Friendly faces
Soft, silky voices
Unlike the punk music
That reverberates overhead,
In this tiny, unlikely coffee shop
That doesn't smell like coffee,
But of small, carefully baked pastries
That sit lonely on a windowsill,
Not likely to see the rabid blue sky
Or the tall, elegant façades
Of buildings constructed from the ground up.
And how lonely they must be,
Just like the people behind the counter,
Who long to feel the beating heat
Of the forthcoming sunlight
Or the sense of freedom earned
Just by walking these quiet city streets
Dominated only by a love for adventure
Or a love for all things immaterial.

Glowing orbs
Of incandescent light
That gleam like star-struck eyes
In the waking, placid night
These cities below me
Sit quiet, asleep
As far as the eye can see.
Their hushed cries
Of encapsulated innocence
Are all but unheard so high above,
And their mature, conflicting bellows
Are all but forgotten
In the midst of the dark,
Undefined horizon.
But look beyond their seeming insignificance,
Their appeared impotence,
And you'll see the light
That seems to never die
Despite the arising fatigue within their
Moonlit streets
And tall, shrouded buildings.
Look beyond their flawed structures,
Graffiti-stained walls, and you'll see
They're made,
Just as we are,
Of undying light,
That seems to shine best
When darkness clouds the sky.

I fear that when I die, I’ll forget who I am.

I fear that all of my memories will wash away

And never return; that they’ll be left to die

In the midst of space, that they’ll drift to another world.



I fear that I’ll forget that I loved people

As much as I loved the world

That I loved watching sunsets

More than I loved sleeping

That I loved to think with words

More than I loved to think with images.



I fear that I’ll forget my loving parents

Who loved me for my what I’d become

I fear that I’ll forget my siblings

Who loved me for what I’d done

I fear that I’ll forget my friends

Who loved me for what I’d loved

And I fear that I’ll forget how to breathe,

For it reminded me I'm only human.



I fear that I’ll forget my life

And that time will swallow me whole

That it’ll bare its glass-edged teeth

And bite down on my soul

I fear I’ll bleed profusely,

But that my blood will be black

I fear I’ll reach out longingly

As my mind will shed its light.

That I’ll become a paragon of nothing,

That I won’t be able to stay.



But everyone must die, that’s true,

It’s the one thing we all see.

Though people can’t come to terms with it,

It’s an inevitable end for all.

But don’t focus on death, no,

For you’ll surely lose your way.

Instead, focus on making more memories

Because they’ll save you from the gray.

Distant cries of a foreign city,
Melodic fluctuations
Of tumult and reverberation
Weeping aloud at the gates of heaven,
Painfully singing a dream of bliss,
Joyously chanting an echoing hymn,
Spreading ethereal wings
High above the ground
Made of fertile silver ash.
And what complex simplicity,
What gracious harmony!
Wishes more than granted,
Heart more than stolen,
Vibrations more than sensation,
Memory more than a fleeting instant.
Life may go on,
But I'll stay here
Right at this very moment.

Iridescent glow
Whiter than black sunlight
Translucent rays of
Incoherent ire
Burn like molten heartbreak
As a feeling
Redolent of regret
Chars my skin
As though I were
Desolation incarnate.

Long green stalks
Uprooted from the soil
Wither into dust
And dissipate into the air
Above the meadow.

A seed bursts open
And its stem
Creeps out
Of the ground.

Time passes.
The stem now a stalk,
It sways in the wind,
Lonely and solemn.

Time passes.
Iridescent blue petals,
Closed, isolated bud,
Just shy of consciousness.

Time passes.
The bud is now a flower,
Grounded only by its roots,
Fragile and ephemeral
As it dances in the wind.

Time passes.
The petals shrivel,
The stalk bends,
Yet it clings on
To its fleeing vivacity.

Time passes.
Its petals now black,
It wilts to the ground,
Unbound by its constraints.

Long green stalks
Uprooted from the soil
Wither into dust
And dissipate into the air
Above the meadow.

A seed bursts open.

An old man
Lies helplessly
On his mattress,
Covered by darkness
And filled with grief.

A young man,
His son,
Stands next to him,
His arm outstretched,
Gripping his father's lanky fingers.

The son glances at him
Half-expecting his dad
To say something,
Yet all the old man can do
Is close his eyes.

His breathing stops.

His vision goes black.
Yet, somehow,
Through the darkness,
Shines a light, so bright in view,
So welcoming in presence.

He is transported to a green meadow,
Filled with black roses,
That beckon him to move ahead,
To let go
Of the past.

Hesitantly he stands,
Takes a deep breath, and,
Tilting his head toward the sky,
Frowns reluctantly.

He looks ahead,
Staring at his fleeting past.
He takes a step through his childhood,
Through his adolescence,
Through his adulthood,
Through his marriage,
Through the birth of his child,
Through the death of his lover.

He reaches the end,
The future made only of light.
He looks behind him once more,
Unsure about letting go.

His memories become distant.
They dissolve into the fine air
And dissipate like vapor,
Until all that remains
Is the green grass below them.

He looks at the light,
As it becomes more welcoming
Than ever.
He weeps for a moment,
And steps inside.