Oh, elegant verse-*
As one might stumble upon
Some striking thought or connection;
A comet fallen, burning hot as it strikes,
But cooling with each passing second.

As one stands transfixed,
Aware with every fibre that this cannot last for long,
It is you that captures the greatest of these moments.

For with the words that spring to mind
And twirl and morph and stick,
The meaning may change but
Burn bright still.

Reproduced to new form in every mind
That stumbles through the lines,
With some brighter still, than ever did descend
By nature’s hand alone.

here's to those with seasonal affective disorder that made it through the east coast's incredibly long winter. and here's to those that didn't.

I’m the degenerate you love to hate,
the unclean sinner who won’t tow the line.
You ridicule my independence at dinner parties,
among similarly dressed cronies,
the institutionalized prisoners
of prestige.

Hate us all, the degenerates.
Scorn the indie musician on the sidewalk.
He colors the dull march of the khakis.
Despise the painter in welfare housing.
She strokes thick lines of anguish
upon uncomfortable canvases.
Taunt the quiet poet at the end of the bar.
He writes raw truth on napkins gone ignored.

Loathe the degenerates you secretly *****
when fashionable friends aren’t looking.
Eyes fixed upon your contemptuous smirk,
I am unable to cast judgment upon you.
Another degenerate spreads her tattooed thighs
without any hope of acceptance.
She only wishes to feel for a moment
the intoxicating sensation of
temporary love.

The degenerate’s ****** is the richest syrup
that briefly covers your vanilla routines.
Debauchery provides you a moment
to feel freedom within slums,
the pleasures of darkness,
the uninhibited passions of a life
without approval.

All the while it seems to carry on, the wind blows regardless the moments that transpire

The world spins madly on, and the tides still remain on their destined patterns

I stand in idle somber confusion, as the winged dreams of my youthful former, soar to the heavens I don’t believe in

All the while everything moves to a motion, it all follows a pattern, I merely stand in confusion and wonder in sorrow

’ll wait till the cigarette burns against tongue, then will I discard the incendiary creature

As it hums along with the silence of a silent street, soaked with rain, baptized by the gods of senselessness

Thrown among this hurricane, called the modern age, it bleeds like a sacrifice upon the alter

The denizens that seep from the shadows, strum along to a blackened howl, the mind numb in anguish

For this 21st century becomes more a fable, and less a legend

My sorrows match the colors of these streets, light melted across this rain soaked asphalt, looking for shape and purpose

The emotion that pains the skull, seems too illustrious for the somber end, only in loneliness does it play it’s trumpet

For our 21st century, is a burning alter of our pasts sins, and the gods no longer head our prayers

To be a cog on a machine breaking down, it makes the limbs weak with grief, and the stomach sick with dread

With the hesitant faith growing more fearful, the whispers of the midnight fox seem to carry, among the winds that feel dense and confused

It won’t be long this trial of stone

How it will play it’s culling song, whilst the world burns in asunder

As I take another creature, and strike it to the orange titan that wishes for flame

I’ll sit the night in my ideological sorrows, with anxiety and dread, conversing with philosophical doubt, married to low self esteem

The roses spoke to me, as the rain poured down

They said don’t be sad, for the sun will surely rise

They blanketed me in their petals, and I became as colorful as the sky

Sat at the station,
With nowhere to go

Trains
Arrive to depart
And
Bustling commuters
Phones attached
Rush on by
Sat at the station
Nowhere to go
Fear etched in the lines
Of a
Face lost in time
Eyes seeing,
Their spark gone
Empty costa cup
Gripped by a hand
Nails black, skin blistered
Newspaper, a forgotten date
Lies next to
Cracked leather boots
Soaked then scorched
Too many times

Sat at the station
With nowhere to go

I sat down in these fields of vanilla orchids, waiting for the sun to set, turning them to a shade of yellow

Among the shadows of their leaves, I saw your face along the congregations

I saw the radiant beauty of your smile in the colors, the exuberant joy in the dancing of the wind

Your presence was among the serenity, a guardian joy grasping my hand, as I reached to touch the clouds with my fingertips

Your canvas was among the docility of these orchids, how gorgeous and wonderful you are truly

A magnificent creature painted among these fields of vanilla, how sweet and illumnating you are in my soul

When I laid my head to the evening earth, you warmth lay as a blanket around me

I held in reaction, knowing you are love in my bones, and joy in my eyes