Her thoughts and I,
we stay awake
waiting for someone,
hoping for somethings
for the heart in pain
needs no tending
just a pinch of the divine
and that silver lining.

I think of the moments
we gently stole
from the curious eyes
of tired souls
our driving the distance
to escape our own
and finding the universe
in our palms, unfold.

There in the coffee shop
she stares at me
from the helpless tea bag
in scalding water.
In the bottle she would get
to quench her thirst
I find her asking if
my need's greater than hers.

The empty seat of car,
in front
is taken in her absence
by her memories warm
The gear shaft
without our fingers twined
is stripped bare
of our naked thoughts

The rains when they come,
they flood my heart
for a stormy noon
is still parked within
when the highway was lost
behind a sheet of rain
and in lights all turned on,
our tongues were mating.

Her breath is all over
this gluttony of a glass
half filled with wine,
half consumed by need
Now, the dam opens,
blood rising to the lips
flooding me with her thoughts
she can never read...

As silence settles, and a kingdom of faint bronze on haunting ebony appears,
A scrawny lion spins a broken record in my ringing ear.

Weighted walnuts, or perhaps slow bullets, strike just below the spot where my ribs meet:
Mental hiccups.
Sentencing the calm to its defeat.

Then they come,
Crashing over my skin in icy waves,
Like ghostly spiders, leave raised footprints in their hurried wake.

Imagined strings lifting my hand towards the pin or blade,
Weightless ropes pulling my steps closer to the precipice.
The lazy, stilling terror in my stomach providing just enough weight
To keep me frozen in place.

They wrench open the doors protecting peace,
Obliterate the floodgates of my internal screams,
Marching in with their roiling hellhounds, uninvited,
Chanting horrid songs, voicing their desires, unrequited.

Over and over, their wretched requests bring horrific imagery about,
When they finally subside, taking with them prowling demons and low growls,
They neglect to close the door on their way out.

I won't worry with the sunrise
I've spent nights carving my name into rocks
One for the moon
Two for you
Three for the stars that still find a way to sing
After all these years
My ever-loving reminder
To trust my fate
And keep my faith

Haven't my feet traveled the lands?
Raging. bold, and confindent
Though winterland
Steel and bone and cold
She dances like Aurora Borealis
As I trod on
Steadfast, determined
Through heat scorched deserts
I find you in the sands

I play with you
Beautiful thing
Beautiful dawn that I rise
Sweet honeysuckle on the vine
The flower, held in my hand close to my chest
The seed
The tree, the plant, the vine, the fruit
All significant
You are
And I know I told you I believe that you are water
You are water to me
However you arrive
In storms or gentle rain
You become rivers to me
Where I go to quench my thirst
To quell my fire
Subdue this spirit, soothe this pain
Love this soul
Bring me to the ocean

bring your hands that make the spring
now the seeds are new plants breaking through the surface of the soil
unwinding, spiral tendrils reach and hold
as when the sky becomes jewels above verdent land
flowers are now blooming
in my heart and mind

that dog who has his bone
the one you may find, manged, raoming in alleys or parking lots
half deranged, holding only to what he knows
dog and his bone
he is happy now
for him, right now will last forever

never could believe in the future
until I saw a movie about a maid
and it was only moments
switching places
we travel as witness
unindentured to the day

would only relief last forever
as when those grey clouds on the horizon
finally break over me
and all the world I know

The misty clouds conjured the light
The strong winds broke the hush
Flowers blooms in the gleam of the moon
And the stream of water seems as still as a glass.
As we lay on the grass which is as soft as a silk quilt
We gaze upon this lovely sight in tranquillity.
The birds sing and the Phoenix dance to this beautiful night in nature.
As I see him beside me..bathed in the moonlight resembling a look of attractive glow
I've watched him in silence with a coquettish conception
And thought to let open my gates of love.

sometimes
it hurts so bad to close a chapter to your life that was so good
because there is the constant fear lingering in my mind
that maybe the next chapter won’t be as good
because when in my life will I meet another person like these people
because
sometimes
it’s hard to believe
that I could get that lucky twice

The old man sits by the ocean, watches the waves crest.  Gnarled hands
caress a wooden flute.  He brings it to his lips cracked with age, plays
notes with consequence.

He hears no more.  He feels only the air whistling out, the vibrations
in his fingers that substitute for the sublime he once knew.  
It is a paler form of knowledge.  And so he resolves to teach,
to animate, to find eyes for unseen light.

He knows ripples, the movement of wind and water,
the shivering of cold and pleasure and
of someone moved — no, displaced, by sound.

He draws a crowd.  Lifegivers, he thinks, fertile minds
ripe for the planting.  And no two flowers that bloom
are the same.  He plays a song
whose notes spread as dandelion seed does —
flown, twirling, through the medium of air —
then taking root through the ears,
pushing into crevices,
unfurling green buds.

How to disappear?
I ask myself everyday.
Under what mask will I hide myself today?
Am I going to have glee written on my face or perhaps an aura of innocence would be better.
I walk around with clear brown eyes that appear to hold naivety.
No one will know the amount of exhaustion I always have; The way it hangs on me both physically and mentally.
If I were to tell them, an answer that they find simple would roll off their tongues like a rock rolling down a steep hill,"You should get more sleep."
If only it was that simple.
If only my mind would shut up.
If only my eyes would stop watching the ceiling as silent tears stream down my face.
If only I'd stop rolling around my bed as if I'm a rock on a hill going somewhere.
They might as well console a crying child than try to help me.
I'm a lost cause.
A child listens, they're more obedient, easier to control; I used to be a child.
I used to listen.
I thought adults knew everything why else wouldn't I have listened?
They never listened to me so I took that as a sign that what I said wasn't important.
So I shut my mouth.
I stayed quiet like the doll they wanted me to be.
Adults knew best and they were always going to take of me, why else wasn't I allowed to make decisions?
I was sheltered from the rain.
I thought it'd be like that forever.
I would never need to pick up the pieces I had broken because the adults were there to fix my mistakes.
How wrong was I.
I forgot that I was supposed to be an adult too, maturity was something everyone developed.
They took away my dollhouse and told me I couldn't live in a world of fantasy anymore.
I didn't understand anything.
What was this?
I was left shivering in the cold and what I was left to face wasn't calm; I was left in a hurricane, It destroyed everything I knew.
Familiarity was what I always had, it comforted me, it was all I knew.
I survived the hurricane but I knew, I was left all alone.
I was faced with emotions that resembled nothing of the childlike happiness I had before.
It was ugly.
Everything was ugly.
I didn't like people they were mean creatures that didn't give hugs.
All they wanted was to strip me bare and take away my innocence.
The words weren't lovely anymore.
They were crude and harmful.
I would cover my ears but I couldn't escape it all.
I'd turn my head away but the words were always there, the sneers were ever present no matter how much I acted like they weren't there.
Adulthood was a foreign concept to me.
It wasn't nice and soft like ice cream on hot summer days.
It was tumbling into cave without a flashlight; there was no light anywhere.
I stumble around with no semblance of direction and in doing so I get even more lost.
I don't know where I'm going.
All I know is I keep ruining everything.
I'm sorry.
Future me, the mistakes I make right now, I hope we can power through them.
No matter how hard, please keep living.
Not for anyone else, but ourselves.
If only life was as nice as Winnie the Pooh showed us.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.