Tell me the truth,

     if only in a whisper

of unassuming promises,

instincts have waned

    on many a dawning,

   of impromptu desperation

     neath longing's plaintive misery*


       tell me a lie, it'll still suffice,

        as midnight fast approaches mourning's daylight

Music written to
     the sound of rain,
patters of notes upon
    slick windowpanes                
mesmerizing a day
        of reminiscence,
when two hearts
    danced between drizzle

Let us run freely hand in hand
   in Elysian fields of resplendent grass,
where tranquil existence lies
      beyond skies of incertitude
         whence ambiguity doesn't rhyme,
and empathy's rapport  plays in the hearts
  of all those who cherish the melody of peace,
      swimming in rivers of abundant harmony
    and dance 'pon the ether of communion's serenity*

"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and right-doing, there is a field,
                                            I'll meet you there...."  Rumi

She's like deliquescent caramel,

the cool side of a pillow

        to lay your weary head,

subtleties of springtime &

          warmth in wintertide,

whispering hope upon lush  

        Zephyrus pipe dreams,  

    mellifluous nymph with wings

                 of a butterfly warrior,

softly determined,

    unfailingly true-hearted,

       whilst relentlessly ferocious

  Wise, yet sometimes struts

        blindly in the light,

       as dulcet tones of a cello's

           melodious marmalade

            in sentiment's tender fancy,

she's beauty, charm,

         knowledge, poetry,

               utter strength,

               & humane weaknesses,

she's twisted and ethereal,

           her aura sublimely captivating

     you may covet her body,

            you'll never possess her soul

Kissing you was like swallowing
the salty, salty sea:

I have corals for ribs,
and seaweed limbs;
my bones are ship-wreck saves
and wishful pennies.

My heart is a sea-shell:
if you put your ear to it,
you’ll hear me screaming, shouting,
pining
for you.

With deja vu at the head of it,
followed by a longing for coincidence.
Those kids left a trail of mist wherever they went;
chasing the tail-end of everlasting moments.

I get scared sometimes,
by a coldness in the reflection of my own eyes.
As if they know something I refuse to believe.
Like he's daring me to see beyond the lies.

I've written poetry about chess,
as a central metaphor for the way I go about living life.
I confess that I like Knights the best.
They're the only pieces with the power to jump the rest.

Sometimes, I worry
that I'm just being used to create some kind of story.
That any chance I might have at Happiness
gets thrown under the bus for the sake of His glory.

I've often accused my mother of having multiple personalities.
She refuses to take any tests.

I've made a little man out of paper clips.
I hung him from a rubber band noose
that hangs from a shelf above my desk.

Sometimes, I'm filled with fear.
I get the shakes in grocery stores during the middle of the day -
paralyzed by the thought that I'm not really there.
Afraid of the things that my ghost might say.

I once wrote a poem fully explaining your mental state.
I know I've got it saved somewhere.
By the way, I think you're pretty great;
these and other phrases you've no desire to hear.

"Knight to e6,
I believe that's checkmate."

Paper Clip Man hung there for weeks,
but his steel wire neck refused to break.
Eventually, he got a hand around the knot,
and used his strength to gain another breath he never again thought he'd take.

I've never written a poem about backgammon,
but they say it's one of the oldest games ever played.
I bet I'd be real good at it.
I'll learn how to win some day.