You’re in No-Man’s land, shells all around
Not yet forgotten, but not easily found
Silence is a peaceful but elusive sound,
What a poor excuse for a proving ground.
Lay down, meltdown, fade into the background,
‘Cause all you’ve ever known is letdowns.

Magic is real,
It is not what most expect-
A two-bit card trick, vanishing act-
But everything we feel,
Everything that has an effect.
You don’t need prayer
Or spells to cope,
Just an unbowed mind,
A little flair,
And the illusion of hope

From a young age,
I took hours to imagine scenarios
Where interesting things happened,
Mostly to me,
To deal with an unkind reality.
A coping mechanism
That I never really grew out of.

I’m sorry, but who are you?
Did you take my face?
You look like me, but askew
Please don’t take my place.

Verse and poetry
Is an emotional release
Pristine and beautiful.
So wonderfully simple,
I don’t know if I could ever
Write a novel

In a “wise passiveness“ I sit
Able to conquer any fit.
Wounded is my melancholy
When he meets his deft enemies
My Serenity, and Spirit

Never get too close to anyone
For awhile it’s almost fun
You may be even glimpse the sun
But inevitably it’s always over
All you’ll find is two leaf clovers
With death, a goodbye, or just an arbitrary day
People always go away.
Sink back into your pit
Consumed by manic fits
That you love too much to let go,
It’s how you cope with woe.
They are not meek
Certainly not weak
Wise beyond years
They forgo future tears
They’ve found, having been hurled-
Innumerable times from a great height-
They just prefer the underworld.

When you realize you’ll never seize the day,
Never have the right things to say,
Your judgments are always erroneous,
You’re not Hamlet, but Polonius.
Though you know that all things must end,
It doesn’t spur your torments to mend,
A dutiful advisor,
Who never gets wiser.
It must be so serene
Never having thought you might have been-
“Neither a borrower nor lender be”;
I say, yet fear both apply to me.
“To thine own self be true”;
ah! Long ago, I missed that cue-
And all do agree,
The audience doesn’t need, my soliloquy.
Under all this weight so crushing
And the envy to just feel nothing,
This act’s end, now I’m certain:
I’ll die off stage, behind a curtain.

You are porous,
Blend your voice into a chorus,
Can’t help but wear your heart
On your sleeve, fall apart
So easily, and so frequently
Admittedly, sometimes even gleefully,
Feel every gust of wind;
Even drafts, make you bend,
Warping to all these demands
Making it hard to understand,
Just where others end
And where you begin

I do not feel a desire to rhyme
Nor work within any sort of structure
Traditions are a waste of all our time
And who needs iambic pentameter?
Whoops.

Battles lost and Wars won
Capsules and Caffeine
Minds warped and souls undone
Dreaming state of being

You listen for what we now may hear
Eternal cosmic mysteries
But a cost paid too dear
Another Pyrrhic victory

Too far now
A mirror opaque
But we’ll make it back somehow
And then we will awake

Antisocial, shy
Or have you lost the hope of
Being understood?

Truth is found when one can
Reconcile the irreconcilable
That’s why it’s so elusive
And Illusive
Because you can’t,not completely,
At least not humanity,
Paradoxes obscure, but also vindicate,
The all
And everything.
And creation is a scientist
And we are its Petri dish,
And creation is a mystic,
And we are its parish.

I died.
Old and weathered by the sun
  Knowing that my race was run
   I was not contrite,
    I knew my time was finite
     But my story was told,
      And eventually I grew old
     A kind reality,
    Hopefully awaiting me,
   I did not know what my life was to be worth
  To a new and unknown earth
Kicking and screaming
I was born.

It’s hard to be here
And to be sincere
When you run on caffeine
And fear
But it’s easy to be coarse
To stay indoors
When you see the whole world through
The filter of remorse

A heart lying cold and numb, black to its core,
It was so lucky I had a thousand more
Tucked away in a little drawer
Ready for when I needed more
So, not that I’m keeping score
But each time pain knocks at my door
Or else my spirit is knocked to the floor
My newest heart tore, my body sore
I take a look in my little drawer
And again I find, more and more.

Rest your bones, shut your eyes
You have earned this worthy prize
Sweet relief, a deep sleep
Twelve hours pass, now repeat
Everything’s uphill
And likely always will
Your laments avow
You have all the time you needed now
Dream of all that may have been
Never get back up again

Take it as a compliment
Branded heretical.
Bring on the pyre,
And set it afire;
When they resort to
Crucifixion
You’ll know you have the right
Convictions

Despair of a furtive root,
I try to keep the time at bay;
My ambition is rendered moot
And I begin to dread the day

And though I know it seems inane
My reality lives in dreams,
While my life is but a dream-I feign,
Since my life is faulty-it seems

Lost somewhere between hate and love,
apathy versus ambition
And the desire thereof,
Must I imitate affection?

Is love found? Or is it produced?
Is purpose found? Or is it set?
Is zeal found? Or is it induced?
Someone who knows I have not met.

I sought and searched for something new
But found and obtained something old,
I try and try to start anew
Instead I find I grow more cold

Our lives are fleeting and bitter,
I cannot seem to find content.
Through love and hate do I flitter
So I shall remain despondent...

Do not show the world you’re hurting
It does not deserve to know
Devote yourself to the diverting
And put on a good show
Drive the knife in deeper
Let it all run out
It’s a painful procedure
But that’s what life is all about
Do not show any fear
Go ahead, make yourself a martyr
So drear, so utterly clear
There’s some beauty in self-******
Kick me while I’m down
And spit into my eye
If you want a frown,
Then do not say goodbye

A heavy, inward sigh,
As I stare at all the passerby,
Each with their own lives,
I wonder if they think of mine?

It’s when, to follow your dreams,
You give up everything,
And you, piece by piece, are consumed
‘Till you’re living in a nightmare

A smaller God
Held in the palm of your hand
That will dissolve in you
And you with it

I chant the right incantation
With a little inflection at the end,
So why can’t I ascend?
Am I doomed to this stagnation?
And the wrong spirit offend?

Tallies on the wall.  
Doors that rearrange,  
In strange, entropic ways.
That dissemble and confuse  
To keep two locked in the halls;
The lights flicker, periodically-
They spot shadows on their peripheral-
Likewise in intervals.
They seem to speak,
But only mockingly.
They did not choose this fate;
The house chose them.
Some must be condemned-
Like Minos and the Minotaur-
For a terrible hunger to abate.
Another tally in the frame.
They’ve been this way earlier,
Though their recollection’s getting murkier,
While hands reach from plaster,
Reaching to claim.
They must learn to love the maze
The freedom in being confined;
At least their goal is defined-
After all, once you enter, you may never leave,
And are doomed to tread the lengthways.

Outside cars pass and children play pretend
By a for sale home overgrown,
Inconspicuous, yet locally it is well-known:
You never get too close
To the house that never ends.

Locked away, in tower grey,
The crime of innocence;
And in the streets, disarray,
Observed from the distance
Of a somber penance:
A sinister interplay.

In their beauty, an unparalleled race
From a higher, supernatural place,
Driven to hidden, underground refuge
When mans’ cynical wars the earth deluged-
Leaving only the slightest, unclear trace.

They knew no pain, nor any suffering
And the world is darker from their leaving
And we are left to pick up the pieces,
While our own ambivalence increases,
Seeking to find a singular meaning.

You may call it naive wish fulfillment,
But I will search for reconcilement.
I will upturn the soil and the roots,
Until I may procure some lasting truce
Make amends for Ill-judged revilement

And then mankind again will have a guide
Some holy beings to gift us back our pride
What a dream, to again have dignity
To direct our kind to benignity
So we may be pulled back from the wayside

It’s all very romantic, isn’t it?
That some saviors will see us fit.
It takes the blame off us,
Makes our apathy superfluous,
Proves we are not hypocrites.

But maybe we should fix our own mistakes,
Go outside and clean our own ******* lakes,
Stop hiding behind flowery language and care
Waiting for a savior when they are rare,
Before our zeal irreversibly breaks.

This is not about recreation
Nor the asinine seeking of thrilling sensations
Rather it is my focus
To reach an apotheosis
As a kind of deity
Using the splendor and solemnity
Of the universe and it’s energy
Paralleling eternity
Crafting a new identity
To trace serenity
We are all on the path and the road leads upward
Ever

Feeling warm again:
Clouds, making way for fresh light;
wheels will turn themselves

Take this pain, as a token
To trust the heart, is to be broken
The mind alone, sets you in motion

If we could not hate
We would be left with despair;
now, how would that be fair?

All was given to
Me and I threw it away
To spite existence

I wish I could cut out my heart
So I would never have to taste disappointment
again
How could something that causes so much
Needless bitterness and despair be such a vital *****?

Ambivalence towards higher station
You have enough apportioned
And your only aspiration’s
To be a full-fledged person

I want to live in an age of letters
Of horse-carriages and cobbled roads
Maybe I glorify the past too much
But nowadays it seems we’re always in a rush

A simple dream
Where decency was found:
The low were raised to high esteem
And the wealth was spread around

There’s still places, I’d like to see,
People I’d still really like to
be,

A hundredth chance; in theory,
I really love
humanity,

But there’s a voice, in my head,
And it says everyone wants you
dead,

It doesn’t matter, where you have
been,
Nobody gets to go home
again,

So what’s the point, no one will
tell,
They’d rather see you live in
hell

Do not lose sight now
When you’re far enough ahead
It seems you’re behind

Do not worry;
They are footnotes in our biographies

The weight of the universe,
But I’ve never had such strong arms
Seems to me a bit perverse
Deliver the sleeping to life and then immerse
Them in hostility and harm,
But for a few consolations
We would refuse to bear it
Preferring the cessation
And subsequent damnation,
And misery outwit.
But that imperfect face,
And the words it leaves spoken
Gifts me trust in the human race,
A suit of armor encased,
Until my faith can again be broken.

Show the world you’re happy and revel in its enmity

I want to have poet friends
Where we sit in coffee shops
Caffeine and idea high
Until we find our flow
Laugh and cry
Bring each other low
So we can fly back high
And we can’t pay our rent
And we are disappointments
But in those little moments
We are finally something to be jealous of
A clandestine union of talkers!

Can’t be told told how to see
By those who have never saw
Or how to them I should be
When their sight is flawed
Can’t be told what to do
By those who have never done
No advice on how to think
By the ones who’ve never thought
Or how to fight
When they’ve never even fought
How are they so certain that they’re right?