He smells of nothing
sometimes of trees, salt, rain, and everything pure
he is the colour grey under flesh, muscle and cloth
like rain; fresh, gentle yet violent
elusive but perhaps far more beautiful
The paths have fallen in love with your footsteps
there are cracks in the asphalt where flowers bloom
I swear they are trying to wrap themselves
around your ankles when you walk
I stopped counting
while the mountains stopped screaming
and Sohrab, you are beautiful and breathing
On mountaintops these echoes
are hollow and empty as they should be
exactly how I feel when I look at you
and how I feel when I don’t
It’s a battle of sorts
I need the reminder that there exists
the ability to feel so hard the cold will not win this war
but I know that in the end it will
I know that you are scared to breathe so deep
your ribs scrape the underside of your chest
tell me, who wants to be reminded of their ability to feel so hard?
It’s a tremor under your bones,
you’ve plunged your hand into your chest
to stop the heaving, the hurling, the surging
but everything is fading violently,
in a decadent whirl of stubborn silence,
and eyes that refuse to meet
Nothing, I am nothing
Inside of us you should always reign
with poetry given the main game
the lamenting heart of a stars heart
like chorus in a distant land
echoing through your star lite chamber
Compassionate parts of poetry of tomorrow...
Capable of infinite sorrow
expressive eyes that see
as much as me...
To be special in an indifferent world
makes no difference in your million years
In the mire of your worlds
you hang on to every syllable
when hurt comes in shades
you write and weep in your poetry...
A poet's life, not understood
many shake their heads and go
as each poet's days on paper are born
carrying a message to another's day
the immortal message maker of beauty
fires the souls of God's art, that cries for me...
Through my poetry my heart has grown
contacts are many that share their life
seek their poetry through each strife
sweet to all our visions giving air of love
surrounded by a blazing sphere of sweet doves ..
What is a question,
That elicits a thousand answers?
That is more complex than,
The story of the universe?
More confusing than,
The mystery of religion?
Yet a question that,
Is asked all the time?
The question is:
"How are you?"
I never know what to say when asked this.....
I believe that,
Can be summed up in one phrase:
You can never see the moon "in full,"
Only half of it.
When someone says,
"You have my full trust and devotion."
But that's only true,
Until someone better than you
Comes along to,
Give their "full" trust and devotion to.
The moon is never "full"
Very long either.
The weight of these words
rolling around in my head
are breaking my neck
one thought at a time.