In the elevator going up
Reaching for aspirations
Seemingly out of reach
Door opens
Flood fifth floor
Weird, didn't come in the elevator
Swim through the crystal water
Going for something
What, what am I reaching for
Aspirations
So thirsty, swallow my swimming water
Salty, no quench here
Back to the elevator
Cannot reach
Aspirations becoming further
Unable to grasp
Wake up, sweating
Heart racing
Sunlight spilling in
Take a drink of water
Aspirations, a new day begins

Your lips start to shake
As your spirits break
And the pieces of you
Become dipped in blue.

You trust your sight
Because your heart is blind.
You trust your ears
Because your heart is deaf.
You trust your scent
Because your heart reminds you of her.

You trust yourself,
Because you are the only one
Who will not lie to you.

Read the words etched in my mind:
You are wonderful

When I think of you and me
I think of a tree

Sometimes that tree is full
prosperous
beautiful
full of life
So full it reminds me of the stars
Where we sit on a blanket and count them
Where we think they are all ours

Sometimes that tree is empty
Each passing day
more leaves
fall to the ground
Until one day
all that is left is one
Saddened by what it has become

Mutual...
Like the beach,
sparkling with radiance.
Openly welcoming the soothing
caress of the waves.
Allowing them to
playfully tug
at her toes
before retreating back
into the ocean tide.

Mutual...
Like the leaf,
that shines amber
in the autumn sun.
Silently inviting the wind
to sweep it off the threats
of the brittle twig.
Trusting the breeze to set it aloft,
in a whimsical spiral
before releasing it gently
into the safety of the ground below.

Mutual...**
Like you and I.
As we confidently
match each other's
gait in a display
of song and dance.
Though our exchange
remains unworded,
the promise of love
rings clear within
the clasp of your
willing hands
in mine.

These are not the times
for poetry…
For lofty prose or
roses budding in
warm sunlight
to gently perfume
the wind with
a delicate reminder
of tenderness.

These are the days of
****** knuckles;
chipped teeth.
The days of beating the truth from strangers,
then strangling that truth
with a piece of garden hose.
The bad days, the ugly days
when poets take up fighting and
fighters take to ******.
The goddammitfuckyou days.

Welcome to the clinched fist.
Beautiful things must be whispered.