I once dreamt

Of a child beneath a tree, in a field off the edge of a small farm.
Small farm that owned large landscapes, and passing by through the freeway were the sad broken horses. All the beasts of burden that were more burden than beast, and they dribbled blood from their noses and they limped when they strolled.

They passed in one lane, while the cars passed in another. Fast ferraris and hot wheel model look alikes. Breezing by barnyards and dead horses trying to live with blinders on the corners of their eyes.

This little boy sat resting under a large tree, filling his lungs with horse heaves. On the side of a road looking out across the fence that separated his land and his curiosity.

And I couldnt find myself in the dream, I was nowhere. Floating as a molecule of oxygen, painting the scenic ocean of grain and land, exhausted by the proud sun ray filling the eyes of a boy under a tree. And I continued to wonder how long the boy would sit. If he would stand and run and fly away in to the sunset, into the moon setting, before the land was dark and crisp in its perfect way.

Never once did I wonder why the moon was dissappearing with the fog of the sunlight. And why the stars would not shine here on these never ending hooves, on these tire treads bleeding steam into the air.

A leaf drifted onto the boys lap and i found myself, watching the sound of the wind pull moonlit tides of grass and grain towards the boy. The sunlight placed it's fingers on his tears and dried them, wiping them away.

It was then I saw, this boy was blind. My final moments as the leaf in the wind, falling by the side of a boy. Then falling on his shoulder, and i witnessed death through thousands of green soldiers, rustling through the static of the air and closing their eyes on the floor.

The horses still clopping out of tune. The cars not slowing down. It would be pitch black soon. And I'd come to realize this boy, through collective images of falling friends, drifting deadmen.  Like a puzzle, I saw, he was lost. And could not find his home. The sounds betrayed his ears, and the pitch black was not silent, as the last bit of light sunk away beyond the horizon.

He was here, in tattered rags, his eyes were blind and he could not hear past the road. The sun and moon would burn his tears away, but in the dark his eyes would water the roots, his skin would tear and become the bark. He could never go home, but he would always be needed.

My eyes closed in the dark, his eyes remained open all the time. Somehow, I found we were both lost.

I was the wind, and he was the earth.

"There is a clarity you feel...something like a bride would feel, removing a veil and seeing her husband without it. No thin mesh, clouding you. There is a clarity you feel when you finally put down your abuse."

I say while abusing once again. It's funny how light on dark moments makes the light seem brighter than normal. The truth is, the light is no different than any other day, but since you've never seen the light here its brighter. A funny perspective skew. With abuse it's the same way. You quit, give up the vice that holds you tighter than any human hand. And feels more comfortable than love. You quit addiction for sun light because after you've given death a few rounds you realize that sun isn't just bright...it's warm.

It touches your skin
and all your cells race
to the surface,
antioxidize my sins.

Months pass and you become used to the light. It's normal again, and it grows weary under the weight of the boots. The veil would be better than this.

It was better than this.

And so the light becomes the same, and maybe you need darkness again to feel that warmth. Maybe you need the vice to cut off your circulation, make you shiver in the summer winter. So that sunlight doesn't just slide past you, so that it touches you again, the way it did when you opened your eyes for the first time...

Guilt rides your
back instead,
the warhorse
of an individual
apocalypse.

You make it, though...you keep secrets, you tell lies, so no one knows. It's not just darkness, it's silence, to deprivate from

"You can get through this"
"You'll be okay"
"Youre strong"

Because paranoid whispers are better friends. But it takes awakening from the right dream to remember that the sun loves you more. Your sun loves everyone, it pours down on everyone, it fills the darkness. All the darkness is just empty space anyway. Waiting for something warm to fill it.

It takes awakening from the right dream to make you realize that the sun doesn't just fill darkness, it grows life, it lives at the crest of mountain peaks, above the ocean of clouds.

So you understand that sun lights a path,
and you run it,
you plant feet
and
oaks blossom.

You never again take the world for granted.
You never again compare light.
Because even if it is the same light overflowing a new dark,
It is a growing light.

And it is always warm,
And it sometimes burns.

It's not something in the way you move. If i didn't know what it was, I'd feel silly.
It's everything in the way you strut for me, that walk along the tree roots that finds its way glancing back at me over shy shoulders.

I find it in the way you talk to me, reminding me I mean something to someone who speaks with the subtlety of a star. Muffled in soft lamp light.

I think it's always been in the way you sing, and how you send subtle vibrations through the air to become one with the reverb from guitar strings.
The way you make fine lines dissappear and melt into me, the way your angel kissed fingertips glaze my skin with touching lullabies.

It must be in your toes, that glide over my shins under warm blankets.
It's in between us, when we lie so close, not something that holds us apart but a warm magnet that pulls our heart beats closer to sync.

It's got to be in the way you laugh, that makes me laugh.
And of course it's in the way we laugh together.

It's in the soft giggles of rainy Sunday mornings, opening my eyes to your glow.
It's in the way sun light kisses your skin, and the way moonlight kisses your soul and lights you up.

Goose,
It's not just "something" in the way you move. It's all those pretty details in the way we hold each other, that pulls passion from patchwork memories and interwoven breaths.
It's in the way we hold each other, that makes it feel like our heart beats are trading stories with each other, matching tempos and beating reverie from our thoughts to our lips.

I know what it is. And I've only tipped the iceberg.
It's in the secrets we share,
That are always there.
Like our favorite stars,
Always and Forever.

I'm realizing these things I do that aren't so ideal. I know I keep making mistakes but my lord do I love you.
The sun couldn't shine bright enough on anything you do, no moment could match the ones I've known with you.

I know I fidget and forget that my best friend comes first, I shouldn't let it slip my mind that you've been here for years helping me through all kinds of darknesses. I live in loving memories of dim light and music making warm close bodies blush and breath. Forcing warm close hearts to rush and beat.

My heart aches, Its not that I can't find the words, its simply that with you, I fail the english language. I don't know how to describe that I yearn, that for so long I'd wanted your heart to want mine and I find.

I find you've wanted all along. If there is one thing I've forgotten, its that I am supposed to protect your smile. I am supposed to be the warrior of light waning darkness from your heart.
You and I have ink resembling lifetimes in mortality, etched on skin, engraved on bones. If I continue to make these mistakes, I will make you regret your own skin.

I'm sorry isn't enough, I've heard less words say more.
Ill show you what you mean to me.
Ill prove my apology.

I sat in the backseat of a car with time slowed down around me, I looked at the trees passing by,
Outside the windows I watched the rolling landscape swirl by. Winding away into the mist of vision, like paint stained water down the drain.

Little birds chirped when we got home, their sounds slipped away on the wind and were replaced with squeals, with screeches and cries.
Inside I heard the walls creek and moan, fingers digging through the wallpaper, clawing through plaster and hard wood.
Hands, reaching out to pull me away, and I ran.
I ran through my home, it was not mine anymore. I could feel it.

The bushes outside of my home, on either end of my lawn blazed violently.
The trees shed their leaves, draped in snakes chanting hymnals backwards in dead languages.
The birds suicide bombed my home.

Inside I saw through the windows, the world consumed in red. The sun, a fragment of the rage I felt consuming me.
My fingers could taste the light, my fingertips felt the red dawn through the vines outside of my home,
Scurrying down rabbit holes and scattering dead easter on the lawn.
I saw my distorted reflection in the mirror.

I felt the burning in my body, the burning from my skull,
My palms bled,
My eyes bled,

My body was another form, a powerful beast in control of the sky.
I heard the fragments of red planets falling on the human horizon.
I felt the souls of wretched divinity failing and falling and flailing in the fires.

I was the daytime,
And the night,
I was the beginning,
And no end,

My name was all,
My name was yours.

We were fire,
And brimstone,
We were damnation.

I would **** you.