You give purpose to my potential
The mess not made needs not be cleaned
Had I not you I’d need not me
We’re interconnected you may see
You’re a boat upon the sea
I’m the light guiding you home
But lighthouses don’t run around looking for boats to save
They stand strong and wait for them to come around
So I’ll wait for you, and guide you back to me
Jul 31, 2011
Jul 31, 2011 at 5:22 PM UTC
how is it you always know
when I'm sitting alone lost in thought
looking for that song that might prompt some thought
but you always know
cause you show up to fill my space
even if I can keep you out of my mind
you always find your way back in
its maddening just so you know
but its more scary than anything else
its one thing for you to be in my thoughts
but its when you actually show up
when ever im talking to that girl
or planning something romantic
or even just trying to relax
you'll be there
I don't know whether to hate you or love you anymore
I don't know what to do or say
but most of all I just want to know on thing
how do you always know when to come back into my life
Jul 2, 2011
Jul 2, 2011 at 9:01 PM UTC
I wonder if I could do well
With words spinning round my sight
To try and write a villanelle
I hear it can be tough as hell
Even with all the minds great might
I wonder if I could do well
Would Dylan ever call this swell?
Would he criticize, would we sit and fight
To try and write a villanelle
Perhaps this is an endeavor I should quell
Like the small boy abandons the kite
I wonder if I could do well
That darkness whence raged against can tell
As I grab at lines floating by in the night
To try and write a villanelle
But I’ll just try and break this shell
Perhaps these words can take a bite
I wonder if I could do well
To try and write a villanelle
Jul 2, 2011
Jul 2, 2011 at 8:55 PM UTC
Pictures are worth a thousand words, but how many pictures does it take to make a feeling. The feeling of a place that’s turning inside out as you’re about to leave, and you look back and can’t recognize the place it started as. And as much as you push and as much as you strive for your release from this place, at the end you will always think about the beginning. You’ll turn back and look for a final fond memory of that place you thought you wanted to leave behind forever. But you’ll look and see nothing but the warped world that closed in behind you as you ran for the gate. You’ll want to see it so bad you might even turn around to try and go back and find that place you left in such a hurry. But you can never go back. Going back means you’ll never go forward and always be looking for that familiar place, but you’ll never find it. You’ll also know that once you leave you’ll never be able to return. Once you walk out of this place you know it’s for the last time. Just as you come to terms with leaving that long lost place behind you’ll get a feeling. That feeling you get when someone says your name from across a room and you just barley know you heard it, or when you feel someone’s eyes on the back of your head and turn to see who is staring at you. Then you’ll take one last glance right as you’re about to leave, and everything will be just as you left it. That place you know and feel comfortable in will be back in its purest perfect form. If you really look you may even see someone who resembles a kid you used to know going into the once again pristine environment you are about to leave behind. This place will flash before your eyes one last time, all its wonder all its shame will hit you at once as you take your final steps. At that moment you’ll look back and if you are lucky, you’ll smile. Turn. And walk away. How many words or pictures could it take to make that one feeling?
Apr 22, 2011
Apr 22, 2011 at 12:56 PM UTC
The eagle is a pompous creature
It reeks of regality and significance
It’s superfluous and ignorant
How does the eagle maintain its status?
It preys on the weary and down trodden
The rodents that scurry over the ground
With their own purpose and cause
Yet the eagle is paramount
It destroys these lesser beings
It is the perfect balance of power and intelligence
Just as it represented the great leaders
Napoleon and ****** to name a few
Ben Franklin understood
The turkey he said should be the bird
I’d rather be the turkey
The turkey does not hurt the field mouse
It is a symbol of bounty and pleasure
Following its own agenda to its own accord
Right till its dyeing breath it gives to others
Far more majestic than the mighty eagle
It can continue its majesty after death
When the turkey becomes a feast
The mighty eagle with all its intelligence
Its power, its pomp and circumstance
Is nothing but road **** smeared across the pavement
Apr 14, 2011
Apr 14, 2011 at 3:57 PM UTC
Dear Mountain hello
I feel bad, I’m sorry
Everyone thinks you are this monster
But I know,
The hikers always make the trail
The mountain has no say
They can’t see the forest for the trees
But I see you mountain for the trail
Our spoken words your trampled ground
Emotion bonds for twists and turns
Our animosities propel your summit further out of reach
“It must be cold on all that ice up top, hu?”
I know your top is frigid warm
Like I said, I sorry. They don’t get you
Apr 13, 2011
Apr 13, 2011 at 1:37 PM UTC
Brought out of your nightmare
Still caught up in a haze
Luck split on the floor
With tattered socks and lace
Starting another day you’ll rise
Unsure of which to use
Walking to the window
Throw back the curtains and shade
The sun sitting longs to rise
Into the darkened skies
The moon is hiding gone from sight
Blocked by that note she left
I had a wonderful night
The poison drains from your heart
Back to its place in the sky
The sun is peaking from the ground
At the smile on your face
It always new that some day soon
You’d laugh right in the face of the poison moon
Apr 13, 2011
Apr 13, 2011 at 1:34 PM UTC
If I knew anything about myself,
would I be writing poetry?
Apr 10, 2011
Apr 10, 2011 at 6:39 PM UTC