I am the summers shade
The rain that wets the forest glade
I am the canvas where stars hang
And I am the song that weeps in pain

I am the leaves in late autumn
The waves that crash against the shore line
I am the last lingering hint of sun
And the fallen branches of olden ones

I am the breath after goodbye
The time in between long replies
And while the ache of endings is mine
I walk hand in hand with life and time

How do I end without beginning?
Through faded scars adorning?

Or perhaps by tired sigh,
A breath released into an evening sky
Waiting for a sun that he’ll never see rise
Sword fallen by his side, long forgotten

The sun bleeds red as the moon hums
A soft song of forlorn goodbye
To worn hands and tired eyes
A life lost, but a battle won

How do I end without beginning?
By mourning a hero dead and gone?

Akin to a lover, she lays with me,
through the darken knights and on long drawn days.
Whispers tales as she kisses my eyelids,
her embrace shielding cloak in the world.
I call on her and she comes faithfully,
even though I know we will part too soon
and she will cling as I rise to leave her,
calling for me to come back, cries ignored.
She is the life behind my love yet
it’s me who leaves her waiting every night,
vehemently ignoring her for hours.
I avoid her like a maggot-filled corpse
until she appears in my cornered eye
and I’m drawn back to lay with her again

You are not my love
Yet I am your folly
The distance between us
Betrays my inadequacy

I am but love’s tenderest touch
Alone I am worthless
Though I think not as such

But to you, and alone
Many grievances upon
And barren your lands
By the rays of sun

Be you both blinded and burned
As you yearn for warmth
And your prospects wither
Along with the crops

I apologize, since I meant no harm
But alas I am a selfish one
A paradox disguised as a prize
Nothing will come of your pining eyes

Countless tales have reached me from far and wide
Hidden warnings from generations past
They speak of raging rivers, rising tides
Turned to barend dust bowls, dry dirt and ash.
A friend once said to me, with old ego,
“to live is to work, to rest is to die”
Withered like a cut rose, last breath a sigh
Is this the youths fate? The only paved path?
We sell our bones for scraps of sleep at night
only to face the rising sun, dawn’s wrath
sinks its teeth in our flesh when we can’t fight
The thread frays until it snaps, dripping red
And as time drags on all that’s left is dread

I think I hate my darling dear as much
as I love her, in all her rips and tears.
I want to push her in a fire and weep
and drag her out to fix her up again.
Every day I watch her break apart but
at night I bend her limbs back into place.
My heart is crushed as she is stepped upon
yet I cursed her name as she betrays me
I, her slave, am bound and shackled, helpless
To her beauty I am but a mange mutt
Though looking closely I can see her aged
A milky white turned sour with wrinkled frame. The time has come to go our separate ways
A pleasure it was to have been your keeper

Worth your time
As well as mine
For me to write
And you to read

Something that
we almost need
To hear or see
And make us feel

Both reader and writer
Forced to kneel
From the weight
Of words and wisdom
Natural highs and ultimate freedom

Yet well versed words
Don’t fall from above
It takes tallent and effort
With a dollop of love

The air here is like no other
Crisp and clear
Like breathing in pureness
The clouds puff in agreement
Never have I seen such a fluffy white

The sun is so warm and comforting
Hot on the best of days
Lost on the worst
When the rain comes it pours
Falling down to wash and water the land

Day is everlasting, as is the night.
They take turns between the seasons
Sharing in perfect harmony
The sky and the land
Broken apart only by the jagged horizon

I’m in a room
A war room
I use these barracks quite often
To plan and to think
About the problems that arise
To thwart my victory

The room is red
With black drapes that don’t cover windows
There aren’t any windows in the war room
And the desks in the room
are covered with paper
Previous plans that didn’t quite stick

I spend a lot of time
here in the war room
Gathering info and formulating ideas
Though I don’t think many
have ever seen battle
And I know that none of them have ever won
If I had won
the walls wouldn’t be red

Here in the room
I am alone
These wars that I fight
are completely my own
But others do pass by sometimes
Lending a hand as often
As they rip the plans to bits and pieces

I’m in a room right now
The war room as usual
Though I know that it’s pointless
When the battle is out there
I can plan and scheme and justify myself
Believing that the day will come
When I’ll enter the battle field
And all of the foes will fall dead at my feet

But it’s not that easy
To win a war you have to fight
And not just sit in your war room
That’s as red as a rose
On a cold winters night

I don’t know your name
But I know your face
I don’t know you from your name
But by the things I know about you

I know you,
what makes you you
What sets you apart from everyone else
Habits, language, and past

My connection with you
Isn’t weakened because
I don’t know your name
Because how could just one word
Ever represent you

You are more than just a name
On a page, in a book
More than any number or letter
Used to set you apart
From the rest of us

So please forgive me
For not knowing, forgetting,
or mistaking your name
You’re just as important to me
As the ones who’s names I remember
Maybe even more so

Be watchful
I am a wall
And with my cracks
I will stand firm
Able to endure
The charge of many beasts

Nevertheless, what wall
Laced with lines
Could survive a blast
That levels the land

Be cunning
I wear a mask
And if I could
You wouldn’t even see me
These flimsy strings
Hold my mask in place
Even as I run
Away from you

Then again, if you can
Outrun my feverish pace
(The chace I will enjoy)
Until you are within arms length
To rip off
my artificial face

Be careful
For I am a corpse
Chilled and humorless
Melted mind leaving me thoughtless
My heart has failed me
And I’ve become
an undead

Though in the moment
I’m sure you’ll notice
How hard I try
To take those tiny gasps
Of loving,
Life-giving air
Waiting for my heart to start again

Filled with flaws
A hermit at heart
Unthinking and uncaring
They’re parts of me
so be wary
But if you’re there
All I ask
Is please don’t leave me here

Why would you ever want to let go
Of the rose you hold so dear
Take the time to see its beauty
And know, in your soul,
That it was always worth the thorns

Take the saying to your heart,
“Pain is better than nothing at all”
And remember that even a dying rose
Though brown it may turn,
Is still beautiful when dried just right

You don’t have just one tiny rose
There’s an entire bush, no
An entire field of roses
That require your attention
Though they may not always be red,
but yellow or black instead,
They will love you just as dearly
As the love you show them

Don’t forget, or at least realize
That you too are a rose
Care and water yourself,
Even as your own thorns ***** you
And the ivy of the past climes up to strangle

And as your mind drifts
To that single red rose
Even though you may get pricked
by their ever present thorns
Think of the alternative
Living a life of nothing,
which doesn’t fit you a bit
Live, love, and grow.
It suits you most
My yellow rose

Feel the rhythm
Feel the rhyme
Feel the rumble up your spine

The music plays
The guitar whines
The crowd goes wild and starts to grind

There’s bass and there’s drums
And pounding in your soul
Your arms go up; you’re losing control

You start to move to the toxic beat
Dancing all night
Losing feeling in your feet

By the end of it all you’re feeling good
You relaxed and let loose
Better than you thought you could

“Let’s write a silly pome,”
I said to myself today.
One that will make people happy
and laugh,
and take the blank away.

So here I go.
There are words on the page.
But what do I even say?
I guess it doesn’t matter that much.
Just tell a story that’s okay.

“Once upon a fish there was a time
when all the stars in the sky could rhyme.
That didn’t bother the living none,
but others grew jealous of the rising sun.
First the moon turned into a mirror.
Then all of the planets grew nearer.
Realizing the lack of balance,
the clouds announced their plan of absence.
Then everything fell into place.
Boom! The universe gained a new face.
The end”

Now I’m done.
The poem is over.
This is just an afterthought.
Good luck finding a four leaf clover.

My head is so cluttered
so full of noise
I can't focus
on your words
Please, say them
again and again
until they are engraved onto
my mind
is so full of static
How do I sleep so peacefully?
The background noise,
it hurts my head.
I can't remember
     the lines said
     the lesson taught
     the words defined.
Am I loosing myself?
Please just be quiet.
Stop making so much noise.
You're breaking my
focus
breath in, then out
How did this poem start again?

I feel separated from the crowd.
Not just by their doing,
but by my own as well.

The crowd, a pessimist
crys out its hypocrisy.
“Save me, help me.”
The sailors call to eachother
on the same sinking ship.

At the same time,
they try to help or hinder
the others in the crowd,
ignoring that they
can help themselves.

Even I’m
guilty of this,
sometimes.

But as of late I feel,
almost as if,
I’m sitting alone on a lifeboat,
watching the crowd
as it scrambles, screaming
for the ship to stop sinking.

I do not hinder anyone,
but reaching the lifeboat alone,
I don’t know how
to help the others,
still on the sinking ship.

I do not feel the tide
or pull,
as others have around me.
But reaching out to talk
means defying the rollers
that tip and tumble into the boat.

I know that I could leave them,
and drop the lifeboat down.
To leave the crowd behind.
But in doing so,
I’d find myself waterlogged
and sink, alone now,
as the sea swallows my mind.

Oh the beauty of nature,
so marvelous I dare not attempt to capture it.
For what being could grasp
the familiar perfection of the greatest artist?

Yet I morn for such a loss,
as the moments pass unwillingly.
It will never be the same,
and I cannot hope to preserve its memory.

Shall I see another beauty,
quite like the one I have witnessed?
One that will bring me the same comfort,
and the same poem-inspiring awe?

Then I realize that I would only loose it too.
So the only solution that remains is to freeze time.
Yet it’s not possible,
as time trudges on through the sun and the rain.

What am I to do
with the view waning from my mind?
Not just the image, but the sound and the touch.
The experience missing its key parts.

Words and paintings and music
could never truly entrap the encounter.
But maybe it's better that way.
Completely and utterly Free

Words, words,
They're not an escape.
The more you give the more they take.
Running around inside of your brain,
They eat at your heart and leave you in pain.
Let it all out, giving form to the formless.
But a message's meaning isn't so harmless
Millions and billions and trillions of words,
Fluttering, swooping, and singing like birds
Words can't describe us, but I see they have power.
More than enough to force You to cower.

You can see the line,
   the one that separates me and them.
But it's alarming how you can't see
   just how close I am to that edge
Almost on the line, on the fence.

But then again, I would never step over it willingly.
I would do almost anything to stop myself from falling.
  So I guess there is nothing for you to fear.
Nothing for me to fear
but my own clumsy two feet.

Your foot goes numb.
Its kinda dumb
how you can feel your foot stop feeling.

Look away, and sit still
in positions that can ****
the blood flow in your body.

Soon you'll find your limb won't move.
Just flop around to improve
the pins and needles in your arms, legs, or feet.

Ha ha, tis time to eat then sleep,
along with limbs that will keep
dozing off with no circulation at all.

Goodnight to my arm
Good day to you all

I am devoted to you,
My love,
        My Morals
                My Relationships
So unwillingly attached, unable to
Let Go
My worries
          My assumptions
                     My memories

Scattered and    Conflicted

Unsure how to
act,
   feel,
      respond.

Committed to beliefs that don’t always follow logic’s footsteps.

Ha. I've done something… not right
Cringe
       Guilt
              Shame
Ponder
       Obsess
Emotions?
wanting,
         empty,
                  Uncaring.

Until I shockingly find that I cared a lot…
more than I would ever dare to share

Sharing is caring, but if you don’t care…

But in the end, I am devoted to you,
mind, body, and soul,
all disregarded and powerless.

To you,
       My Hobbies,
                 My Habits,
My Very Life