What if people were kind.
To be nice, you only need to pay attention
but don't overstep.
because you can leave a wake behind yourself.
Stir up trouble you didn't intend.
whether it's soon, or not,
you can't expect others to do it all.
Show your might to the world
and it will forget
just how bad things have been.
Leave it to chance
and that wake will diminish.
where you're at is never where you'll be
once you have given it your all.

Paint the highest peaks
Or sketch the lowest man.

Break a thumb
And get out of restraints.

Sculpt us David
Or splatter a canvas.

Flay another man
And see crimson fall.

Scribe together volumes
Or scribble three lines.

Tear your own flesh
And slip away softly.

Write of her beauty
Or even her majesty.

Beg her to stay
and she takes everything.

It's all art to someone
But let it be known
True art
No matter the medium
always comes from pain.

Beneath branches and leaves
we step through foliage
and the sun's great beams
hand in hand together we strode
while sweat accumulates
between our palms
I dare not let go.

Away so far on rolling waves
between ice and snow
but here the sun retreats
so I grasp your memoirs and letters
and pray to feel your warmth
with dreams of you
I dare not let go.

And while you're gasping in pain
fighting and screaming
while bringing life and love
into our vast world
you squeeze my fingers blue
yet it's nothing compared to your pain
I dare not let go.

And now you lie next to me
your skin shows glory in this light
as our child coos against your rising chest
fingers curling weak around mine
a face like yours
and eyes such as mine
I swear, not ever, will I let go.

Waters around me,
       Lungs full of brine.
              Dark tunnels form.
       Who do I look for?

Dreams flood over me,
                      Like familiar memories.
Limbs going numb,
           And then I become...

Weightless underneath waves
                  Now I will
Wait less with no more time to save.

Thus certain Fathoms I'll plummet
                Like a staff or a book
                     I'll be drowned.

I wish I wished for things.
Most who can't have,
Wish for it.
I never wish.
I never get.
I just accept.
Then I never get.
What is it,
To not want,
Yet wish you could?
Wanting to want?
Or wishing to wish?

Like faucets
Words stream
In falsettos
Voices scream

Three men sit in a circle
The first is a scribe
he speaks of great science
of alchemy and astronomy,
how he computes large sums and numerals,
and can create new substance.
The man to his left says:
"Yes, all and good,
but when faced with a lion,
your pen and ink will not save you."
The second is a warrior
he tells tales of boast:
of his swords and his spears
his strength and his size.
How he bested 60 men
all at once on a bridge in battle.
the man to his left says:
"All that may be true,
but hurts your spirit too.
It grows weary and sad."
The third is a monk.
He talks of enlightenment
of good and evil.
of balance and peace
and things such as man
of love and grace.
The man to his left says:
"For a good spirit, all that may be,
but when wolves come to your door,
loving them wont do you much good."

Alone again.
At last.
Eyes of strangers gaze,
Worriful of the odd
Young man who eats
And drinks alone.
Never does the young man
Speak, accept to order drink.
What goes through his head
Need not concern them.
For his mind only takes input
At times such as these.
Times when he may watch,
Learn from others, of how...
How to act in their presents.
How others react in one another's.
He yearns to know how...
How to describe it.
The thoughtless observer's
Only wish
Is to make reality into ink
And then change it back again.

Declare a war
you don't understand.
Speak to the poor
with a meal in hand.

Pray for the sick
then pay for your care.
The things we pick
are the things we wear.

the only crime we commit
is ignorance.

Our species is divided
like tribes of warring apes
you simple ungulates
act with herd mentality.

You do what the group does
you act as you are told to be
following your cluster of Ovis
off the proverbial cliff.

Take away borders
and erase your subjective labels
what you have left
are scared bleating sheep.

I met a salty sailor,
Smokin' a pipe on a Boston Whaler
He said, "Boy do you know...
If a Coastie dies, where does he go?"
"He goes to Davy Jones!
But don't worry,
He's not alone!"
The salty sailor cleared his throat,
Then pushed me hard off his boat.
There I sank beneath the waves,
The white caps pushed me to my grave.
There I was in the locker,
Davy said, "report to muster!"
Then I saw my BMC,
He said, "boy come drink with me!"
We were all without a bother,
Drinking and fightin with each other!

What else but wait?
Feel the beating essence
of a world moving on
without you.
How far can one go
to achieve anything?
How fast would one go
to catch up?
Faster,
the pace quickens.
As a species
with collective amnesia,
we forget together.