Here I am again
trying to keep from sinking
but I am the dead weight
recollection of heavy bones

I try to pull it
out of me the black rays
feeding inside me
caged and reeling
a wounded raven

I dream of somewhere
beyond my reach
then I let the core flutter

You taught me to think.

To think for myself,
A search deep within.
Find my thoughts,
And make them mine.

I used to think streetlights shone on to the road,
But perspective says the road was the one shining,
Albeit under the streetlight.
Then again, sometimes the light can be blinding,
And the road shines brighter in the rain,
Imagine pathetic fallacy.

You taught me to sink.

To see how wrong I always was,
My deepest enemy is myself and not you.
You told me your thoughts
I made them mine.

I did not mean to write about death on a Sunday morn
He said that he didn’t mean to dial my number at 6 am
this awoke me from my dream
I was dreaming of being in California
Waiting to board a bus that was leaving at 2 pm
It was headed to New York City:

Poems can be amazing topic to ease the pressure of the day
Recalling an odd glimpse of a dream can be so puzzling
The dearly departed is never going to come back to us: unless
They are a part of a soap opera story line:
Somehow this mortal man ought to go and joined them

I wish that ***** would have called someone from the grave
And woke them up instead of me:

I just saw a not so love president in a recent photo
Standing alongside his daughter on graduation day
He too, look like he wish someone, hadn’t interrupted
His busy schedule, to pose for that photo session

I read a poem a day for inspiration,
How do you get your inspiration?

you don't know how to carry
the burden of being alone
you can try by pretending
to have company.

But in the end of the
day, sleep
is your
best friend.

Even in death,
          your last words
were cremated within you.

Like a whispers
                    in a jar
rotting in your lungs.

Words were maggots
             eating away within
                         yearning for release.

O wind,thou that art scented with the scents,
Of a thousand fallen leaves and grass,art
The hoper's hope,and carry,in torrents,
The wishes of all,of all that have heart.

Bear my wish! I wish that my soul be gone!
Be gone with thee,there,where no burdens lie,
On the poor flesh,and that I be alone,
So I may,my own meek self falsify!

But if you can't carry my sullied soul,
Take my lips to my love,so I may speak,
And in my gentlest manner,kiss her all.
Or bring me the scent of her rosy cheek!

Be steady,O wind,for on thee I rest,
My hope,that does all my love manifest.