A world of emanating noise
Filling my mind with static,
The voices are in and out
Their sounds more that sporadic.

Living in a world of noise
Shouting through my soul
Living in a world of toys
Screaming away what’s whole

A bushel of sweet berries
Wait upon their willowed branch
For the ghosts to come for them

The rains will come and drench,
The sun will march and shine,
But the sky will never change it’s hue.

Sweet berries wait for two ghosts
They’re no different than you.

When the walls finally fall
and the mask finally splits,
it can be seen by all
that your castle's in bits.

A pressure can and will always push down,
you can't push back and keep your crown.

Hands in flaming hands
With the demons that once had
Control on my world.

Do you ever wish
On what peeves you most
To just dissipate?

I wish that I wasn’t so late
In learning when someone
Chooses to be filled with salt
And infectious contempt.

A warning system
Would be a nice addition
To this life of mine!

What palette of inks
Has the world dyed itself
With on this day?

A collection of yellows
Painted the canvas
Of a plain and woods
During the setting sun.

A collection of greens
Littered the pines,
And finished the color
On the grass and moss.

A splash of red
To cover that setting fireball

A sheet of blue
And a touch of violet
To dribble on our night sky,
Which we will now
Litter with the deceitful stars!

As the life in your eyes began to fade
I saw you wings decay,
Like a autumn marsh
Turning from amber to beige.

Everything you had was lost,
Yet you fight remains;
An inferno among the flames.

You rose, an empress among the monarchs,
And finished, a champion among winners.

You’re a falcon in the wind,
A ruler of your world.
You never lost home, and now you’re here.

Welcome home.

What am I to love
About my being
If you aren’t there
To provide
My needed support?

Shall I just continue
And try to love
In this void
that bleeds me,
Leaving me
Cracked and empty?

Or shall I cease as well,
And have you by my side in hell?

Today,
Another day in the line,
Another line in time,
And another time
In an era.

On this day,
I felt I needed to start
My active application
Of the concept of self love.

I love my 1.5 month streak
Of no self harm.

Let’s go for two items!

I love my 1/2 month span
Void of suicidal thoughts.

I wonder when
The streak and span
Will come to a close.

Lips brush softly
As a passing breeze
Carries a feather.
She’s leaving again,
But not forever.

A sudden silent hit
Comes to greet me
When I least expect it.

The wind swallows us
In her eternal grace,
So I try in haste
To be her home base.

The depths of consciousness,
Pierced by the needle
Of everlasting imagination.

Childish whims
And vehement tranquility
Continually surround
This world of purity.

Who are you?
The person
who wrote these pages full?
You wear my name,
play my game,
but I don't remember
if you and I
are just the same lie.

Between air and ground,
Water and fire,
Lies a mountain of steam,
And daybreak’s vibrant dew.

Why does the water stick
To these blades of grass?
When all they do is slice.

Why did you
Stay to me
When all I did was hurt?

Light clouds
softly dance
along this azure sky.

The wind
lies unseen,
unheard,
and unfelt
along these vernal days.

As much as I freeze
in her gusty presence,
I can't help
but miss the company.

The wind’s soft melody
Tearing through the landscape.
Gently brushing my knee
And roaring in my ear.

The silent drop of a windswept tear,
The call to a motion all too clear.
A storm throughout our minds
Tearing at our walls like rinds.

The silent beauty
And the harsh cruelty
This is the duality of a tempest.

Like fluttering steel,
I moved toward
The windward,
Hoping to find
The stem of life,
And
The roots of death.

The stars guide
My fluttering steel,
Showing me the wonder
Of each precious sunrise,
And each fleeting sunset.
I’m deathly afraid
of these ocean nights
But the little starlights
Infuse my scampering soul
with unyielding courage,
Making my lonesome night
A sail with company,
And a hope-filled light.

Each fleeting day,
And each dragging night,
The water sweeps,
As if moved
By the deft stroke of a sword,
Or the silent lance’s jab.

The wind moves like a whip,
As if making way for a storm.
The field, a dull golden amber,
Leans to one side in the fiery weather.

The wind pulls me away from myself,
Freezing my saddened body,
But releasing my tortured soul,
Pulling to the healing grounds
That I consider this field to be.

A class full of wonders,
but there I sat,
talking to the one of interest.

Topic after topic slipped by,
our minds ran cracked and dry,
but we kept talking.
We talked about life,
our problems and strife,
what plagued our week,
and what made us weak.

The clock had long since grown wings,
and it's deathly bell shook my body,
but as classes solemnly moved,
she moved along with me.
We continued to excitedly talk
as we kept on our inter-class walk.
Once it had come to a close,
I wondered in thoughts of blue,
if it could ever happen again.
A fluid yellow moment
on a viscous black week.

As Seraphina stepped onto the ground, she remembered her late father. His words, once foolish and heretical, began to make sense after all that had happened. The sky was freedom, but her feathers fettered her to the ground.

If close hearts really do warm the cold,
May I steal your summery heart of gold?

inside little droplets
of silent memories
lies the key
to a world
long since deaf
to the radiating color.

It always seems to me
that the closer I get,
the more I dull.

A dull blade
is more dangerous
than a sharp one.

Soundless,
emotionless.
but emotion flowers up
like blackened roses,
but never shadowed lilies.

Words are a force to be reckoned
and I forgot my own strength.

Honesty isn't always
the best policy.

Words needed by those in doubt
Are words gifted without drought.

I look up at it,
amazed that such a
...
thing
...
can exist
in parallel with me.

But it’s out of reach,
leagues above my head.

I see several people up there,
soaring the endless expanse.

Their words
spun like needle and thread,
Create a deep rooted motion.
The vibration moves the air,
encompassing them;
Creating them their own shell.
With the deft utilization of the vibration,
they spin and weave the clouds
With the same capacity
as their masterfully controlled words.
Weaving soft feathery wings
from the endless clouds,
they stitch them immaculately;
without a trace of fault.

I wish that one day,
I could be like those brilliant minds,
Soaring the endless expanse so effortlessly;
Controlling words with a masterful mind
And making such a deep, powerful movement.
Enough to shake the most iron-willed,
Buy warming their cool steel core.

But as of now,
I am landlocked.
I am okay with this.

I want to connect with the earth,
perpendicular to my existence
before I leave for the sky,
the existence parallel to mine.

I once thought I was flying,
through the delightful air
soaring with freedom.

In all truth...
it was a lie.

From who I was back then,
I for sure,
was flying in a world of bliss.
A stone cold sky,
burning indefinitely all the while,
the sky was red and black,
my body was crumbling
into the charred ashes
that I considered my worth.

I flew under the world,
riding on flaming blue pain.
My lead wings were a burden,
dragging me below the earth,
giving me a comfortable hellscape,
The only place I called home.

The blue flame of pain had engulfed me,
and the lead wings of my blade dug deeper.

To shed them was to carve out a part of me.

The jade grass,
Sapphire ocean,
Amber marshes
And topaz beaches.
All of this is outside,
Right past my door,
I’d go, but to the world...
I’m a bore.

On a level field
You are now so close...
Yet so far.

How can I show you the world
When I’m trapped,
Within this limited space?

The lingering mist;
Slowly ruptured by daybreak,
Uncovers my fears.

At the value of nothing,
Zero is a dead cold end,
Or the mark of new beginnings.

It all depends
On the arithmetic
That you choose
To use.

The starlight on my ceiling
And the silence in the air
Echoes like an untouched ocean,
quivering in absolute stagnation.

The wings of an angel,
The kiss of loneliness.
Life’s palpitating heartbeat
Brings Anxiety to its knees.

Drifting into an opal iridescence,
my subtle starlight turns to faded dreams.
The wistful echoes of my ocean
Turn like the amber gears in a sunset clocktower.
A timeless, transient frame becomes our reference,
and our stardust turns to amber shards once more.