Random dates.
Random times.
Useless words.
Stupid rhymes.

It's not cool being
less than you can be
so I urge you--
urge you--
to be happy.

Because there was a man
who was a clown
and he danced for the children
as they were being lead
to the gas chamber.
And it was 1943.
And it was
**** Controlled Germany.

The clown wept,
each time the lever
was pulled
and when the children
became silent.

To stop crying,
he told himself
that existence
is just random dates
and random times.
There was no meaning
in reason
and no order
in lines.

All he could do
was all he did know,
and that was to give
happiness
before they'd go.

why a poet?
because a poet
hears the words
which sing the
purest harmonies
because a poet
paints their portraits
in pastels
of phrases
because a poet
dances their agonies
into leaps of faith
and pirouettes
of passion
because a poet
sees
the beauty
in the commonplace
and captures
the moment
in a snapshot
of ink and white
because a bloodless world
cuts itself
a thousand times

and the poet bleeds

and i guess i'm just asking,
if all the things you said to yourself, appeared on your body,
would you still be beautiful?

I hope I do not live to see the day
When I could be genuinely
Intensely happy
(Without your approval,
Without your hands ticking my clock,
Without you)
And bump into your sad, empty eyes
Hands waiting for the warmth
Talk to you again
Like we used to

You know I'll be back
Running, breathless
With all your memories in my hand

Late at night I think about this
But then,
I don't want you back
Do not come back.

walk with our feet
work with our hands
speak with our mouths
see with our eyes
hear with our ears
           &
fall to our knees in anguish
cause violence with our hands
break people down with our words
cry tears of pain
hear only the things we want to
           &
jump on our feet with happiness
comfort with our hands
encourage with our words
cry tears of joy
hear the giggles and laughter of innocent children

we weren't, aren't and never will be, in love

Saying goodbye
To someone you love
Is like reading the final page
Of an amazing book.

As the last chapter ends
You begin to notice
Just how beautiful
And perfect
The plot always was.  

You appreciate the joy
And even the pain
As you read and thumb
Through every page.

Finally understanding
The moral of the story,
You realize you've reached
The end of this journey.

Although the last sentence  
Is the most difficult to read
Another great book awaits
Once you turn the final page.

Eventually you may stumble
Upon yet another great find.
Or maybe you'll return
To the book you left behind.

You may just discover
Once all is said and done
That this particular book  
Was your favorite story
All along.