What happens then,
When we finally reach that bridge
The unsteady footpath of decision 
That only one of us can cross
When our hands part
And you walk the shaky steps of commitment and truth
With a single glance backward 
Avoiding my eyes 
As I watch you walk away
Only a few steps apart
But with a lifetime of history and emotion stretching it's cavernous yawn beneath us

Do I forget you?
As you stride out, leaving of the mists of my adoration 
Should I cleanse my mind of love
Crush the butterflies that sit in my stomach
Awaiting your every word 
Do I scratch out your face from the photographs of my mind?
Remake memories 
Reforge falsified passion
Ignore the beauty in the delicate brush of wind against a sheltered forest,
The bittersweet sting of cold rain against warm skin
The rush of blood to my cheeks at a black and white image I know only you could love.
Do I embrace my senses
Turn my back
Allow us to be separate entities in a world where we were supposed to be whole

Or do I follow the solitary wake of my heart
Cross legged, silent
Patiently waiting at that edge for the moment you may return 
For the moment you realise
Life cannot go on without us
And you turn back 
To leap the chasm that keeps us apart
Wait for the flames of your outstretched arms to reignite the fire in my broken heart
For us to connect
In the unending circle of emotion and connection 
That makes us whole within ourselves 
That feeds us
Free to blossom into the multitude of colour our wistful lives have always promised 

Can I wait in vain
And let my heart forever overthrow the sensibility of the mind
Expose myself to the elements of rejection and sorrow 
For the promise of something perfect
Sublime and intangible
Can I forsake the solid ground of reality?

I already know how this will end 
When we reach that path.
My body can let you go
But my heart will never forget

We reach a time in our lives
Shuffling along our own dusty highways
In the warmth of a whisky stained dusk
Watching the honeyed heat of our future seep along the horizon
Into bruised sky of overburdened past
We each meet the same crossroad of decision
The two sides of our soul extending welcoming arms
As we stand, a prize in the feud between mind and heart
Practicality and passion
Security and sensuality

Who am I to choose which gravelled path to follow
Whether to take the wrinkled hand of prudence
And crunch the stones of wisdom and logic with each familiar step
Does my future lay ahead
At that point where the sun kneels to kiss the ground
And throws its glowing arms across the earth in a blanket of safety
Not in passion, but affection
In the comfort of routine
The reliability and purity of what is, and what has always been

Or does it sit within the flicker of a fiery heart
In the sigh of breath that creeps along with the breeze
That trickles down my spine
And dares me to turn my head, to look down roads of impenetrable darkness
To embrace the possibility of the unknown
And the leaping tongues of flame that might lie where those paths end
To be engulfed, and to know myself within that destruction.
Is it the voice that whispers inside my veins
"should there be more than this?"

I stay static
Leaderless
A spectator to the conflict of the soul
Stuck fast in a deadlock of inertia and indecision
Awaiting that moment
When the last glimmer of sun has bled through the cracked earth
And I open my blurred eyes to icy silence, shapeless and pure in its clarity
To see, without obstruction
That the decision is clear.
My future transparent.
That there was only ever one road I could take.

.
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's the tears that trickle with radiance through words.
     It's a treasure trove that hides but longs to
     be found.
          It's a book shelved high that wants to
          be read.
               It's the freest of all birds caged but
               unbound...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't beat to the capable strokes of the artist.
     It doesn't pump in the most vibrant of
     colours.
          It doesn't wield a paintbrush to
          translate its thoughts.
               But it can see through the eyes of
               painters...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't conform to the conventional parameters of lyrics.
     It doesn't bind itself to the requirements
     of musical harmony.
          It doesn't follow the conventions of
          genres.
               But it sings its voice loud without
               restrictions of melody...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's an open secret, that whispers in metaphoric codes.
     It's an exploding universe, that merges
     back into galaxies.
          It's a sought after painting, that boasts
          of unfathomable beauty.
               It's an everlasting song, that echoes
               within the poet that embodies...

Each poem tells a story
Containing truthful experiences
Gathered over various stages of life

Happy poems, sad poems, odd poems
Reflecting the personality of a poet
Exposing flighty thoughts
Caught and trapped in lines

Poetry means diversity
There can't be wrong nor right
And ain't that the magnificence

I can't hide this drive
I just want to feel alive
Don't mean to hurt no one
But now that i have gone
You are in tears
Trust destroyed for years
Try to suppress this urge
My soul i try to purge
Failing every time
Here i sit and rhyme
Was raised this way
Unable of letting love stay
Moving from one to another
Any feeling of guilt i smother
Will i ever change?