I was blind
but now I see

I was broken
But now I breathe

I was hurt
But now I feel

I was absent
But now I'm real...

A-P.O.E.M.

The starlight starts fading
When Heart are open for grating

Shall we embrace the touch of tomorrow
In the cold feels of today

It hurts to fade
Especially when its from things that are made
Sitting in the shade
Outside the reality of these paradise parades

The shade
Casts a shadow
Casts a doubt
Carves thee hollow
From the inside out

Reflecting the image of the world to see
So happy,
          but dominant,
                           by amounts of greed

Those who plant the seed
Fill the next generation with a developmental make-up that is a touch of their own.
But how much is change accepted?
is it reflected? Or terribly misdirected...

Seemingly so seasoned with grainger and far away from danger, may our weary eyes see the design we mold things to be.

"Don't bury these beliefs
They mean everything to thee
They mean everything to thee"

A knock, she hears
Upon the front door
Startled, she drops
It all on the floor

Who could it be?
Why are they here?
The calm moment gone,
Now shattered in fear.

She shuffles, she steps
Towards that front door
Her mind, it spins
Dark thoughts, how they soar

Is it her foe?
Shrouded in hate?
Bubbling revenge, and
Unwrapping harsh fate.

She tips, she toes
Closer the front door
Her throat, a knot
A pit in her core

Is it the ghost?
Haunting her dreams?
Banshee spits fumes
While shreaking hot screams.

She trips, she slumps
Against that front door
Her soul, so drained
Can't take any more

Is it the reaper?
Grim to his depth.
Hooded cloak collecting
On the promise now kept.

She weeps, she opens
Dreaded front door
Mere branch, that knocked
Does so no more

It's just the front tree
But the girl does not see,
She does not feel glee
For the girl, she is lost,
Reliving her nightmares three.

You're Glass
        Full Of Color
                Unlike Mine
                     Or Any Other

I can rhyme & riddle
Play violin & fiddle

I can write metaphors and paraphrase
Sit in a basement or stand on a stage

I can narrate comtemplations
And describe frustrations

I can sit in the shade and describe what I feel
I can recreate the impossible and make it seem real

I can write stories about feeling distant
And tell tall tales of commitment

I can write In riddles without clues
I can write on all shades of the blues

I can capture the experience of motion
and make time freeze in emotion

I can write to match my mood
I can write them eloquent or crude

But just because I wrote it
doesn't make me a poet  

Poetry...

What is it?

Eh, I'll leave it to someone else.

This is just me

writing on myself

One is for Love
        The other is for Pain

One is Forgiving
        the other is for Blame

One is Happy
         While the other is Troubled

Whatever happens to One
         The affect becomes Doubled
              

One plays the lute
           As the other beats a drum

One enjoys sweetness
          For the other will have none

One enjoys the ocean,
         while the other prefers the coast

One loves to listen
       while the other loves to boast
              


One has faith
         The other has themself

One is an open book
        While the other stays on the shelf


One loves to write
         The other loves to walk

One loves to sing
          As the other loves to talk


This life isn't balanced or even close to stable
When they both reach for the chips on the table

But both share something
that can never be changed or erased
The person standing between them
who knows how to look both ways.