This is not for love nor is it for grief
To have one is to carry the other alone
Each shown difference through incredulous perspective
The pieces of truth show no appearance
They merely evoke feeling so raw
One of exposure and vulnerability
Caught in a spiraling emotion that gives no name to itself
A pit that feels free without restraint
A place where all options prove to be correct
One that shows no extent to a human life to live

What has literature become?
Mockery of the new age
They spit on the graves of former writers
They take their names and drag it through mud
Disgrace, distaste
Nothing fuels the flame
The elusive spark as died
We all try to grasp at fame
Only few may succeed
In comparison we falter
We are the ****** ones
left to pray at the alter

i Taste it
The syrup of truth
It rises to the back of my throat
It burns and urns for release
I have not the will to lend
Those sweet epitaphs

I tremble before you
At your alter
For lives unreached; all shall falter
Craving touch
Falling into clutch
Sweet lease
Shown to be brief

Sun bursts into the sky
Leaping colors form under thigh
Bleed into the brush and let moments slip
Concrete your mind yet your thoughts still drip
Propose a masterpiece one of bright blues
For you my eyes speak of faded glues
Stuck in rewind I give you my hand
Lead me by collar to the promised land
Stationary in place frozen you gleam
Staring through reflection my pulse should beam
Strawberries and sunny nights I do watch
Nothing more to our likeness; a room for the klatch