sweet corral
in savage fields
you were to me
salvaged visions
hushed syllables
relayed in gasps
now stilled

and I sang to  
this favoured space
place all ages stretch
dance to meadow’s song
but havens don’t last
for spent shepherds
seek sleep too

I face myself
as dark clouds
I saw fomenting
omens of looming
deepening chill told
of friendship's succor
earmarked to go

confronted by
naked and scarred
discarded outcasts
dirges of limbs
parts broken
by storms'
scythes

you stood
beside me
sturdy strong
then winds ceased
and bland tones
transmitted
often

no sunny sky friend
you are but in storms
you see the beaten
traveler's plea
as rains
strip
breath

Maybe I would have
been able to keep you
if you had been a lake.
Waters whisked by wind,
softly stirred in its sleeping
faint scent of flowers following
wafting, over my head, hovering.
Nothing to resurface. Your skin,
salt-and-pepper hair, veins
peeping from your wrists, squeaking
yellow rubber slippers, small mouth
taking sips of turmeric tea, all that I
remember, embraced by the waters.
Embraced.
Embraced.
Embraced.
For always.

But your heart has always been the sea.
So there's nothing I can do to stop how you
are more saltwater than I'd like, or how your
comings and goings are more waves than streams.

Still, I'd rather have you
crash over me sometimes than never,
swallowing me whole.
Stinging my sight.
Leaving my lungs
gasping for air,
just as long as you don't
drift too far for my feet to follow.

i
   write
            because
                        my
                             thoughts
                                           won’t
                                                   stop
                                                         talking

You said you'd always love me
so why do I sit here alone at 3am
wondering where it went wrong.

I'm here sitting
alone,
the smell of coffee runs through
my veins,
some music i probably will forget
in a few years arguing with
the thought of you,

But I'm here,
I'm here,
writing about what's happening

pretty boring huh?

i call myself a poet
but i can't use high metaphors,

i call myself a poet
but i can't describe fully
how you make me feel

i call myself a poet

but what am i?

I'm just a kid
scared of life
finding new ways to cope
searching for someone to love,
desperate,
not holding unto my dreams
how can i choose with my mind
what's right for the heart to choose.

and you see?
don't you see?

don't worry i can't either

i can't see how great i am
i can't see how other people see me
i wish i could.

i want to believe this was a dream
or
a nightmare at that.

But at last.
I'm here wishing that in another life
i could be with you,
or
maybe in other deaths,

i crave your touch,
i crave you..
with coffee waking up my senses
like a kid in summer waking up early
to go play with his friends.

i wish things were different,
so i wouldn't have to wish.