I long to be aside the trees
By the river that I once knew
Before the storms had stripped the breeze
And the fog had stolen the dew
Once, I returned to that old bed
That captured my time as a boy
I thought the trip would clear my head
That the sun I could still enjoy
Laying upon the cracked, dried clay
Where I’d sit all those years ago
Wasn’t the same as in my day
When my heart knew nothing of snow.
May 29, 2022
May 29, 2022 at 3:18 AM UTC
Life is a multitude of refusals
I am not this, I refuse to be
For this is not enough.
First I must be something other
Than what I am-
Then I’ll be me.
I am not your brother,
Not today at least
For this is not enough.
First I must become
As the others are, and
then I will be me.
I am not a dancer,
Though I move my feet-
For this is not enough.
First I must be educated
On that which must be free,
and then
I will be me.
I am not much of anything,
As far as I can see
For this is not enough
For somebody to be.
First I will move somewhere
Far away from me
Where I no longer see myself-
Then I will be me.
Nov 16, 2021
Nov 16, 2021 at 1:35 PM UTC
Lion and lamb, lover and fiend
Steam and shine, fine and crude
Through this and more I would careen
To be to you what you’re to me-
Sweet fantasy, from dreams removed.
Nov 6, 2021
Nov 6, 2021 at 2:56 AM UTC
Looking at you, i have to wonder:
Can you see both of me?
Like watching a ragged little dog
Chasing itself around the base of a tree-
Head, now tail, now head, now tail
What must be going through its mind?
Because right now I’m all head, I’m sure of it-
But last night I was all tail, did you know?
Helpless little thing could
Spin itself sick with this
Round-the-tree
Is-a-friend
Got-to-get
Round-the-tree.
So if you’re watching,
Just give it a shout
Or let it run
Until you’ve seen enough.
Nov 1, 2021
Nov 1, 2021 at 6:20 AM UTC
It could be
If you would allow it.
That mural of fantasy
Running along the lazy arms
Of this day’s familiar clock.
It could be
If you would allow it.
The precious musings
Of that mind, so unoccupied
By the safety of this routine
It could be
If you would allow it.
A failure in a beautiful place
Or even a tragedy,
Altogether fruitless
But until then-
This is.
You allow it.
Aug 12, 2020
Aug 12, 2020 at 3:05 AM UTC
There is a power
In the slightest smirk
At the dour face
Of the reapers work
A hopeless joy
That can't be crushed
Or ripped apart
By vicious rush
With that seed
In soil- defeat
Sprouts ropey vine,
Humanity.
And so it goes
Until the end
This bitter fight
Of death and men.
Oct 20, 2019
Oct 20, 2019 at 6:42 AM UTC
The world has no
Negative numbers.
Things just add up,
or multiply
Until they're inevitably
Written over.
We know this,
Late at night
Hoping for a
Take back.
Oct 20, 2019
Oct 20, 2019 at 6:25 AM UTC
I could've been anything.
I was so sure of it
before I knew the first thing
about myself.
I could've done it all -
with time to spare
Left the mundane
somewhere near the start
so I would know if I was
walking in circles.
I could've written
my story,
now it seems
I'm no longer
the author.
Sep 28, 2019
Sep 28, 2019 at 4:08 AM UTC
I just have to look
at you
to feel it.
To know it
I have to look
away.
Like the pages
of a book
mid-tornado,
Fragments of
information, the pieces
all out of place.
Still,
I believe you
beg to be
read.
Sep 20, 2019
Sep 20, 2019 at 5:45 AM UTC
This is tiresome
The thrashing energy
The struggling concepts of
This interior and that exterior
The back and forth,
The up all night but
Still dreaming
The "am I crazy?",
The hopeless spirals
That circle and drain into
The soil, and plant
The "It's gonna be ok"
That sprouts a new day
Sep 2, 2019
Sep 2, 2019 at 7:29 AM UTC