Invisible hands refuse my flight
Oh how I long for the wicked night
Yet time slips away no adrenaline flow
Killing me slowly starving my soul

Once I burned in passion bliss
To kick the bucket beyond the list
Experience gathered of blind ambition
To live forever without a mission

In an unknown space between the lines
Where gathering secrets erode the mind
I lived and lost the path of lies
No longer can I just survive...

she was a poet,
and he was her pen.
in him,
she always found words to write,
songs to sing,
thoughts to think.

he'd smile,
and kiss her softly,
and say,
"write me a poem."

and she would.
she'd put poe,
and whitman,
and shakespeare to shame,
and she'd write a poem that made his eyes water.

she'd compare him
to a rose with no thorns,
a book with no end,
a world with no poverty --
the things we all wish for,
but can never attain.

//

he asked her one day,
"what am i?"
and so she picked up her pen,
and began the usual:
you are the shining sun after a hurricane,
with rays that open the eyes of the blind.
but he stopped her after those two lines,
and said that this time,
he didn't want any metaphors,
or similes,
or analogies.
he wanted the truth.

and so on that night,
as he slept,
the poet picked up her pen,
and she wrote.

she wrote,
then thought better of it,
then started over again,
and this cycle continued well into the early hours of the morning,
until suddenly,
she wrote, frantic,
if i can't love you for what you really are,
have i ever really loved you at all?

this, too,
she thought better of,
condemning it to the trash.

the next morning the poet was gone,
her final work a mere two words:

i'm sorry.

(a.m.)

Like sand in the hour glass
life keeps slipping past.
Fading eternally
moving so fast.

Summers come
and summers go.
Joy and happiness
Grief and agony.

One day its here
next it's gone,
its elusive
fragile and small.

We cannot tame it
we cannot control it.
It rules its own destiny
it comes when it chooses.

Like reading the last sentence
of a wonderful book,
or the last tranquil note of a love song,

So too do I watch the final pages of summer
fade away.

I do not know whether to grieve
for it is gone,
or to rejoice
for the memories it left behind.

I think I will rejoice
for it has been a summer to be remembered
full of wonders and excitement,
adventure and peril
love and happiness.

Like the setting of the sun
so too must the pages of this sweet season
fade.

Farewell to the fading pages
of sweet summer time.

You know how the sun is always there,
each morning, throughout the day
and makes sure life grows.
and sometimes you want to face it,
with eyes closed
and arms spread out
till a tingle spreads from your fingers
to your insides
and how sometimes the same sun
burns your skin and prickles your mind.

You know how the moon is always so calm,
serene and makes you awestruck
as if it's the reason for the tides
of your heart
how it makes you feel secure and at peace
how it follows your car and keeps looking
out for you wherever you are.
but also how it isn't always there,
or is, but not entirely.