18 days left now,
since when was that an eternity?
I know it's been 30 already,
but it sure as hell feels like it.
18 days until the countdown ends,
and then I guess I could say that a new life begins.
Less than three weeks I tell myself,
then I can look into the brilliant blue eyes.
They won't be blurred by the camera,
because skype just isn't the same,
or hidden behind my own digital reflection in your glasses.
I can run through the city with you,
sit on the beach,
and watch contentedly as a brightly burning sun kisses the ocean goodnight.
But that's 18 days away,
and that seems like an eternity from now.
Whatever the case,
it's been a month and I love you,
so I can wait.

So it begins,
that song comes on.
It's not attached to any one event,
no breakup or loss.
It's just intrinsically sad.
It doesn't way upon the soul,
or displace the mind.
It causes a sadness,
not like a madness or depression.
It's too clean for that.
I'm not implying that they are *****,
or bad.
No, they are just torn and tattered,
much like the old blanket they make you want to bury yourself in,
to hide where daylight will never seep in.
Rather this sadness is crystalline,
a pure movement of emotion.
A product of dark and shimmering beauty,
much akin to tears,
the ones that roll slowly down one's cheek
as the song goes on.
This sound,
this jumbling of frequencies,
an phonemes.
Words that mean so little upon listening,
but so much upon LISTENING,
and melodies played upon a machine.
This song about choices,
about struggling, about strength.
This perfect sound,
this glimmering song,
is life.

And so they fall
Straight to the ground
Like droplets of light
They make no sound

So clear and bright
But bred of dark
They hit the spot
And leave their mark

They linger for a time
Dark stains on pavement
Proof
Of my every movement

From here to there
As I lope about
Not hearing a thing
Not even the shouts

The shouts of happiness
The shouts of joy
The shouts of those
Who frolick and enjoy

They who love life
And live it so well
They hold it so dearly
As if under a spell

But not me
Not now
I cannot see
How

Maybe once I did
Maybe I still could
Maybe I even should

But I cannot bring myself
To think such things
Not with this sadness
That makes my ears ring

I can do nothing but sleep
I am forever weary
It makes this life
Seem so dreary

A crushing weight
Like no other
It tires me out
In a matter of hours

And the cloud returns
And my mind grows dark
While my heart yearns
For what I have not got

I can never be happy
With stains like these
Bright lines
That trace the contours of my cheeks

Lines that are made
By those droplets of light
Those crystals of sadness
As dark as night.

Trust me,
believe me,
it's really hard not to be happy these days.
A lot of things bring a smile to my face
and make me want to stay.
I like to live among the whitecaps
and taste the cool marine air.
I like to take lazy walks throughout town,
with a stiff wind messing my hair.
The sunshine blinds me,
but honestly that's okay.
As long as I'm here,
and it's this day today
I'll always be happy,
happy enough to stay.
Of course it's still there,
dark and brooding.
Sometimes it resurfaces,
my mind uprooted.
But then I look around
at all this natural beauty
and I think to myself,
"What am I doing?
I'm not done,
there's plenty more here for me.
Let's go have some fun,
in this wonderful saltwater land
by the sea."
Will you take my hand,
and traipse about?
Will you come with me,
and dance in this small town by the sea?

An invisible column
Of faceless soldiers.
Marching silently,
As if a great spell has been cast upon them.
Stopping only to fire the occasional shot,
Strike down a man who has lived his life
Beholden to their pace,
Their rules,
Their demands.
Moving in perfect,
Endless,
Cold synchronization.
Each step a deafening tick,
At perfect intervals.
Men will try to flee the column,
They always have.
But there is no escape,
It finds us all,
Wipes us from this earth.
It can’t be harnessed,
It won’t be controlled,
It answers no master.
Faceless,
But with a million faces.
What a beautiful thing time is.

If I felt the cool steel in my hand right now,
Could I do it?
Would the rough diamond pattern be comforting?
Would it be encouraging?
It’s actually really simple.
You pull back here,
Use your thumb to flick a switch there,
And squeeze.
Could I muster the courage,
And numb my mind?
Could I ignore my fears
And wipe away the tears that make me blind?
Sometimes,
I think so.
It’s often enough.
I think that no one would miss me.
I’ve never been loved.
I guess that’s what’s keeping,
The one and undeniable fact
That I’ve never loved.

That's it now
that's what you've reduced me to.
And I honestly have no clue how,
I'm going to deal with losing you.

I said three words,
that ever important,
but terrifying verb.
But I meant it.

I've tried killing my mind,
going back to where I was when I met you.
I wanted to be numb so I tried and tried.
That failed too.

But I think I've found a solution,
a way to forget for a few hours,
a blood stream pollution.
I won't have to think about all that was ours.

But those three words always return,
I love you.

I can't help but view life through a window,
a portal of glass that distorts my view.
It magnifies heat and light,
bringing them to a heart-crushing intensity.
It keeps me blind,
unable to see beyond its perfect edges
and perfect lattice.
So straight and simple,
but encasing a million tiny imperfections.
Bubbles barely discernible to my heavy eyes.
I am trapped forever and always,
looking out at a world without me.

A quick goodnight to you,
beautifully sullied world.
I dream of dancing upon your darkest streets,
and watching the brilliantly hazy sunrise.
An orb glittering with ****,
like thousands of luminescent little diamonds.
I go to bed thinking,
I will die one day,
and so will you.
My life,
it's a short and thankless mess compared to yours.
Thousands of years of effortless toil,
speeding sluggishly around a gaseous gem.
I can't wait to see how we waste tomorrow together.

It’s been seventeen years now
Of listening to these
“great men”
Stand and pontificate.

And so this poem
Is seventeen years too late.

Because honestly,
I’m tired.
Tired of someone trying
To brainwash me with lies and hate.
To force me to give into blind faith.

I won’t be another drone
Standing, repeating
In a dull monotone.

I will believe what I want
And practice how I will
I will question it all.

Religion is a creation of man
A belief in naught
We are man
And we have killed God.

Though,
Can we **** what never existed?
We created him
And we can destroy him.
But can we **** him?

It only takes thought
And reason,
Logic
And freedom.

We are who we are,
And so we must think,
Free our minds from what we are taught
And give it up,
The whole **** lot.

We cannot be free
When constrained by God.

If I sat here right now
And held it to my head,
I think I could pull the trigger.
I could send a piece of hot lead
Flying straight and true
Through my ****** up head.
I’m sure you’d be surprised,
Wonder why I’d done it,
Why the hell I was dead.
You’d say that there was a lot for me here,
That I had a life worth living.
Look at it how I do:
I’m seventeen,
Still early in life,
Yet my head is so ****** up.
I hate my mind.
If it’s so bad now,
How will it be then?
Would I be able to function?
Would I be living a life full of hatred?
Manic depression,
Bipolarity,
And paranoia.
These things all plague me.
They are badges that I wear
Not represented by my acceptances
Or my grade point average.
To top it all off,
I feel so severely alone.
I’ve begun to live my life mindlessly,
Like a human drone.
I numb myself,
And you see me smile,
But that’s just a mask
That I can don for a while.
I see no point in going any further.
I’m that kid at the party,
Who just sits and hurts more.
The one thing that consoles me,
But strikes fear and panic attacks,
Is the fact that god does not exist.
He plays no part.
So when we die,
That is the end.
We live our lives,
Never again.
So taking mine has a certain finality,
An ultimate end.
It’s a ceasement of pain,
A darkness that the
Mind cannot comprehend.
If I held that gun now,
I could do it.
I could really do it,
My friend.

I don't sail,
It's not that I don't know how,
or that I don't want to.
I just don't.

I've been out,
quite a few times actually,
and I liked it.
I even make money repairing boats,
but for some reason,
it just doesn't draw me
like it does others.

It could be a product of my character,
I may leave it be because it lacks structure
but it exudes finesse.
And I'm the bull in the china shop
who then feels the need to clean up his mess.

Am I missing out on something?
It seems like everyone around me lives for it,
they were born into it though.
I grew up in the woods,
in the peaceful ambiance
and the warm tents bathed in sunlight.

I can take a pack,
a water bottle,
a camera
and return to my childhood.

The trees were my water,
and the chickadees and woodpeckers my fish.
The sun is the same,
bathing the trees and the sea.

That,
that is me.
I do not live in the ocean or on the sea,
I tread among the emerald trees.

I had no clue
what it actually meant
to lie beside someone
and be entirely theirs.

I had no clue how amazing it felt
to shut my eyes inches from theirs,
and open them again in the same place
hours later.

I had no clue what it felt like
to hold someone close,
and feel their body warm against mine.
To feel like one.

I had no clue,
what it was like to bury my face in someones hair,
and smell their shampoo.
To recognize them by their scent.

I had no clue,
what it was like to say
"I love you"
And mean it with every ounce of my being.

But I do now,
and I love it.

She writes,
“You are only as beautiful as the art you can inspire”
But what about the ones who have no artist?
The ones who are muse to no one.
Do they just sit there empty?
Devoid of all beauty,
No one to lift their spirits higher.
No, that’s not it at all.
There can still be beauty there,
Just as there is still beauty in the inky darkness.
Beauty is more than what can be recorded on some page destined to disintegrate.
Beauty is an idea,
A construct that we each devise within our own minds.
So is she lying to herself?
Is she deceiving herself in stating that her only beauty is in what is tangible?
You can’t quite reach out and grip darkness,
Or throw it on a canvas,
And shove it in someone’s face and say,
“This is what is beautiful.”
But it is beautiful.
We can only swear to it.

I’m standing here thinking
“****, where you going kid?
Can you possibly succeed?
Is life wasted
On you and all you do?”
I know the future looks bleak
And the sky’s so dark,
You won’t find what you seek.
But please,
Don’t give up on me.
Don’t quit,
Don’t go,
Don’t leave.
There’s a spark,
I see.
It’s in your heart,
Your mind,
Your being.
So just cut the ****
And stand,
Don’t sit,
For what you’re worth
And go for it.
You have a chance,
So please don’t
Bind your own hands.
Grasp your life
And all that you see.
Cradle it,
And brace yourself
For the hit
Of harsh reality.
You’re not done,
You’re not lost,
But you’re still not ready for what may come.
Seek happiness, no matter the cost.
Life is not done,
All these chances
Are not gone.
Life is what you make it,
A window, a door,
Or a wall.
You can go through,
Stop, or stall.
Whatever you do,
Live it,
Love it,
and grasp it all.
Your descent through life
Is not a free fall.
You have you,
Yourself,
Your friends,
Them all.
Use it, guide it,
And walk down that hall.
Where greatness resides,
And you feel small.
So please,
Just straighten up
And stand tall.
This life is yours,
So own it,
Own it all.

So now you see why it is
that our world comes crumbling down around us
in a painfully iridescent sea of washed color.
Tiny shards biting at at every exposed inch,
destroying the glimmering shield
of an emboldened psyche.
Cruelly,
it continues on
and spitefully burns
the chapel we have built about us.
These falling stones
cannot be stopped.
The keep tumbling aimlessly
through a long and burning life,
terrified of a frigid and abrupt end.
Doesn't that remind you of something?

It’s midnight,
And that terrible day is soon upon us.
That day on which I’ve never had anyone,
On which I’ve never asked anyone.
No one’s been mine,
And I haven’t been anyone’s.
So my question here,
The one that’s kept me awake,
Is “should I ask you?”
Is it too late?
Can my life
Intertwine with yours?
I want to ask,
But it seems cliché.
So many men do so on that day.
These men are not men though,
We all are boys.
We have no guidance,
And we have no choice.
We need to try,
And fail if we must.
We need to pour out our hearts
In warm windy gusts.
I know I want to ask you,
But I don’t know how or when.
If I ask you,
On one wintry day,
To take a walk in a blizzard with me,
You must simply say,
What exactly you feel.
That one simple question,
Phrased exactly like that,
Means that you are important to me.
Hell, more than that.

I’ve got a pain in my head,
It might be a migraine
Or I might be almost dead.
I can barely see through this pain.
It’s got that smell,
And that distinct taste.
It’s like a little bit of ozone
Trapped within my head,
Forcing my eyes out.
It makes me wish,
That I were dead.
I don’t know what causes it,
But it happens often enough.
It could be a symptom
Of all these problems I have.
It could be a product
Of all these thoughts
Whizzing through my head.
I can’t make them stop,
And they won’t let me sleep.
I’m about ready to drop,
Sprawled at your feet.
I’m done with it all,
Please help me.
Because these thoughts,
That cause me so much pain,
Have a single source.
It’s you who makes me hate my brain.

I drag it in,
gasping and wheezing.
Yet as soon as I feel a little better,
It's gone.
You take it away,
but I blink.
Realize you aren't there,
never were.
You were a dream,
the creation of a weary and oxygen deprived mind.
My pitiful sounds created a song,
a song that reached out to the world.
I had created an ode to you,
but you never heard it.
You never saw me sink down
onto my battered knees
as I slowly lost it all.
Slowly,
ever so slowly,
the world went dark.
And with it flew all the hopes within my tired heart.
You were blind and deaf to it,
because this suffering never did start
in front of you.
It never really left my own mind.
It was a part of me too,
much like the liver or my slowly beating heart.
But each time I see you,
it all begins,
and it never seems to truly end.
I can't help,
and neither could you.
It's my emotions doing their part,
and playing their games.
It's just that you take my breath away.

It's been about a year now,
maybe a little more,
since I decided to stick my neck out and let it go.
Since I decided to share what I had
with a society of strangers,
a group of anonymous friends.

It's been about a year now,
since I found acceptance in a place as one.
This community helped save me,
helped me heal,
and taught me to look towards a brighter dawn.

It's been about a year now,
since I started checking that little gray eye.
It slowly lifted my spirits,
And I believe with complete and utter honesty
that this communal acceptance saved my life.

For Paige:
I’ve wanted to ask you,
For so long now.
I just wasn’t sure,
Exactly how.
So I thought I’d give it a try.
This has been on my mind,
And I tried and I tried
To come up with ideas
But none were really mine.
Until I thought of this poem,
Something that I could create,
I and I alone.
So please consider it,
It would really mean a lot,
If you went with me to prom.

It was back today,
that prickling scent of ozone,
that foggy sensation
slowing my thoughts
and adding dead-weight to my head.
I'm not losing grip again,
no,
I'm just viewing the world.
It seems like every time
I sweep my gaze
across an object or face
it's wearing a mask I've never before seen.
This feeling's not new,
in fact it's an old friend.
I beg it to return,
to help me see this peaceful world again.
Everything crystalline and perfect,
it's a new understanding
hidden beyond confoundment.
I fear it,
because I recognize only that which I have viewed before,
but I always wish that it had lasted just an hour more.
A flower now seems wilted,
while another blooms.
The one constant,
it's always you.

How would life journey on
If life is the child,
unable to answer
to some beautifully layered page.

That smell,
that musty odor caressing the air,
coddling it and cooling my mind.
Growing stronger and stronger with each successive stair,
birthing me into the world.
It doesn't fit,
not in these temperatures,
not in this light.
It's a cube,
in a gray matter hole.
It just doesn't work.
But it's there,
permeating the stinging air.
Cold and deadly,
it lingers without approval or purpose.
Yet,
It's inviting,
sentimental.
As the leaves shake off their bonds,
as they find rest on the dead ground,
it grows.
It's presence princely among the colors,
adorned in darkness and a shimmering beauty.
It's a rot,
a stench of death.
The silent death of a million bright jewels,
resplendent with the auras of natural flame
and lost underfoot with a magnanimous crunch.

I met a man today,
he wore deep blue metallic suit
and ugly black slippers.
He stood hunched before,
his voice barely a whisper.
This was a broken man,
his life lost,
and his world withered.
Yet,
he tried to lecture us
on the last thing he loved.
He taught us the melodies,
how to create golden hum.
Rich and deep,
with the vibrations of brass.
Pricking and steep,
from wind over reeds.
Still,
I sat there and wondered,
"will this be me?
A man alone?
Scruffy and bearded?
All hope gone?"
At once I relented,
slowly it crept,
brightening the cavern within my head,
the thought.
I knew at once
that it would not be so,
for I have many years left,
and thousands of places to go.
So I just need to watch my step,
after all my life is my own,
and steer my ship where I want it to go.

Don’t feed me lies
Don’t soften the truth
I want to know it all
Everything about you

Who you are
And where you’ve been
Who you consider
To be your friends

Such trivial things
They might bore you
But they interest me
And give me life anew

Don’t stop now
Don’t take a moment
Just spit it all out fast
Until you are spent

If you don’t stop
Then your filter is off
You can’t plan your thoughts
But you may need to cough

For at this speed
You tire yourself out
With your mouth flapping
Like a large trout

But don’t be shy
And don’t take offense
Because of this state
We truly are friends

For now you are speaking
The truths you hold dear
And now your thoughts
Have become so clear

I understand you
And who you are
Where you come from
Why you have that scar

It makes me feel closer
Or less out of touch
To know someone
This much

And I find myself falling
Falling for you
As we sit at this table
This table for two

An island alone
A kingdom of thought
A small place
That cannot be bought

It’s a moment earned
Only if we try
A moment alone
Without a goodbye

We feel so together
In our own little place
No one around us
Despite the crowds pace

All alone
At this table for two
All alone
At this table for me and you.

I now know
that this experience,
in the howling wind and blinding snow,
Is exactly what I was looking for in life.
But it feels empty,
it's just not the same
when I'm trudging on alone.
I want to share this with someone one.
The exhaustion,
the cold,
the feeling of exhilarating glee.
That feeling
that my life does not belong to me.
I want to get inside,
and take a shower,
drink some tea,
and watch movie for hours.
Bust it's just not the same,
when you do it alone,
because you can lose yourself in thought
and the pain just grows.
So if I ever ask to take a walk
in that howling wind and blinding snow.
Take a second,
give it some thought.
It's my way of saying I care,
you know.

I stood there amongst the dead stalks,
my deadened and darkened mind
devoid of even the least comprehensible thought.
I was looking neither forward nor behind.

It was at the cyclical death of this dreary world,
an annual and expected occurence,
heralded by dark clouds across the sky curled.
The sky itself will be gray from this point hence.

By chance I looked up above
and saw a single white particle,
spinning and twirling as if shoved.
My breath suddenly grew shallow.

I knew its fate,
that crystalline little flake.
He was to fall to its warm end in my place,
melted without want or the slightest hate.

It's life was much shorter than mine,
much less at stake.
Nothing left behind,
no family or place.

We were similar we two,
that is to say.
We each quickly grew,
and we share the same ultimate fate.

When the sour deed was done,
and I'd destroyed the small friend,
I'd turned and swiftly gone.
With the knowledge that I'd tread that field again.

And so it came to pass that I was walking that field,
it was just a short time later.
My tattered wits had greatly healed,
and I felt infinitely safer.

My thoughts were here above me now,
no longer embattled or fraught.
I could see perfectly how
I had accepted what my dear friend had sought.

The beautiful little flake had fallen,
it had tumbled so that it may seek the end.
No matter how short its life may have been,
I was happy for my lost friend.

For that is really it,
that is the ultimate end.
There is nothing more after you sit,
after every last bit of energy is spent.

I stood there alone in that sun-drenched field
The grass was all dead,
It was stiff yet it would still yield.
I was plugged in, dead to all but what I saw.
I let the music wash over me as I wished the stinging in my eyes would subside.
There was no one around, no to hear me yell or cry.

The strange thing was, I didn’t do either.
I couldn’t, wouldn’t, or didn’t want to.
Whatever the case, I knew that I would have to move soon.

The world around me was as dead as it could be,
Yet it seemed so bright and clear
Almost as if it were somehow happy.

Not once, despite this strange quandary
Did I get the feeling.
The one of sadness and extreme self-loathing.
I just stood there and watched as this pristine world
Slowly shaped itself and the clouds whirled.

For once, there was no logic or extraneous though.
I felt one with this world, I was newly begot.
Reborn to peace, a happiness inside.
My darkness dispelled, yet I still didn’t cry.

That was it, all that I felt.
I was looking through a crystal lens at it all,
And it made me feel so fake,
Like I was drawn into a photograph by some cartoonist.

Yet, I knew I was there.
I felt he swinging of the camera around my neck
And the bite of the cold on my cheeks.
But not much else.

I was happy for a time, so very pleased
But slowly I came to center
And that elation ceased.
I felt nothing, was nothing, and knew nothing.

I was just there, a being without purpose
A man without reason
And a boy staring at the swaying trees.

The only thing that dared cross my mind
Was a thought of you
And how I wished you were there upon that windswept field with me.

I was sitting on a park bench in December
Whence we met
Just watching my breath steam
In wisps and curls about my head
I sat there in silence for a time
Attempting to discover who this being was
I recognized her not
Though she was mine own age
Eventually, I knew her gaze
And I looked into her eyes
Just to see her intention
How her fate would affect mine
I recognized her now and spoke
But my voice filled with fear
And my heart filled with ice
But as time went on,
My resolve grew strong
And my head cleared of its eternal strife.
I bellowed aloud
Just so she would hear.
My voice deepened with anger
And I proclaimed,
“It’s not my time yet,
I must remain.
I have not known love,
Life’s great joy.
This is the reason I live,
I am but a lonely boy.
And I have found another
Whom I hold dear.
She widens my grin,
From ear to ear.
I would like my chance,
To make her happy.
To feel life’s greatest joy,
To be a daddy.
So give me some time,
And come back for me then,
I will greet you
Like a dear old friend.”
And so she rose,
What a beautiful sight,
All surrounded by gray and white.
I stood entranced
By beauty unmatched,
As she whirled about
And looked at me last.
She spoke not a word,
Let no sound free.
But the look in her eyes
Was one of understanding.
And slowly she left,
Absorbed entirely
By some great shadow
Nearby me.
On that gray-wintered day,
While I sat in the park,
A young girl as death
And I talked.
Though she spoke not a word,
She showed me my path.
I know what I want in life,
What I can have.
And so before she comes again,
If I do everything right,
I can live a just
And fulfilling life.
Death may come,
And death may go.
But never a footprint
Has she left in the gray-wintered snow.

A slightly bent knee
defines the position
of a curled hand.
Far from disfigured,
the glazed white eyes stare on.
They have seen centuries,
watched life evolve,
without ever viewing.
Fake,
he is all fake.
Wrought by hand.
Born at a time so long lost,
yet never ageing a day,
save for a few wind worn wrinkles.
Grooving the juvenile face.

My mind darts in
To the lion’s den.
Never to see the light again.

A place of danger,
Of pitfalls and traps.
A place where even the bravest snap.

But in this land
Of danger and pain.
For me,
A new found sense of peace and tranquility reigns.

For in the chaos of my brain,
Order will never emerge again.
Never take hold
And **** the reigns,
Or even notify me
Of my pain.

For this anguish here,
It is too hard to bear.
And so of sanity I am not heir.
If I was,
You’d surely see
A much darker side of me.

One with hope,
That will destroy my life
And force me to choke
On the world I see
Right before my deadened eyes.

An ephemeral meaning,
A floating wish,
A yearning for deaths kiss.

And so I enter
The lion’s den,
Never to step out again.

Well ****,
I've been so disconnected from them lately,
from those I call my friends.
"I've been working" I say,
but there's something more.
I know I was **** at it,
but I think I'm better than before.
I can have fun without them,
but without them,
that fun doesn't last forever more.
The memories fade,
the faces are gone.
The songs aren't as loud,
And I can't quite envision it,
the heaving and swirling crowd.
I realize,
that when they are there
things mean more,
and memories
hold a candle's luminous,
flickering glare
in my dark head.

I can’t let go
I can’t move ahead
All that I know
Is this feeling of dread

Of foreboding and pain
Of knowledge lost
And the ground not gained
The paths not crossed

The past is a prison
My fear the bars
I hold myself back
Oh so far

I fear my mistakes
Those I have made
I fear what it takes
To not make them again

My future unclear
My mind full of dread
All I hold dear
Burdens my head

I don’t want to lose it
To see it all go
My being, my mind
All that I know

I fear mistakes
More than death itself
The fool I will make
Of myself

Those in my future
Bred of my past
With consequences
That will forever last

Ones that will haunt me
And torture my thoughts
Twist them against me
And make my resolution naught

These are the things that hold me back
And leave me hidden
By the bars that are the past

Those bars I build
With my own mind
To avoid the roles I need to fill
In my life, in this time.

I sit on the edge
And swing my legs over.
I think to myself
“Should I do it?”
“Would someone hear me
If I screamed out as I fell?”
No, it would all be drowned out.
Am I too late
To change this terrifying fate?
I’ve committed
So there’s no turning back
There’s a rock below, I might hit it.
That would certainly end my journey
Down this track.
It makes me quiver
And turns my thoughts to you.
Oh how I wish you were here!
This dizzying height
Makes me unsteady.
That terrible sight,
I’m sure I’m not ready.
Yet I still go.
I inch closer to the edge.
I hope that I don’t
Hit my head.
Still closer I get,
Barely holding on.
Just telling myself,
“At the end of this song.”
There it is,
The last blaring chord,
My cue to jump
And land so hard.
So I push off,
As if on chairlift,
And let out a scream.
But you,
You cannot hear me,
Just the splash as I hit the water
With a dull thumping “thud”
Like a sack of potatoes,
In the hot summer sun.
I surfaced in a panic,
Soon changed to delight
I had conquered my fear
And vanquished my fright.
The high dive became my favorite
That very night.

There was a time
When men were men
And boys were boys
Still playing
With their silly toys.

They played pretend
And dressed like men
But in the end
They were just boys again

Their toys were props
With no true meaning
Guns without bullets
And knives
That could do no cleaving

That time has come
And that time has gone
Boys cannot be boys
But are forced into men
Their childhood ends
Before their fun can begin

This newfound maturity
Just damages them
These boys,
These boys who are men

They leave their homes
To fight again.
Now not with friends.

Far too young
They are taught
To raise a gun
And make a man naught

To extinguish a life
Much like theirs
To fight a war
About which nobody cares

These boys are young
Too young to fight
Many stand
Frozen with fright

Fear takes the place
Of the fun they might have had
And the death about them
Just makes them sad

Too young are they
To see these sights
Too young are they
To survive this fight

Without wounds deeper
Than a blade could cut
Without thoughts sadder
Than they have ever thought

They are like toy soldiers
All dressed up and straight
But they are frozen with fear
And cannot feel hate

Too young to fight
And too young to care
These boys are not men
And this is not fair.

I stand in it's shadow,
the great dark rock.
It looms and towers,
indescribably imposing.
Yet I know I must ascend it,
conquer it for mine own sake.
I begin, first believing it was hopeless.
Tumbling and slipping as I wade through shale
a stone black as soot.
This entire entity stands darker than night,
challenging me.
I will conquer it,
I know that I must.
Eventually I reach a ledge,
I am nearly there.
It seems like decades since I began,
and it very well may have been.
I look back,
become entranced.
What a sight,
so ominous and stark,
I could not look away.
Towards the summit I continued,
unable to turn my head.
It was close though,
I knew it was.
Somehow,
I was awash with foreboding,
wholly unexpectant  of what was before me.
I succeeded however,
but the victory is not real,
not by any means.
In only a few days,
a minutia of time,
it will challenge me again.
A never ending ritual,
wrought by nature.

Sometimes it smells like burnt ozone,
wafting through my nostrils
like tendrils of smoke.
I have no clue why,
but it does.
It invites me to come out and play,
to look at the crystallized world as I never before have.
I call them my moments of beauty,
when it all  falls into place.
I can see a new side to everything,
find meaning in anything.
Everything seems so clear and perfect,
as if it belongs.
I,
however,
feel like a stranger there.
Those moments alienate,
and I do all that I can to grasp them.
I can't though,
and that's why I take my camera.
If only,
a camera could see the world the way I do,
could think,
could write down it's thoughts,
and live life like we humans.
For each of us,
in our own right,
is a misunderstood
and supremely confused
god.

This world is spinning
And my head along with it
So I just sit writing
And wait for a hit

That magical moment
When I cannot stop
And my fingers take charge
Recording my thoughts

That time when life
Reveals itself
And it’s all I can do
To contain myself

That moment of joy
That feeling of grace
Where all the words
Fall into place

When I saw you
And sat here and wrote
My thoughts anew

So much beauty and poise
I just want to speak my thoughts
But I cannot make a noise

So instead I sit
In front of this machine
Watching my fingers flit
From key to key

Seemingly random
These thoughts enter my head
I see them differently
Things of beauty instead

Thoughts of you
And who you are
Where you are from
What your joys are

Your amazing smile
That takes a place
Of great wonder
On your face

Your laugh so sweet
I could listen for days
Your quirks so endearing
They make me crazed

These sights I see
And feelings I feel
Sometimes I wonder
If they could be real

For never before
Have I felt like that
And never before
Have I seen anyone like that

I would walk the world over
For another chance
To see you smile
And watch your eyes dance

Beautiful
And endearingly shy,
As awkward as me
And I don’t know why.


And no matter
How hard I try
I can’t shake that feeling

The feeling of longing
And the wish for your warmth
The ability to hold you
In my arms

To sit and talk
And laugh away
To be with you
Each day.