now. because some people you just can't help but fall for. and there is nothing you can do for someone that does not want your help.

i am nothing. yet, i am everything. you mean nothing, yet you mean everything. hope is nothing, yet it is all that we have. love is nothing, yet it is all that we look for. it is the things that are intangible that mean the most, yet from the outside they seem so insignificant. so meaningless.

am i nothing but a beast? my soul longs to break free but my mind restrains it. i long for freedom yet my body restrains me. lacking these restraints i truly would be nothing but a beast. but sometimes i think that the beasts are better off than i, because they follow what they know they have to do without any kind of thought or restraint.

if i had the opportunity to apologize a million times i don't think i could bring myself to do it. even knowing that you deserve it. because i have deceived myslef into thinking that i was right. and i know no other way to escape what i know is sure to come when this catches up to me.

some things you do not realize until just before death. you don't realize how much everyone that is close to you means. how much everything you think is important isn't worth anything. that the only things that really matter are what you believe, the people you love, and happiness. so, if i can realize that much now, before death pays me too much attention, then i think that my life could be the way it was meant to be instead of what it has become.

she is everything that no one can understand. could i really be the only one? the only one that sees everything that she is, the beautiful person that she is. people are sick. they call something that is beautiful wrong, just because they do not understand it. they run from something and do not realize what it is that they are losing. i would give anything to be in his shoes, i would do anything to be able to take away her pain. i would cry her tears for her if it would make her happy. but this sounds like insanity. this world knows nothing of sacrifice unless they are sacrificing someone else so that they can get what they want.

breath in. sigh. relax. release. burdens weighing heavy. soul is a stone. pulling me deeper and deeper into the abyss. the heat is spreading. from my heart out to my fingertips. circulating. it burns. all is numb. the fire of my heart and cold of my soul have nullified each other. a void is created. to erase the memories. to forget the pain. the sorrow. the loneliness. and then i am happy. because i can't remember you. because i forget me. everything fades away. meditation is bliss.

sometimes these rhymes are contrived because of lust for the ones i despise. why would someone be so attracted to the things that leave them so distracted? but the melody plays on and i know that nothing could be wrong because your singing all the words to my song. and your singing voice is so beautiful. or is it the tone and the words behind it?

integrate corruption into perfection because of a lack of reason not to. why not just leave it as it was before it was what you wanted it to be? you draw my curiosity. like a disaster. i know it's horrible but i just can't look away.

Though i can't hear her coming i know she's on her way
though she never stays for long i love her while she stays,
no one can be quite like her as hard as they should try
and when she offers herself to me i never can deny.
She creeps in from outside to hold me while i sleep
and never will she whisper the secrets that we keep,
though many fools dislike her, i'll keep her as my friend
and fall fast asleep with Silence in my arms again.


let the cold winds blow the silence away
let the rain drops fall and accumulate,
let the sun subside beneath the horizon line

not all who cry out are in pain
not all who are lost long to be saved again,
not all that are alone feel betrayed
but everyone feels afraid.
not all are afraid of a broken heart
not all are scared of misspeaking their part,
not all are petrified at the thought of dying
but everyone fears crying.
not everyone hides how they really feel
not everyone denies that all this is real,
not everyone covers the empty void
until their heart is destroyed.

to long lost to be called alone
but these tears now seem like home,
why in the world do i feel so forsaken
when i'm the reason my heart is breaking?
i am the one who remembers her so well
memories of happiness now feel like hell,
maybe because i know that i will never be again
closer to the one i love than 'just a friend',
even so happiness sometimes fills my veins
or maybe i just have a numbing of the pain.
i try to stay so strong that no one can see
that this hurt seems to be killing me,
so i rise up and wipe the tears from my eyes
and make it go away with a closet full of lies.
i tell myself that i hated your every kiss
and that you couldn't possibly be worth all of this,
and that i never missed you a day at all
and was never filled with bliss at the ring of a phone.
that the love that we felt could not have been true
and love's not the reason i can't think of anyone but you,
that this was the only way for all of this to unfurl
i tell myself that you are nothing but some confused girl.
some girl that feared a love greater than we could understand
only remembering my failure and faulty misdemands,
how many times we did what we knew was not right
but the desire seemed way too strong to fight.
even now i know i could not fix with a thousand rhymes
because no mortal can go back and do battle with time,
i can't quite explain to you how i really feel inside
only that i can't count how many times i've cried.
not out of self pity like so many believe
but because i know i'm the one that made you hate me,
so here are the tears that i've kept bottled up in my soul
and here's the imperfect person who can't feel whole.
here's all the apologies that i could possibly mutter
when i think back on what i did i can only shudder,
what kind of love did i think i knew
when again and again i found myself hurting you.
i'm not quite sure what it is that i want you to understand
my thoughts are scattered like the breeze-blown sand,
i know that i can't tell you exactly how i feel
because even still i don't know if feelings so strong are real.
i don't deserve a single passing moment of your time
because what i did i believe should be crime,
i corrupted the greatest love that I could ever know
and now that it's lost i have nothing to show.
only hollow echoes of 'i love you' s that made me whole
only an empty void where you existed in my soul,
only seas of teardrops to quench my unending thirst
but remembering your smile has got to be the worst.
Remembering your smile when you saw me draw near
remembering that when you were near me i felt no fear,
remembering you tell me that you felt it too
the love that we were so positive was true.
but as i have fallen away from who you remember
it seems to love you now could only hinder,
it only slowed you down from the wonder you became
i only hope after this your smile is the same.
hope when no one is around you that you feel no pain
that nothing but bliss flows through your veins,
that you find someone that deserves such a girl
the one i love more than any other in the world.

too overwhelmed to express exactly how i feel
but now i wonder if when you see me,
do you remember that what we had was real
or have you pushed it out of your memory?

is this longing and hoping just a joke
that everyone else knows the punch line to,
or have you heard a single word i've spoke
when i tell you that i can't not love you?

my eyes are all out of tears (my dear)
and i can't let you be my greatest fear (can't you hear?)
but i can't seem to make you go away (please don't stay)
so i'm stuck here again in my dismay (one more day)

i'm tired of feeling empty all the time
but you're the only one i can call my own,
so i sit here and write rhyme after rhyme
in hopes that one day i won't be so alone.

i'll take back every word i said, i swear
do you know you're still in my heart,
you're in my heart because i keep you there
because without you i'm torn apart.

my eyes are all out of tears (my dear)
and i can't let you be my greatest fear (can't you hear?)
but i can't seem to make you go away (please don't stay)
so i'm stuck here again in my dismay (one more day)

but i feel that tomorrow might change everything
maybe when i wake up you'll be here by my side,
and the world will stop so choirs of angels can sing
about a love so strong that it will never die.

About a love so purified by loss and tears
that i can't get rid of it no matter how hard i try,
so yet again you're the source of all my fears
and my tears flow freely as i cry.

an uncontainable ethereal essence dampens my soul
a lacking love that disappeared into the darkest hole,
though life's blood was flowing through my heart was cold
because of a story that has been too often told.
the realization of unattainable hopes tore me to shreds
how hard did i fight to free those feelings from my head,
to awaken visions of ecstasy instead of passing life
but it took time to realize i caused all my strife.
the gap extended, cutting off me from me
until i realized i'm not the person that i see,
determination extinguished an impure love from within
denial allowed me to forget all my sin.
though now as dark and as distant as i may be
i cannot force myself to carry a single memory,
but my footsteps slow because i no longer run away
now void of the hope of "someday, someday".
passion all spent they'd have us repent our consent
but only in error could they misconstrue my intent,
once again i clear my head until i feel relieved
but i now believe that bliss, not pain, is conceived.

holding in all that i know i should exhale
these situations make me feel so frail,
losing touch with reality once again
finding myself where i've never been.
frustrations almost make me give up
just want to say "enough is enough",
show you everything that i hold back
so that you can see how much you lack.
wish i could cease this painful game
leave it all as it was before i came,
but the impact you've left i can't deny
but i don't know how to say goodbye.
nor do i want to as you can tell
as much as i love this it hurts like hell,
if you could only see all that i hide
and all that will always be hidden inside

as i'm lying here wondering what i did with all the time that passed by
still staring at the empty pillow beside me but the pain is gone,
i just wish that for one last time i could look you in the eye
and apologize for all the times I did everything wrong.
as i'm lying here in realization that the chains no longer hold my wrists
and the freedom like the wind pushes me out into the world,
i thought in err for so long that you were the reason for me to exist
but now visions of you are replaced by the great wings that have unfurled.
so smile every second knowing you have the angel you deserve
knowing that you are safe with him the horizon will swallow me whole,
the only favor i would ask of you is to love him without reserve
and if you love then love with heart, mind, body, and soul.

it now seems that i have lost something in the overpowering dark
some small bit of myself that once gave my soul its spark,
that which still lingers is the fear that i will never find what i have lost
it seems that whatever price that there is to pay i cannot afford the cost.
and so i sit and pray hour after hour in yet another sleepless night
thought i expend all energy and force of will i cannot win this fight,
the doubt that i had once conquered has returned to reclaim
and it seems after all the progress that was made it is still just the same.
just as i feel as if the world has taken what i hold dearest to me
in an instant i feel relief and wonder what has caused this to be,
and then through the darkness i see the shadows slowly part
for even the darkness cannot stand between hope and my heart.
and as i stand numb in wonder what caused all of this to end
i realize that this hope is contained within my truest friend,
her smile brings back to me so many of the memories of old
and though my body is freezing, my heart is no longer cold.

it is surprising how quickly the sweetness of love turns bitter when you cast it aside. how fast smiles turn to blank stares with no emotion whatsoever. how fast a person full of nothing but hopes and dreams can be made jaded and cynical.

i look upon you and see only eyes that emanate cold
the eyes that chill me to my soul and leave me weak,
there is only a void that occupies the space of the soul you've sold
and from my lips are stripped the words that i would speak.

with the last breath that i could manage to sigh
i let go of everything that i had tried to deny,
because you could never be worth all of this
so the memories of you i quickly dismissed.

The memories left that still exist
Make me wonder just what I’ve missed,
In wasted time remembering your smile
But to see it once more would make it all worth while.
So many feelings I’m still forbidden to feel
Forsaken to the point that I wonder if they’re real,
But all wonder collapses if I look into your eyes
And I can no longer hold in my muffled cries.
Yet you do not care, so distant and cold
What was it that warped and burnt your heart of gold,
You never deny that all I say is right
But you fight your feelings with all your might.
So I now refuse to fight this anymore
Even though I see it’s wrong in my heart’s core to fight this anymore
Even though I see it’s wrong in my heart’s core,
The foundation crumbled, leaving rubble at best
And I leave your life with this one last request.
If you ever think back to feelings we once knew
Just know, although not perfect, the love we felt was true,
And though we may never feel the same thing again
If you ever need me, I’ll be here, as a friend.

For all the love that I once held
Within my gentle grasp,
I’d let go of everything else
To feel that love again at last.
For all the hope that I once knew
When I saw it in your eyes,
I knew it would never return
when you couldn’t hold back your cries.
For all the hours that I’ve lost
Wishing that you were here
Only to see your beautiful face
And forever hold you near.
For all the times that I’ve been forced
To lose you once again,
The pieces of my heart are on the floor
And won’t fit together or mend.
For all these things that I’ve said
I’ll never rethink those thoughts,
There’s just too much pain within your arms
This lesson I’ve now been taught.

A love that you don’t feel
Within your bitter heart,
All the time I’ve wasted
Just to get back to the start.
Before I knew your beauty
Though endless as it seems,
I only see you smiling
As a figment in my dreams.
Before I felt abandoned
Lost in the deep, dark abyss
Before I even longed for your touch
And to feel your gentle kiss.
Before I knew just how it felt
To feel nothing at all,
But with that numbness I know
That you initiated my fall.

How many nights will I stand outside your window
Constantly hurling rocks and stones,
And how many times will they disappear
Destroying my hope and leaving me alone.
How many tears will run down my cheeks
Creating another salty sea,
Only for the waves to rise up
Until I feel like they’re drowning me.

In the darkness of the night
come the tears that i can't fight,
but the glare of morning sun
reveals another battle won.
I can't overcome the love i've lost
or that our paths have uncrossed,
I hope that the emptiness that i feel
is only a figment, and not for real.
I get lost in the memories made
if only so that they will never fade,
and as i reach out my hand to her
she disappears, the illusion blurs.
But she was there for a moment in time
I can still see her as i write this rhyme,
and i know that everything will be fine
because in my heart, she is still mine.


don't think about the pain you feel inside
stray from shallownes and foolish pride
and as your tears swell up so blue
forget the things that anguish you

please don't leave my side again
even if we're only friends
you left an emptiness in my heart
that wasn't there at the start
the loss of you i cannot bear
you act like you still don't care
maybe this is hopeless yet
thoughts of you i can't forget
how does it feel to not feel at all
these thoughts through my mind crawl
i'm not able to forget you yet
i blame these feelings i always get
do you ever lie awake
and let your feelings overtake
the thought process in your mind
no you're too gentle, far too kind
please don't leave my side again
even if we're only friends,
you left an emptiness in my heart
that wasn't there at the start

yet again my timing is off
i'm denying the fact that all is lost
where must i begin, what must i do
to make everything better with you
please take the time to take away
all that i lose in the words that i say
if you could only hear what i feel inside
you would understand what i've slowly realized
i'd break my heart before i hurt your own
but maybe i'm better just being alone
these feelings i feel, i know they won't last
and i'll think of nothing else until they have passed
they consume every thought i create
and to my heart my mind relates
all these facts i wish were untrue
a thousand apologies to make amends with you
why should i be the one to apologize
my words rang sweetly throughout my mind
but now even words cannot take away
all i have lost that cannot be regained

entrapped in my head are all these thoughts
of promises you made way back then
the tears that swell my pain has bought
only to believe your promises once again
your sparkling eyes that made me believe
every single world that left your lips
i never thought that you would deceive
but my hope covered my heart like an eclipse
you made me feel that you loved me too
you made me think i was understood
but when i found your words rang untrue
it revealed the bad beyond the mask of good
just like a single red rose smells so pure
until the blood from your finger spills
all my problems only you could have cured
until all my thoughts of love you killed
just like the winter nights feel so cold
until you find someone to hold close to
you left those caring words untold
and my heart was turned cold under the moon
entrapped in my head are all these thoughts
of promises you made way back then
the tears that swell my pain has bought
only to believe your promises once again.

I think there is something on your mind
some memories that you've left behind
you think i feel feelings that i can't face
which gives me the need to leave this place
you succomb to the knowledge that you hear
with simple sources as sound as the air
you run from the reason from which sadness falls
and in the end there's nothing left at all

Another small tear cascades down my cheek
i'm all alone with all these people surrounding me
the sadness grows and the waters start to rise
i'm the only one sinking in my sadness, i'm surprised
the waters rise as i slowly start to fall
i doubt that anyone even notices at all
the sorrows you have given me have brought my demise
if you could've only seen the hopelessness you put in my eyes
it's all over now and all is lost
the struggle for happiness was worth more than it cost
another small tear cascades down my cheek
and i'm lost in all the pain you have given me

all alone before we met
but those are times you'd like to forget
and as he drifted away
you were alone by day
you always felt that he cared
but still felt trapped and ensnared
and nothing you could do
could bring him closer to you
he thought he left you behind
but that was all in his mind
there is nothing left that he can do
to bring him up to level with you
he thought it was all a game
trying to win fortune or fame
but somewhere along the line
he pushed your heart aside
brushed all of your tears aside
so he could have his foolish pride
but you always knew in the end
that it would just happen again
no emotions he feels
like this whole world is surreal
and as he drifted away
you were alone by day

so lost inside these thoughts you've given to me
of hope and all these feelings i can't believe
it would have been best to say nothing at all
because

Don’t think I’m trying to make or break you spirit
Just giving you a thought from my soul, if you would only hear it,
I can’t fully express (or repress) exactly what it is I think
So I babble incoherently and leave my decision on the brink.
I can’t decide if I should drop my pride and let the words flow
But a fear far worse rises of sad surprises and having to let you go,
So I stand back though I feel you close and I try to leave you be
But I know I can’t conceal or forget the words you’ve said to me.
So let me know (or find a way to show) exactly what I should do
But know as soon as I leave I find myself lost without you,
If you could just see a glimpse or peek for just a second of my mind
And what’s inside then you would know all thoughts for you are kind.
Only protecting (but not correcting) when I think I should step in
Because I’ve been in the same place and I’ve felt that hurt, my friend,
And I don’t want anyone to feel a pain so real, especially not you
Ignoring potential ulterior motives you know every word I say is true.
I swear without err that I couldn’t miss you more when you’re not here
But I’m fighting back fears when you’re holding me near whispering secrets in my ear,
And I’ve told you truly you hold more beauty that all of the stars in the night
Though you show it, I guess you don’t know it, or this knowledge you seem to fight.
(Who could forget her covered in glitter with sweet revenge in her eyes?)
But you’ve got this kid confused and blurry no matter how hard I try
To figure you out, your words still seem like an undecipherable code
That I try to map out and reconstruct in an abstract uneven ode.
I’m not playing, only saying that whether my words seep through or not
That you need not fear, because I’ll be here, my promise I haven’t forgot,
And when it ends, as it inevitably will, and you feel nothing but hurt and pain
I’ll soften my tone, and tell you you’re never alone, and you’re safe in my arms again.

A lifetime of waiting in wonder if you were really true
A trillion seconds of wishing my worries I could subdue,
Countless nights spent praying that you would become real to me
But a moment in your arms and worries are but a distant memory.

I have spent the greater portion of my life searching for a person that has certain distinguishable qualities. I have often been told that my standards were unreachable. I have spent years defining unconditional love, the difference between love and infatuation, and in general what love is. I was not until I met you that I was able to distinguish one emotion from another figure out what I had been missing all along. Since I met you I now know that love is:

When their heartbeat reverberates inside your very soul. When you find the answers to all of the questions of the world inside their eyes. When the only desire that you have is to fulfill all of their desires. When your body trembles at its inability to contain all of the emotions that are trying to burst forth from within you. When their voice sounds sweeter than any angelic melody could ever desire to. When you are dreaming of them and upon waking you try as hard as you can to get back to sleep because you cannot wait until you actually get to see them again. When they are the first thing that you think of in the morning and the last thing that you think about before going to sleep. When you try so hard to conceal how you are lost in bliss when you see them smile. When every touch and caress makes your heart race faster than you thought possible. When you wish you could lose yourself for an eternity in every kiss. When every day spent with them passes by in a moment and you find yourself wishing you were with them again. When your biggest fear is waking up and not finding them next to you. When your greatest desire is to hold them close. When all of the great problems of the world become minor details. When you search constantly for a stronger word because you know that love could not possibly encompass everything that you feel. When you know in your heart that you could drown in a single tear that they cried. When you would give up everything else just to hear them say "I love you" and know that they meant it. When you know that there is no one else in the world more beautiful than the person you hold dear. When you cannot help but smile when you think back on the memories you have made.  When you plan out every moment of that special day just so it will be as memorable as possible to them. When the only reason that you have left to fear death is that you would be without them. When you know that to hurt them would be the greatest crime that you could ever commit. When you realize that these words do not do justice to the meaning behind them.

Yet…even though those words cannot fully express how I truly feel…I still use them for lack of a way to show you to a further extent.

I love you. I love your kisses. Your smile. When you tell me that all that matters is us. That the rest of the world could fall apart and as long as we have each other that we'll be fine. That little thing you do when you think no one is looking. The way you lay there and stare at me for hours on end. Not needing to say anything. The way you smile because you know that it makes me happy, even if you don't want to. The way you call me just to see what I’m up to...even if you already know. The way you act surprised even if I’ve ******* up and you already know what's going to happen. The way that you look so innocent when you lay there sleeping. The way you laugh at me when I’m acting ******* just so I won't feel bad. That look you give me. The way that we argue about who loves who more. The stupid things we do when we're bored. The way that you make me feel complete. The way you hold me so tightly. The way you make me feel like I’m the one protecting you instead of the other way around. How it seems like I’m not alone when you're here. How you pour out your soul because you know I won't ever use any of it against you. The love you give, the hope you continue, the happiness you sustain.

A thousand thoughts of you are but a sand in time
but those thoughts of you are always in my mind,
Swirling slowly, completely through, even to my soul
and these fragments of thoughts of you are what makes me whole.
I piece them all together as hard as it may be
so I can remember every moment since you said yes to me,
And as I get lost in these memories deep in my heart’s core
I think in bliss of how in time there will be so many more.
I piece my life together like a puzzle full of truth
but the puzzle now can make no sense without the thought of you,
The only time I’m more confused is when I’m lost within your eyes
Because I’m lost within the one that I love to be beside.
I have eternal comfort when I’m holding you tight
But even that eternity must end when I let you go at night,
And even though I leave alone, I leave with a smile
Because I know before I see you again, it will only be a while.
The happiness you’ve brought to me this poem cannot explain
Because even now I can’t tell you how much I’ve gained,
Ever since that night when you said that you’d be mine
So I just wanted to let you know that I have the best valentine.

puzzles are easily put together, codes are easily deciphered, riddles are easily solved, questions are easily answered. the things created by the mind of man can be easily solved by the mind of man. it is only the questions that words cannot be found for that cannot be answered.

if a heart could cry out in an audible tone then i am afraid that i would go deaf from the constant murmur that would be produced from the depths of my chest. if love was an object i am afraid that i would tuck mine away forever so that such an irreplacable treasure would not become worn with time. if time could stop itself i am afraid where i would be found when it did so. if sleep could lash out and attack me for ignoring it for so long i am afraid that it would never cease its assault. if errors made were corporeal then i am afraid that i would lock them away forever in an inescapable prison to never be seen again. if my apologies grew limbs i am afraid they would die from exhaustion from constantly running from my heart to your ears. if my desire could be contained i am afraid no container would be found capable of storing such a great mass. if it was possible for me to find that which i seek i am afraid that it would dissolve and leave me without the one that none can replace. if i could tell you everything that i feel i am afraid that you would think me truly mad. if all my fears dissolved i am afraid that i would have nothing left to run from and would be found standing still. if i should be found standing still i am afraid that i would give all i have to give. and if i gave my all i am afraid that it would all be for nought and i would be found where i once was, without...

my father recently told me that i run from everything. i follow some "run and gun" pattern as he described it. he does not know how right he truly was. i could not explain it to him just as much as i cannot fully explain it to myself. but to put it simply...i fear. i fear love because i fear that it will always end as it has in the past. i fear confrontation because in the end someone always ends up hurt. i fear sleep because i cannot control the dreams that are created by my own mind. i fear hope because i am afraid that i will be disappointed. i fear my emotions because i am afraid that they will become greater than what i can control. i fear closeness because distance will inevitably set in. i fear looking into your eyes because you may see how i truly feel. that you may feel sympathy, that you may look down on me for admitting what is known to be true but never stated, that you will see how much you have helped me through what i could not do on my own, that you will see through my eyes and into my soul and be overwhelmed.

and though i fear many things, and though because i cannot often be found because i run from all those things which i do fear, there are some things that i have never feared and i doubt i ever shall. i have never feared your voice. i have never feared being with you. i have never feared losing what we have developed through the years. i have never feared that anything will ever come between us. i have never feared that the love i feel for you should ever subside. i have always given you my heart in whole because there is no fear that you will ever break it. and though i know that i have never nor will ever find a greater friend than you i do not fear that i should ever have to search for another. in a poem that i once wrote to you the words "all i have ever wanted, but more than i could ask for" still stand true. you mean the world to me. and if you were not here i have no idea where i would be right now. i just wanted to thank you for being there for me through everything that i've gone through. you have brought light to a once dim heart. you are the only proof that i need that there are those out there deserving all that i have.

these words mean nothing without the meaning behind them.

smile love, just smile. i will make you the happiest woman in the world. i will give you everything that you've ever wanted. i will make you forget the entities of sadness and regret. i will love you and you will love me, i'll make you lose yourself in the everlasting bliss, never leave you without a smile. i'll leave you wondering how you lived your life before now. he will fill your head with empty promises...

in time i have come to learn that love is a many faceted colossus. and depending on the angle of approach and point of view you can see many different things in it. that is why most people view love in different ways. it's not that their love is less true, it's just they have been one of the unfortunates that has been led to view love from the wrong perspective. finding love is easy if you approach it from one of the more easily accessible viewpoints. but if you work at it hard enough you can gain a vantage point that shows you the true beauty of love. the whole of this gargantuan emotional construct will be within your heart and mind. and once you have conquered the understanding of this which some might call an obstacle you can share what you have learned and teach those who were so unfortunate to not achieve what you have achieved. because although each facet complicates the next, and every love is different, is the goal not always the same? to extend your boundaries of happiness with another past what you could accomplish by yourself.

...and when you are left unhearted wondering why this love has collapsed upon itself. i will simply tell you that you saw love as a simple emotion when it was really a complicated goliath. and as you cannot build wonders out of empty boxes, you cannot build love with nothing but empty promises.

and there was a man. the frigid chill of winter blew behind him pushed him forward into the warm embrace that stood before him. and he knew that never again would he be able to turn around and face the cold void that he had left behind. he would never be able to follow the trail of frozen tears to find what he had once called his own on the other side of the blizzard. once he had found his way out of the storm he knew that he would never again have to feel such pain, such numbness. but the warm embrace that held him now made him forget all of those things. because that from which he came was so cold the warmness he now felt was euphoric. it lit a spark in his eye and caused him to glow. and of this fact alone he is forever grateful.

All i want is to be with you
but i don't know how to let you know,
if somehow you found out and knew
all my worries and fears would go.
If the wind would whisper in your ear
this secret that i'm forced to keep,
and all of it you could hear
so much pressure would be lifted off of me.
My unease to tell has filled me with disbelief
usually it is so easy for me to throw it all way,
but your friendship I do want to keep
and I can't find the way to tell you today.
I can't just let go like times before
there's something about you that makes me care,
I feel like this is something more
but with you this secret i can't share.
maybe i'm afraid you might shy away
or I'll just ***** everything up again,
but if i ever found out that you would stay
I'd break down and tell you right then.
All I want is to be with you
but I don't know how to let you know,
If somehow you found out and knew
new fears would come when the old ones go.

when you lay there staring up at me i realize
that i can almost see your soul through your eyes,
i can see all your desires that i'm trying to ignore
because i'm so afraid you'll say "don't hold me anymore".
the love i feel for you will surely outlast the world
but in this love there is no lust even as our bodies were curled,
i  just want to hold you and know that you are near
to move any further than this would again spark the fear.
my mind was running in circles as we laid there so long
so confused, so petrified, so afraid to do something wrong,
but even though these feelings were welling up inside of me
every time you smiled i felt nothing but relief.
knowing that you were there sheltered me from all that i hide
and hearing "i love you too" makes me forget what i've been denied,
makes me forget all but the wholeness that i feel when i'm with you
so whole because i know and feel that every word you say is true.
So here's to a friend that i know i never will forget
and not letting love and closeness turn into regret,
here's to the emotions for her that i can no longer store
she's everything i've ever wanted, but more than i could ask for.

Yesterday I knew the answers to all the problems on my mind
as you layed there trying to keep from falling asleep,
I found myself looking forward and not behind
and sharing these secrets i thought i would always keep.
But I must have stirred too much or breathed too hard
because your eyes slowly opened up again
and i knew the feelings i felt i no longer had to disregard
as you, as if lost in dream, looked into my eyes, my friend.
You sitting there so beautiful, a smile crossed your face
I knew there was no concealing the smile on my own
in this complete comfort that i know i can't replace
no mat

Her glossy, black pupils meet the ancient, but thoroughly clean, mirror.

In a state when one can stare into the eyes of themselves staring into their own eyes.

She releases the twisted towel and without hesitation the thick curls fall onto her still dampened shoulders.

She slowly reaches forward, carefully outstretching her hand to smear the steam from the mirror too cold for its temperature to have been altered.

The shoulder droplets formed together and created two diminutive streams that rolled down her lower back.

With her reflection no longer obscured, she stared at her mirror image that was staring into her eyes.

They smiled at her when they realized that she was no longer alone.

As the pen scratches across the paper, the scabbed ink is undone, and the fresh flows out. The hesitant ball puddles ink beneath it as it cannot find the strength to pronounce the thoughts that it was ordered to. What words can be put to thoughts created by a heart that has donated its blood and has been told to suffice with a cold saline solution? The quietly donated words that flow from frigid soul to quivering chest, from quivering chest to trembling lips, and from trembling lips to an eager ear. As they speak the words take form as if each is the stroke of a paint brush across a surface.

The weight of these one sided communications crushes the canvas.

As the pencil glides across the writing surface, the paper accepts the utensil, and the characters are created intertwined with one another. No strokes are wasted on the elegant forms that join together and stand in unison to represent truth. What thoughts can be put to words created by eyes that see the surface and cannot see through into the soul? The stolen words that are pulled from glowing soul to relaxed chest, from relaxed chest to glorious voice, and from glorious voice to an eager ear.  As they speak the words morph into small birds that take flight and leave the surface behind.

((                                           ???                                                 ))

Above the welkin,
many luminous orbs coruscate with perseveration.
These disorganized celestial bodies emulate one another
but their uneven rhythm is apparent to starry eyed observers.
Eyes gazing
fascinated by the unmeasurable exquisiteness that exists
just beyond outstretched hands.
As one beholder marveled
the other closed disconsolate eyes
and gravitated towards the tangible.
It was in that moment
that the steadfast watcher found
what it was that they had been seeking.
A falling star dropped just low enough
that with desperate leaping and grasping
it was within reach.
The burning had not been accounted for.
Nor had the sudden departure
from the satellite that orbited just a little to close
and had only the desire to emulate others
with uneven rhythm.

The shattered concrete sidewalk spits shards of itself to the side with each crunching step. A stagnant yellow light suppressed by oppugning umbra strives with zeal to illuminate this phantasmal ambiance. The cadence of footfall hesitates at the corner of a decaying building. Eyes locked on a crimson door fabricated by the hands of Bhairava. It was this remorseless portal that produced the walker of dreams. With her approach the obscuration of scenery increased until there was nothing but two beings converging beneath the steadfast but dim light. Without sound the first tear fell to the ground. It grasped towards the earth below, delayed as if opposed by gravity, but with weight enough to overcome. The rest followed, after observing to make sure the first hit its target. Clairvoyance had become a curse to the seer, as the plight of the dreamwalker was revealed without words uttered. Secrets poured out almost as quickly as the now rushing tears. These concrete slab secrets attached ropes to the empathetic sleeper's wrists and anchored him beside the dreamwalker. With each thought that passed the bindings tightened around his appendages. And then this intruder, void of but a few secrets, looked up at him with horror. She comprehended too well the anguish caused by this affliction. As she rose beside him an embrace was offered, to suppress the gravity of the situation. For the first time she spoke. Her whispered words reverberated with such intensity that only dust and thread existed where the bindings had pulled and gnawed at skin. "It will all be ok now". She had come seeking comfort, but left beyond that horrible door with only the comfort that his memories would be purged upon waking. He woke with a heavy heart tied to concrete blocks, contemplating whether or not to utter his sorrowful knowledge to the one that provided it to him unknowingly.

She is accompanied, by either mild disdain or comfortable curiosity, but always with magnetic eyes that do not spot the glints of time traversing through the shadows to pass her. Eyes glued to the screen, as two reflective sequins, shining opposite of the captivating screen that has momentarily captured her attention. Often squinting with head tilted slightly to the side, unable to give in to the crowd which fashionably wears the smirk of approval. Or with eyes drowning in the hatred of the Legion of Gerasenes, yet still yearning to not be cast aside. Tangible threads begin weaving the cloth of empathy, as each falling grain of sand counts another responsive brain wave reacting to the current. Unsure if these words filtered through the mechanisms of defense forced upon an individual after so many disappointing tributaries, or if rushing claret and voltaic storms of lucidity invited the passing guests. Unsure if you can overcome the luring request of the daughters of Achelous to settle the sandy shores of contentment, or, for just once, endure the salty trials with enough zeal to alter course and navigate to the unfathomable.

The impatient crowd hustles past this coffee shop window
each taking quickly paced steps until they disappear in the foggy haze,
the entire distance of my vision I continue to watch them go
until the gentleman before me picks up his coffee and pays.

I pick up a newspaper and slide the money to the cashier
moving to a seat in the corner so I am out of the way,
it has been thirty minutes since you should have been here
I smirk while considering what excuse you will create today.

The aroma of freshly brewed beans begins to overpower
as I have completed the first section of the daily news,
either my watch is broken or you are late by over an hour
A frown forms while I question what could have kept you.

The fog has now lifted, yet the ever-late pedestrians remain
I picture you among them, racing to a date you overslept,
appearing in the window, with a story you can hardly contain
explaining that if it were possible your promise would have been kept.

As I look up from my musings I realize you are in front of me
with a smile you ask “so this is where you have been?”,
then point to the the place where I am supposed to be
and it is I, not you, that seems to have gotten lost again.

Her brilliant ocular orbs persist beyond the occasional glance
averting my focus just after her curious stare brings a gentle smile,
beckoning for our distance in the room's expanse to diminish perchance
as her heartening gestures attempt to avert my stance from sessile.
The magnetic pull of this inspiring scenery tugs me from my position
each forced step resisted as I cross the floor towards this distraction,
every warm, reassuring nod has filled my arsenal's ammunition
and causes a craving to quell the disturbance that has forced my reaction.
As her fingers delicately caress her soft lips I swiftly turn away
she knows not the consequence that her simple mistakes would bring,
I gather all my strength to fight the magnetic force enticing me to stay
leaving this alluring siren with nothing but her song she sings.

Though drained of will I flee with a vivid memory of what will never be
a siren so pure should stay near the shore and never reach the depths of sea.

With a setting sun on the horizon
the cool ocean breeze becomes a barrage of icy particles.
two bodies shivering to create friction
as if these two bodies did not have enough friction between them.
the freezing water reaching its flowing fingers out to them
stretching like a panicked wife whose wedding ring slipped down the drain
but never truly able to join in their caress.

This cold caress that still produces no warmth.

Three words are sighed out of desperation
to end the noise of the endless splashing persistence
of the great crashing waves of the ocean
trying to find warmth where there is none.

The cards have been dealt.

The queen of pentacles is the first to approach.
She promises me riches beyond all imagination.
Her haughty demeanor does not appeal to me at all.
Even so, she has great worth, and so I cannot discard her.

The queen of wands comes quickly after.
She catches my eye with her provocative dances.
There is a fire in her eyes that pulls me in.
I will keep her, in case I forget the meaning of passion.

The queen of cups sits alone in the corner.
From her throne she gazes at me longingly.
I am unsure if I hold her, or if she holds me.
She will be the fall of me.

The queen of swords floats across the floor.
She is late because she has been lost in thought.
I often wonder why she is so cold.
Perhaps it is because of the three other queens in my hand.

These cards have become worn down by my hands.

I whisper to the empty pillow that you once held
tighter than you could ever hold another person,
and remember that you require quiet at night
so I keep the rest of my sentence to myself.

Tighter than you could ever hold another person
my lips are sealed so that I do not make a sound,
I keep the rest of my sentence to myself
in hopes that the silence will lure you quickly home.

My lips are sealed so that I do not make a sound
as I hear the constant dripping of the falling rain,
and hoping that the silence will lure you quickly home
I walk outside to blow the clouds far away.

I hear the constant dripping of the falling rain
that suppresses any other sounds from being heard
as I walk outside to make the clouds go away
I realize that you fell asleep on the couch

I suppress any other sounds from being heard
in remembering that you require quiet at night
until I realize that you fell asleep on the couch
after whispering to the empty pillow that you once held.

With our passion all spent they would have us repent our consent
with blind zealotry they refuse to relent opposing our mergence
so when curing prurience leave one percent of passion unspent.

As we share these moments and begin our physical ascent
be aware that they will not capitulate in calling for our penance
with our passion all spent they would have us repent our consent.

Remember this simple covenant in order to circumvent
the condemnation of our actions as unforgivable flagrance
so when curing prurience leave one percent of passion unspent.

In these sheets we have long forgotten the ******'s lament
because the silent weeping is drowned out by our cadence
with our passion all spent they would have us repent our consent.

By our mutual pleasure we have earned their unrelenting resent
and we are endlessly castigated for our lack of temperance
so when curing prurience leave one percent of passion unspent.

The cries of fanatics prove their opposition to be hellbent
they would prefer that we endure the torment of abstinence
with our passion all spent they would have us repent our consent
so when curing prurience leave one percent of passion unspent.