Within everyone I see myself
They are my life, and all my memories
Within them I see myself
As I once was and what I might become
Where I might be and have once been before

The me I see in them all
I wish I could be
for once upon a nighttime
When I don't know who I am
I can look to all of them
To light my path for a lifetime.

All of you are all of us
And in each other we must trust
As we walk this path together
Moonlit valleys, calming wind, wisps of wheat
Wonders of the world beneath our feet
Walking ever onward until we fall to dust
And become the land on which we walk
Around and around,
to the earth forever bound.
Until the end, atop
Our resting place.

This is my love
Written on this page
This is where it lies forever
Lastly and elsewhere never

This is where it stops
With the ink on the page
Unable to leap into life
A permanent stain

This is eternal
True love always is
Here is my story
Forever told

My love for this
For what I write here
Bitter sometimes
But sweet just enough

Divulge what I am
With diligence
With emotion
With perpetual motion

Quickly, the words
flow out of me
Faster they come
The stronger they are.

Smashing into the page
With weight of my soul
Shattering the walls
Of reality itself.

I break into a world
Of my own creation
Through the trapdoor
Escaping into myself

A child in a field
of wheat waving in wind
Endless blue, blue sky
Vivid, simple, pure.

Great Imagination
Of the unblinded
With it all being
Infinitely possible.

That dream of mine
I share with you
Purely from my heart
That beats now in you.

At the end of the day,
The children play
In the fields of death;
Slowly taken down to rest,
Beneath the tall blades of grass
That hold the moments from the past.
This field full of young growing old,
In time they’ll all lose the flame
And fall to ash and ember:
Like the rest of us, the same,
Struggling to stay lit for a little longer.

Writers, writers, writers,
And not so many readers.
Who do we write for now,
With more creators than feeders?

Over used ideas
And under used thought;
Creating for creators —
Crap, there are a lot.

"Like this!
Like me!
Like us for what we are!
Our originality!"

We all make crap.
Just some are better at polishing;
While what's good we end up abolishing.

Why?
Why are we afraid to write from our hearts?
Why do we hide away our love and truth from the world?
Us who are afraid to sell out —
We are the true artists, but so full of doubt.

Diligent . . .
                     . . . but increasingly self-destructive.

When the snow melts away,
What is there beneath it?
Fresh blades of grass stay
As a renewal on life is lit;
A new beginning, but a sad one.
Where did the wonder go?
The awe that filled my heart: gone.
Where's the magic I used to know?

My years gone by,
They've made me forget
Regretfully I sigh
I can't feel it even yet.

What has happened to my heart?
Have I lost my love for life?
Am I missing my soul in part?
When did I lose my sight?

I hold this moment tight in my mind
For I don't trust it to eternally last;
If I let go now, never again will I find
That magic of the moment that fades so fast.

1
A child asks me, "Is there life after death?"
I wish I had an answer that would not crush him infinitely,
But I can't bring myself you say, "Yes!"
He is so ignorant, so empty of knowledge happily,
And I'm so filled with envy.

I am unsure, that is the curse I bare,
At least with a definite leaning to fact or faith,
Onward may one go, but I am stuck at a crossroads

Is it real? Is what's real good?
My mortal mind can never be sure
In the end I will know,
I cannot go on until the end when I cannot.

From what I've seen,
Not a lot but enough to question,
I do not know, yet my mind is keen,
If I don't choose, from both I face rejection.

What are we,
Fact, or fiction?
That is the question.
What are we?

2
In the beginning, god created the heavens and the earth,
A vile creation, abandoned long ago by the Lord.
The place which so violently ripped apart with all mortal hurt,
Our blood and guts hang out for ridicule of our gore.

The soft green flesh of the world, eaten off by humanity,
It reveals the cold stone skeleton with flesh all gone;
It smells of cold black death from years before we.
We roam the dry barren wasteland, walking on earth-bone.

See our half-life is also merely a half-death,
Be what we can, but ourselves we should always stay.
Whether, we succeed, fail, wither, prevail,
It is beautiful that dream in the night, of better days.

Whether we are divided with many around us,
For with others then we may share,
Or united with none in sight of us,
With ourselves we may stare to the empty universe
Go forth into the abyss, singing a human verse.

3
Before I go, I cannot sleep
Until I leave myself painted on everyone I know
And all the paper is writ upon by me,
telling my story forevermore and completely so.

I will never leave a verse within myself,
Expel every brilliant word from my head;
So that I may one day be taken from a dusty bookshelf
Long after I am dead.

Whatever we do in the moment is nothing,
But not to us.
Whatever we create in the moment is everything,
But not to us.

It is you to me,
And me to you,
And the world to come,
If stay us true.

We are all gods when we create.

4
So this be it,
My final verse to be writ;
Nothing left to be said,
Only a song of myself to be read.

The Atlantic blue, the wonderful shine
Skies pristine, caress the horizon line
Beautiful shore, with sands of gold
Crashing sound of the waves as they roll'd

Reeds of green grass to hide the rest
Behind me I forget the land unbless'd
But it's not all bad, and it never is
For without the land the sea can't exists

I'll stay until the sunset, I'll gaze upon the scene
Taking in all I can and leaving behind my dreams
For next time when I visit, I'll live them whole
When I cast off the shore, into the ocean's soul

It will be something more in the morning light
But for now it's for enjoyment, the stars of night
And when the sea is silent, the sirens will weep
A lament to my heart; the new child of the deep

My journey goes far across the starlit sea
With my dreams and memories my company
But still with little time away from land
The night ends with my feet firm in the sand

Reborn with the beautiful break of the day
Well-rested and at peace with all you say
My Ocean, I long for your cathartic embrace
As I gaze the horizon with sea winds in my face.

Someday, I wish to have my love for you written completely;
Someday, I'll write no more because I've written all I can,
But I'll write until my weary pen is dry, not of my inability,
Because it would take all of time to write all for you, and time again.

There is not enough words, nor enough time to express;
Though try may I with eighty-nine letters of love,
Still incomplete, and insignificant I must confess,
In the shadows of your beauty from the heavens above.

Stella shines for me still, every night still;
Guide my hand and confirm my affect,
And forevermore, I follow Stella's will,
As I see her in your eyes in waters reflect.

And here is another endless verse from my loving heart:
A call to your's, a line on the shore, to pull when apart.

The poet woke every day
With rekindled hope of revival
Desperate for a word to say
Sweet words that are vital

The white washed ruins or shattered possession
Tell the story of material obsession
The war fought over useless gold
Making young grow old

I go out into the wastes of yesteryear
In search of food and water
Cold winter wind whips past my ear
The snow will fall
And with it my world.

I will write again soon,
But for now I must rest.