3 A.M. tears float in the air
Like the somber fall of autumn leaves
Under Atlantic sea breezes
Whose siren songs lead them astray
From the sweet release of slumber

3 A.M. tears irrevocably eloped with depression
Oh sweet mistress of the night grant me
Safe passage through your troubled waters
I don’t think I have it in me to have 4 A.M. tears

3 A.M. tears are the sea that which I am sailing
My sails are tattered and taciturn and interlaced
With enigmatic prayers for help.

4 A.M tears when will Poseidon listen to me
Do all my prayers go un-answered
I have drifted far from the shore
I am unsure of how to navigate back
I am lost to 3 A.M tears

I abhor what will become of me
in the belly of depression

irrevocably subservient and malleable to
The sweet mistress of sorrow

Her sweet and succulent kiss
Holds me hostage against
My worst impulses

Somehow as I learned how to speak, I lost my voice.
Somehow as you taught me to love, I lost my heart.
Somehow as I stayed up for days, I was well rested.
Somehow as you held me in bed, I was so restless.

Somewhere is where I want to be, I was found
Somewhere is where you met me, I was lost.
Somewhere is where I cried, I was happy
Somewhere is where you found love, I was angry

Something is what I needed, I had everything.
Something is what you gave me, I had nothing.
Something is what I hated, I loved.
Something is what you are, I hated.

Someone is all I am, I know
Someone is what you want, I forgot.
Someone is what I need, I am not wanted
Someone is what you are, I want you.

From my throne, I gaze at her
In our busy kingdom, I only look for her;

From my throne, I listen to her songs
It sounds likes the choir singing;

From my throne, I read her poetry
Her words paint pictures that no artist could paint;

From my throne, I see her weep
It feels as if my first born son has died;

From my throne, I love her
Even though, I am afar up in my palace;

From my throne, I feel as if she is my wife
Even though, we are not wed locked in holy matrimony;

From my throne, I cast many stones
Even though, her house is made of glass;

From my throne, I fall
Even though, I have wronged I hope she catches me.

When I was Five,
My mother told me I was loved
Years later, she loved me with her fists
For I was the vessel for her to re-enact the scars left by her step father.

When I was Ten,
My Foster Father told me I was the son he never had
Years later, I was the son he never wanted
As my “Real” Family was weeds to be pulled from his garden.

When I was Fifteen,
My friends told me I was there for them.
Years later, they would all abandoned me in my time of need.
What a Gullible and Naïve teenager I was for thinking friendship was a two way street.  

When I was Twenty,
The love of my life, Told me that I was worthy of love
Years later, she would tell me that I was un-lovable
What a fool I was to over look my obvious character flaws.

So, I’m sorry for not having faith in us,
For doubting your intentions, endlessly questioning you
When you told me that you wanted to marry me because
I didn’t want it to wind up years later.

The warmth of your body next to mine
Unaltered and ever present to my own
To lay here simply yearning for an almost
Infinite supply of time to spend on each other

Like the hopeless dreaming of how they
Are to spend lotto winnings not yet won
We mustn't wither away among frivolous
Thoughts of time we have yet to spend.

When the hands of the clock have arthritis
Seconds slow,
minutes pass,
hours cease to exist.

The past is not to last
Nor is the future the cure to our ails

Your nails look awfully like the time
Slipping through our clasped hands

My future is built upon the sand,
Foundations that cannot stand alone.
Apologies that go unsaid
Lies that are nearing truth

The longing touches us
Infinitely deep and familiar.
Your hot breath
burns gently into the skin.

Do not think tomorrow,
If you hope to leave.
Hold on

Secretly and silently,
The wind carries us along .
Secure in ourselves,
Trust is formed without a wors

We are driving,
Endlessly into the night.
Close your eyes.
Let yourself fall, I'll catch you.

Only once and forever,
Come with me.

Do you wish to feel my last breath?
Take it and be its vagabond.
Sigh to know it's accomplished, will you let me leave?
Allow me to walk with the cold in cloak.
All of you, I smile to.
taking of needs, wants, and wishes,
simply to forget they were pieces of life,
never returned or acknowledged.
May I rest in an empty urn,
These aches are old and I want them as memory.
To an unnamed do I speak now to,
may I look to you, may I die in love?

Do not fret, for I’m no Tyrant.
Nor, am I a Liberator
I’am, the path for which you seek.
Do, you care to see it?

I can not mend wounds, for I’m not a Healer.
Nor, am I a tormentor.
I’am the vision, that you dream of.
Do, you care to hear it?

I can not forge steel, for I’m not a Blacksmith
Nor, am I a saboteur
I’am, the unity of which you desire.
Do, you care to taste it.

I can not be wise, for i’m not a Guru.
Nor, am I a apprentice.
I’am that of which is void.
Do, you care to feel it.

Beauty blinds the eye
Kind words deafen the recipient
Sweetness numbs the taste
Sensation paralyzes touch

The grotesque expands vision
Hate speech amplifies thoughts
Bitterness broadens the tongue
Hedonism frees ****** tension

You musn’t not control
Be supple as a newborn
This simple wisdom is flow

Flow

Flow

Flow

Like the widest of rivers
Carning not of the next bend to come
Not resisting allowing the water to pass

Be the river and all things are possible

I speak to you as a blade of grass,
Or another cloud in the sky.
A grain of sand in the hourglass,
That counts the days 'til I die.
I am blade of grass,
Tread upon by your feet.
So small in mass,
Without even a heartbeat.
I am a cloud in the wind,
Gazed upon by your focused eyes.
I could only look as you grinned,
You face so young, yet your mind so wise.
I am a grain of sand in the hourglass,
That casually blends with the others.
Though my heart is fragile like glass,
It reflects the light in many colors.
Blind to it, you slip away,
Falling quickly from my grasp.
Everything I do or say,
Loosens reality's clasp.

My fate was a blank page,
paper can be so patient,
awaiting the description of life,
to flow simply onto it.

Awaiting to be encumbered,
By the burdens of verse,
Only to be brought down,
By a simple spill of ink.

Ink stains the paper
like tattoos scar the skin.
Am I truly blank
If i’m covered in ink?

Thoughts of you fill
every facet of my inkwell.
Every, stroke of the quill
resembles your warm touch,

Each, verse mimics your
soft speech.
this collection of stanzas,
reflect your empathy.

This poem is about
the joining of two souls.
the anthology
will tell the story of us.

String like vapors move erratically
With the slightest quiver of joy
Woven and interlaced with the
Most benign thoughts of petulance

Deep and warm purple crystalline
Structures jutting out from the ceiling
Beckoning sorrowful emotional
Tapestries of childhood terrors
                          
Immense crystal looms ever so fast
To increase productivity thinking not
Of domestic market forces let us set                        
Forth to foreign ports in distant waters  

Exporting fear is the name of the
Game we play as we idly lay about
In lukewarm blankets that cover us              
With layers of facades sprinkled with hope
  
The internal placebo is passed off as truth
The external stitching is connected with
Saturnine fibers of immense darkness                                                  
A duality is lost to a perpetrator that is long gone

The fabric of time remains in the past
Unable to think of the prosperity to be had
Washed out and faded the vibrancy flows                                        
Out his sore blistered blood drenched hands
                        
Onto the floor where the old one would knit
Quilts of silk and iron to protect the boy
From the assailant that bends bones and thought
No longer armed with the quilt that once preserved    

The boys sanguine esque demeanor
He lurks in the low places for a crone              
That he can call upon to be his tailor of wards                              
Alas, that which is seeked is found

An opaque tri-color cloth made of a liquid
Unknown to me appears and whispers
Sounds of the great blue oceans of afar
It sings the song of greenest meadow

It mumbles the laughter of the reddest of deserts
The voices stitch together a fleece of gold
To be worn by the man troubled with neurosis
Omitted from thought the man is colorfully liberated