When
        night
              kisses
                      the
                          end
                               of
                                  day,
                      there’s
                          a
                     moment,
            when
       my
cares just…
       fall away,
                     a
                     feeling
                         of
                           gliding,
                                     upon
                              calm
                                    waters of life,
                           when
                    peace
               and
         love,
         overcome my strife….

With you


Let me be with you
We can rewrite the stars
With each other side by side

Let me fall with you
We can climb up the mountains
With each other hand in hand

Let me walk with you
We can jump over the pitfalls
With each one step together

Let me dream with you
We can build our own world
With creative imaginations

Let me fly high with you
We can roll over the clouds
With wings of freedom in the sky...

once upon a time
long ago
there was a you and me

i knew you once
and it was nice
silence was comfy
and we didnt have to try

i knew you once
long ago
you shared your secrets
and i shared mine

i knew you once
long ago
but where did you go...?

If everything is going well
then something must be wrong

Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this
really
talent?
Art?
Effort?

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
intentional
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just
pretentious?

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?

She was like music,
and I longed to dance.

Her heart was the beat,
and I begged for the chance.

Her words were the vocals,
and I was put in a trance.

Her smile was the melody,
and I fell in love at first glance.

Anxious thoughts shroud my mind
Thoughts of self-harm and suicide
Troubled days unsettle the soul
Uneasy nights make me cry

Rope creates a fantasy like no other
Train tracks lead to an unclear demise
Bridges invite an easy escape
Knives carve thin skin where veins reside

Everyday follows another
An endless cycle from which I suffer
To live is to feel pain
To live forever is to go insane