A tired wood surrounds the town I live in
and
if I could,
I'd wander for a while where the giants stood,
in the shade of their descendants,
small, if you recall how trees used to be,
yet their abundance hides you from me.
And the moon turned shy.
Between the places here and there you're waiting,
so am I.
If it should happen that we come across each other,
laugh away our worries and our scars,
the canopy above us would surrender,
and we could stay the night beneath the stars.

I sure hate haikus
Less complex than they appear
Wow they really ****.

Let some seconds flee,
and I'll bring you to smile.
Let some minutes pass,
and I'll make you laugh.
Let some hours vanish,
and I'll tell you a story.
Let some days disappear,
and I'll draw out your sorrow,
Let them leave together,
and I'll give you a lifetime.

If I'm not deep then
I'm not special;
how can I be
if I but skim the surface of the sea?
Wrong, so wrong,
for how can you be special if
you're too deep for them to see,
they who you're scared to be?
This is hardly poetry,
so I'll rhyme to make it so,
hopefully.

Somehow soon I hope to pass
into the ever-changing state,
of drifting off to solemn dreams
with which no other can relate.
This threshold lasts but for a day,
neither before, nor in the end,
at least for me, this serene peace
should be where God pretends.
Here, can He think and ponder on
about that which does not exist,
where all will feel the unique touch
that is the Reaper's kiss.
The quiet calm that does descend
before the day is gone,
attracts me back through use of force
and a silent song.

I live with iron, lead, and steel
in the house you built for me,
in the country.
A rusty door keeps the wind out;
it creaks, but it's not often I need hear it.
Inside, resting by the window,
I listen to the rain sing pitter-patter on a tin roof,
and ask aloud; "What will grow, anyways?
It could rain for days and dry soil would stay so."
A few weeds once speckled the front yard,
but they withered when you left;
not from thirst, but because they needed you.
Specks of silver could be found in your footsteps,
and a light spinning at your center
radiated warmth on chillier nights.
Still, you were but the kindling for my forge.

Unusual I think, a hero, sinner, saint,
betwixt a commoner and his tomorrow ever faint.
Alone outside, the breath of death will fog his window pane,
the three between, I'll call them we, can't see beyond the rain.
Though now for fun, the normal one,
unfairly cast aside by I,
he yells like he escaped from Hell
and now we are alive as five.
But still another waits outside.
He starts to scratch the glass
where the six of us reside.