Cry me a river,
Hum me a song.
Whisper me a shout,
Find where I belong.

Orchestrate me a melody,
Incinerate me a candlelight,
Shout me a far off whisper,
Let me fall to a worldly blight

Words stabbing as swords,
But who cares?
It’s all under floorboards.

Those times
Where you don’t want it to end
Will always end, for time will flow...

Regretfully so.

Nov.28.2019

A brilliant arrangement of colors...
Well only one color.

A plethora of a single shade,
A void of only that color.

Dragged through the void,
Many years of pain.
But on the other side,
Lie a rainbow.

Oh so beautiful,
Oh so colorful.

A pillow of color,
To rest my weary head upon.
A therapeutic spectrum,
To help me stand strong again.

The mind can go colorblind too.

Spiders weaving golden threads,
Through our dreams
And around our silent heads.
The life running through our hair,
Attracting dreamweavers to our minds.

But all it takes is a bit of a bite,
And the once golden thread,
devolves to red,
And the once lavish life,
Disintegrates to lead.

Dear mom,

We have an unspoken promise;
Not to make sacrificial altars
In the basement.
I kept that promise this year.
That’s my gift.

Next year though...

When shall this fast world,
Stuck in a lasting stasis,
Start to move again?

My tepid fears take my soul,
Fearing my existence
Just as I feared them.
A mutual bond
Of predator and prey,
But now we’re both prey.

From the void a voice calls out;
A warm greeting once again.
Inside my body desires to roar,
Let out a vibrant call of vitality.

You walk in like flowers,
Yet leave me pinned with daggers.

You say life won’t get any harder,
Then nail me to my cross,
Making my emotions your martyr.

*******,
I ******* **** at
Naming things.
From pets to poetry,
None escape my
Horrible naming spree.

I still remember,
The days of old;
My days of young.
I just got a new pup,
He was cute and small,
But he needed a name.
And so I shouted out,
With little to no shame:
“Evil Trash Can the name!”
This was quite large a hurtle
For my parents to say yes to,
So I then suggested “Turtle.”
After all, his collar had
Turtles designed upon it.
The names were getting
Uglier by the minute,
Much worse than a hog.
So I went simple and direct:
“Dog”
My parents were
Laughing at this point,
My dad dropped his
Nice trucker hat,
And I tried once more...
“Cat...”

This story is not a lie,
I cannot name things,
No matter how hard I try.
My names are horrific,
So I apologize for any
Naming problems
You have with MY
Poetry.

I need to write;
To sully heavenly paper
with our beautiful words.

But with each stroke of our pen,
The ideas exit our mind;
Flying like a fallen leaf,
****** away by the river’s rapids.

Who ever knew
That happiness could
Wear someone out
As much as it does.

My emotions
Have grown drowsy,
And my head’s
A bit too feathery.

All I want to do
Is something new

Rather than stay inside
And gaze out at the tide.

On a night like last I sat fearing,
Looking at the wall, almost peering.
The depths in each crack seemed endless,
It’s volume etched into my remembrance.

A certain feeling aroused a subtle gleaming.
In this darkness, our darkness began teeming.
In that moment, my lungs stopped the rhythmic breathing,
And my life swiftly ended by a tiny widow’s scheming.

The miasmic thoughts flow unrestrained,
The **** of daytime sensibility removed.

Thoughts of far off events,
Hosted in worlds parallel
To our very own.

Dreams of the impossible,
That I’m to prove feasible.

Hopes of happiness,
Or the arrival of those
Who beckon it’s luminescence.

“Will my thumb, a now desolate scape
Of nerve damage and love ditched long ago,
Feel sharp sensations, as it once did?”

Moonlight drizzles upon my lawn,
Tinting the grass with its
quicksilver luminescence.

The scattered clouds,
Drifting rapidly overhead in the
Almost nonexistent wind
Beckon in a tempest,
Shearing away the calm tension
That once roamed my yard.

You could have it all;
My liar’s throne.
Pick me to the bone;
Create a cliff to fall.

The forest’s wing
Creates its leaves;
Their sweet little sting
Scraped off the trees.

What have I become,
Beating to another’s drum?
Following the soft flare,
With thoughts I cannot repair.

I’ll drop you into the dirt,
I will make you hurt.

Two hearts,
burning bright.
Hands held tight,
Knuckles turning white.

The snow falls light,
Radiating a pure white
But these two souls
Shine far more bright.

How many days
Will I be able to do this
Without failing?

And how long
Will it take
To dust off the old books
Lying on my mind’s shelves?

There was a time
That time was now.
Now is gone,
Only to replaced by then,
Along with countless regrets
That continue to plague.

Among the silence
A voice shall call.
The delicate noise
Making earthquakes
In this songless forest.
A silence will follow,
And the silky song missed.

Tiny drops of memories
Flow past our open minds
Bringing back the melancholy
Of a long forgotten childhood.

Maybe it wasn’t your fault
But I resented you for it.
Maybe you did come back
But you changed so much.

I almost forgot
To write one.

Who’s ever even heard
Of a one day streak?

Nobody.

Because there’s a more common phrase
For this phenomenon:
Lack of commitment.

There once was a flame
that burnt all that came.

In it's charred wake
was left a world to take
full of renewed life
and eternal grace.

This unyielding force
never meant to ****;
it meant to rebuild,
and rebuild it did.

As the small child
awoke upon the creaking beams,
he was careful not to move
and cause unrest
to his clueless flatmates.

Each ginger step
taken with the care of a cat
moved the boy in ease,
and in an undisturbed silence.

out the open window
he flew, a silent squirrel,
and landed, a drop of hail.

The boy knew his path,
tracing it without fail.

The destination stood ahead,
and the boy dawned his hood.

A twenty foot wall,
reaching into the sky.
An unscaleable surface
but the boy knew how to try.

The bound of a panther,
and the leap of a squirrel.
The flight of an arrow,
and the end of the sparrow.

Now that strings have been formed,
will they prove to hold like cables,
or is it another delusion?

How am I to awake on time
when my racing mind
keeps me up too late?

Why is my chest
feeling as it is?
my heart
cannot hold emotion,
but why does it act
as if it can feel?

Why do these voices
always get swept over my head?

And how was I so careless,
and open,
to a stranger?

And why are there so many questions
without answers?

Apparently
Eyes that I thought
Held no value
Are rather pretty
To others.

Remember,
You’re awesome.

Who you ask?

You! The person reading this.

Now don’t forget that!

As paper falls,
the wind is blown.
The life once held in this sole book
is now spread across the land,
free to follow the wind.

The mime drowsily stumbles,
Now awakened from his dream.
All that’s left is the silky memory
Of his imagination’s devious scheme.

The silver sunset awaits his arrival,
So he gallops onwards into nightfall.

No,
You don’t belong
In this head of mine
I think it’s time
For you
To politely...
*******!

Today is not the day
For you to take over
And ruin me in every way.
I don’t need another thumbprint
To litter these pages of mine.

Maybe life
Will recalculate
All of these chances
For my failure.

And maybe
I’ll succeed.

How many blades
Do I need
To sever these connections?

Or are they just too strong
To accept severance
By mortal blades?

Apparently I’m at 10,000 words on my profile. That’s pretty cool.

Is it a song of defeat in the eyes of death?
Or of the solace felt in their closing breath?

What does “okay” even mean?
Out of all the information I can glean,
It is just a way of saying fine.
But it cannot be fine,
Because fine is the exact opposite.

Whenever I hear ok,
Things usually are not perfectly fine,
And whenever I say ok,
Again, things are not perfectly fine.
Things are usually pieces of ****
that make me cry, in misery or in loathing.

But does that mean blind comfort,
“That’s ok” “it’s ok”
Is just venomous words hidden in a
Pastry-like consolation?

And why, am I ok while writing this poem?

Once more
I learn the same lesson
That brought me down
Several times before.

Sparks fly
Ashes fall
Coals simmer
A crumbling wall.

Torches flicker
Down a lamplit hall.
The fuel dies down,
And a new man stands above all.

Opal blades;
Freezing rain to hail,
And deftly slicing through
The iridescent frosted grasp.

As the cold is cleaved
A spectrum of vibrant glass
Echoes like a brilliant sunrise,
And life is borne once again.

The curtains,
Still singed by the events
Which took place the previous night,
Stand like a statue,
Reminding the residence
Of the sanctum provided
By flaming bonds.

Outside the world,
Detached from these echos of ours
A set of golden eyes,
Which glint in the sun’s stunning strikes,
And glimmer in the moon’s luminescent lasers,
Watch over the lively realm
And protect the tipping balance,
Which tilts with each grain
That the hourglass will drain.

But I, standing inside this world,
Wonder if those eyes
Are the ones I should trust.

The sixteen bit
Integer variable
“intParityHandler”
Has had an overflow error.

I could always
Enlarge its capacity,
But what if
There’s not enough
R  o  o  m
In my mind
to do so.

One step too far.
One step off line.
One step, all my fault.

One step
And I’m reluctant to return.

Sometimes I wonder
If I’ve gone too far.
Stepped out of my place,
Reached up that extra inch,
Or ran that extra mile.

Sometimes I have,
But usually,
It just becomes a wonderful conversation starter.

I built a castle,
And burned it down,
Watching the ashes fall
And fireflies rise.

A paper castle of much grandeur
Can’t hold a candle to a flame.

As ink is left to fall,
Another paper
Is left to stain.

As my veins
Decide the path
Of my blood,
The ink in my pen
Decides the stain
Upon this paper.

As one reaches for the sky,
It stretches out before his hand.
Within a flaming vortex of life,
Water is dropped to create ripples.
A motion made to dissipate,
A rock tossed for pure enjoyment...

Eventually, the water returns to rest.