Do what I want...
Oh, what a taunt.
I wish I could.
There's no way I should.

I want to go home
I want to write a book
Sit back on memory foam
In a cozy little nook.

To stay home with my kids
And my wonderful wife
To shut my eyelids
And sleep without strife

I want to talk to the people
Who wander my mind
To sit and slowly pull
And scribe as stories unwind

For my family, I want to care
To give them all they need
And always be there
So they've lives they want to lead.

I just want to function
To not give my all
Just to end in destruction
Not to fall and fall and fall

I want to like the man in the mirror
To not see myself with disgust,
As something lowly, inferior.
I want to be worth your trust

Do what I want...
Oh, what a taunt.
Maybe I should,
But there's no way I could.

Amidst the pounding thunder
And towering waves
Lit in the night
By searing lightning
A small ship sails

The sailor gazes back
To distant horizons
Not quite seeing
But feeling
His former home

As winds scream and tear
And waves crash and drag
He battles onward
Through tempest
To unknown lands

Decisions made long ago
For risk and fortune
Over calm simplicity
Run swift as the howling gale
Through rain blinded eyes

Easy winds and calm seas
A life of lazy tranquillity
A life forsaken
To battle tempest fury
And still unregretful

Where did the freedom of youth go?
I woke one morning and found it gone.
Though the search for freedom continues
Responsibility carves a deep path
With steep walls to ward off would be climbers.

But I'm sure it can be done!
Drag that snarling machine that carves the path.
Finger by finger, clawing up those walls.
Struggle fiercely, panting and growling
To the freedom which lies above.

Those things in life which come hardest
Are most often the sweetest to taste.
What then could ever be sweeter than freedom
Freedom fought for tooth and nail
Earned through blood, sweat, and tears.

But fear not the jaws of responsibility
Though it brings terror to the hearts of men
It has boundless beauty and importance
For what joy would freedom hold
Without reason to enjoy its flavour

Sun baked sand holds back withered shrubs
From the slow salty invasion of Poseidon
Drooping palms drop laden fruit
On passing, unsuspecting, heads
Where beauty once lay, now lies a trap
Calm steadily turns to white-capped waves
As surely as Poseidon's slow victory over the cliffs.

Anger flashes red
Joy warms the heart
Shame burns the face
Love dances in the stomach
and twinkles before the eyes
Emotions and senses play

All except fear
Fear grips the throat
Clenches the stomach
Freezes the veins
And darkens the eyes
Fear smells like smoke
Tastes like metal
And sounds like beating drums

Fear does not play
Fear consumes

Swallowed in a world of confusion
A short sharp shock of panic
Followed promptly by unnatural calm
Reassuring words and calming movements
That is my role for the occasion

The calm is struck crashing to the ground
To be replaced by gut wrenching worry
But the words and movements must continue
I cannot forget my part
Hours pass in contrasting worry and external calm

Finally at the summit of the worry
A shining beacon of light
My heavy heart heaves in delighted convulsions
Bluish grey and beautiful
Both worry and calm are eclipsed by joy

You have made your entrance
You have made your mark
You bend the laws of the world
Tying the moon even tighter to beautiful earth
And I will never be the same again

Awake in my bed at five a.m.
My true love beside me
My new love upon me
What a wonderful feeling it is
As I watch the flame that lights my darkness
And the new tiny candle we made
The room may be dark
But my heart glows
It is good to be a father

What Is the heart of poetry
Rules, rhyme, meter, mood?
Length, width, depth, height?
It matters not what's in sight
Be it saintly or true crude
When a poet writes, poetry

Many things are needed to live
Hunger is satisfied by food
Water sates our thirst
Love keeps the soul alive

But those who create
They feel an additional need
Sanity is kept through creation
The release of thought into matter

Carpenters, Artists, Poets, creators all
What was not there but now exists
A deep love is held for creator to creation
An idea brewed, bourn, and born.

Life is not life to those who create
When creation is taken from them

Clouds have passed
The darkness too
The pain is easing
There's work to do

Who is that man really?
He is this person now, that person later
Personality changing, when company changes.
Does he know his own true face?
Truly he is a ghost to those around him
A ghost to those who want him
Truly a ghost in his own mind.

My heart shines as the moon does
At times quiet and peaceful
Reliable and for granted taken
Silent and beautiful and ignored

A waxing and waning cycle
Once, full bodied and glowing
Light to find love and other hapinesses
Too brief a joy it brings

For waning must always come
Twice, dark, black as deepest night
Unseen in the backdrop of sharp stars
Leaving a world wrapped in shadow

But not so constant are cardiac turnings
Not regular as lunar comings and goings
Glowing for a day and shadowed for a month
Black for a week and shinning for a year

Yet just as the moon at times changes
Glowing big bright and red in the sky
So to does the heart at times change
A most wondrous change it is

Thrice, bursting bright from my chest
Burning bright and fierce to beat the sun
Just as the coming fall of giant Betelgeuse
Nothing could dim the radiant glory

Once more, dim past dark
Blacker than black and blacker again
Drawing light from all like a singularity
What could hope to live with such darkness

I sit now on the waxing
Or is it waning?
Anticipation for the glow on my right
Dread for the darkness on my left
Which comes? Which comes?