what a beautiful thing life is
that we can find moments
of joy in our tears

that we can become so happy
that we find we are unable
to do anything but weep

that we can find love
in both comedy and tragedy
in the simplicity of smiling
in the complexity of grieving
small gestures of gratitude
little acts of kindness

how lucky are we that we can find
our hearts with an over abundance of love
that love can overflow faster
than our hearts can beat
and our hearts can beat faster
than a falling star
desperate to find a last wish
faster than a hunger cheetah
and the gazelle trying to outrun death

how lucky am I to be here
to still be here
when there have been moments
when I had carelessly wished that I wasn’t
how many pennies have I tossed away
on thoughts that weren’t worth
the cost of thinking

and somehow I am still here
against the odds of my own self doubt
against the bets of my own loathing

how many times have I felt
that the days were too cold
the nights too long
how many winters
have I invited to stay
to keep the possibility of spring
from blooming in my heart

how poorly have I managed
both the gears and wisdom of the clock
what a grand illusion we make of time
to paste numbers on its face
to give it hands that cannot hold
what it can only watch slip away

to give measurement to something
that has no end
had no beginning
as if to mock infinity
to entrap eternity
to something so small
we could wear it on our wrists

much time is wasted
and I know this to be true
for a have wasted more
than my fair share

and yet
I am still here
and lucky to be so
what a strange and wonderful gift
to feel the autumn of death
slowly creeping through my bones
to be granted access
beyond the curtain and illusion of time
to see the magician
though a thief and a liar
is the same a fool as any can be
as many are

tomorrow is the same as today
and yesterday is still here
time cannot be tensed
by past or future stress
it can only be here
here for this one brief moment
this one short glorious pause of eternity
this long yawn slowly interrupting infinity
stuck somewhere between
the laughter of children
and the last breath of the dying

and how lucky am I
to be here
to still be here in a life
where I find moments of joy
in tears I am only
too happy to weep

How dead to we have to become
before we start to feel alive

how much flesh do we have to shed
before we believe that we look beautiful
is it until there is nothing left but our bones

how much death must we ingest
before we chase away
our gut feeling of ugliness

how high a price are we willing to pay
to appease our need to look our best

what can we hope to gain
by losing all we have
to satisfy the narcissism
of our egos eye

is the high price of beauty
worth being dead inside

short skirts and **** me heels
bones laced in lingerie
dying in a web of lies
hoping to be as pretty
as a picture in a magazine

what pills will we swallow
what will we burn
to **** that burning doubt
that we don’t look good enough

what are we chasing
what is this dream
this endless pursuit
of outward loveliness

is it some misconception
some illusion made of deceit
to believe beauty is something
we can see with our failing sight

is their glamour in the death of our hearts
is it a noble lamb for the butchers knife
skinned alive so we may dance in elegance

handsome boys
alluring girls
fifty ways to hide our monstrous skin
so full of human flaws

devilish grins
mischievous smiles
*** sells and death the highest bidder
on our wasted life
of self obsession

click click
snap snap
what filter can hide
how grotesque our ambition has become
to post our perfect self from our phones

is becoming dead gorgeous
worth the sacrifice of everything
that lives inside of us

do you ever think that
maybe the sun gets tired
that maybe she just needs
one night to herself
just one night to sleep
one day off to let
her fiery hair down
to find an ocean
big enough to swim through
a river wide enough
to float down

do you think she minds
that we write so many
poems to the moon
that we marvel
in awe and wonder
mesmerized by the moons light
forgetting even at night
its her light
lighting our way

do you ever wonder
what it must be like
to always be rising
to always be out
to always be hanging
somewhere in the sky
to always feel the fires burning

to never know the joy
of a cool breeze
to never find shelter from the heat
in the shade of a great oak tree
to never have your hands
go numb from playing in the snow

what must it be like to be the sun
do you ever stop to think
how tired she must be
to always be burning
burning so bright
all that light
all that warmth
keeping this earth alive

do you think she minds
all the poems we write to the moon
that we stay up so late
sleep in so often
and treat doing so as a luxury
that we relish the time
she is absent from the sky
do you think she minds

love...

write me a poem about love
and I will find the words
of the truth
for what is love
in its definition
its meaning
its weight
its volume
its giving
its losing
its finding
its breaking
its birth
its glory
its death

its flames rising from the ashes
its blood forever beating in our hearts
Its rhythm always dancing in our blood
its soul living in our bones

for what is love
if not the fate of
and ghost of
our footsteps
the past running
through the present
the present holding dearly
to the past
the memory of
the then and the now
all the joy we find
all the pain we endure

the blessing we taste
on our tongue
as we whisper
the last word of a prayer
the sin that clings to our lips
as we linger
in the sweet mouth of lust
the fire blazing beneath our flesh
as sweat soaks
the sheets of our beds

what is love but the longing
the searching
the journey
the sea
the sand
the waves
the mist
the shore
the map
the spot
the mark
the x
the chest
and the treasure singing within

what is love
but the absolute
the everything
the everything
we will find in the truth
as you write me
a poem about love

the road unravels before me and the horizon keeps running two steps ahead of me and I cannot stop from imagining what the earth would look like without us, how all this concrete and steel would be overrun with grass and vines, wildflowers and wildlife... wildlife?  wildlife would just be life without us here to label it by our standards of what is and isn’t “wild”, without the plague of what we like to see as “civilized humanity” and my mind goes into its own metaphysical pseudo rage at the terminology of that phrase... “civilized humanity”... are we civilized?... humane?... if we stop to read between the lines... if we examine the folds between the pages of our history books... if we don’t blindly swallow down the twisted perspective of the past... if we don’t willing believe the lies we make up about our yesteryears so we can see ourselves as hero’s... instead of the villains... the villains we only stopped pretending to be when the victims of our crimes rose up and fought back... the men in chains, the women without voices, the children forced to fight for words and ideas of old men too afraid to die for their own beliefs... and even now, day by day history seems to be stuck on repeat... a scratched record of wobble wax turning round and round as out of tune as we are out of breath, and worse than that we seem to be allowing it to rewind and tangle and gurgle out white noise and static, to take three steps back for every king of freedom we have let be assassinated... for all the X’s we have drawn on their necks to mark where the knife and the bullet and the noose..should slash... should strike... should choke the life from...their bodies... their voices... their hearts... because freedom is only allowed to be pretty in the eyes of a metaphor... it is far too dangerous in the hands of the of the general populace... far too fragile to let our “civilized humanity” be in control of... we hear the word anarchy and imagine it ripe with chaos... never admitting to ourselves that the only chaos that exists in the ideology of anarchy is our own inability to treat each other with any kind of social responsibility without the threat of some kind of punishment... we only have ourselves to blame that without “law”, there would be no “order”... give me freedom... give them death... I could paint you a picture, tell you a tale of two similar in every way but the ending... one walks away and one falls to the grave... the grieving see no justice and the living just keep on walking... i hear that only love can defeat hate... i hear these words echo back and forth through time... i hear them echo over the bombs of the past, i hear them whisper over the bullets whizzing into the future, i hear them in ever beating heart in this room...yet i cannot stop myself from wondering... why does it feel like we are losing... why does it seem like this is a battle love will never win... why do we keep fighting... love vs hate... love over hate... when if we don’t stop fighting... one day soon... I won’t have to imagine this world without us... and everything, all this concrete, all this steel, all our flesh, all our bones...overrun with grass and vines, wildflowers... and life

love capable of creating
hate habitually destructive
we would rather
spill each other's blood
than find a way
to mend one another's wounds
and why?
when hate nourishes the mind
as well as cyanide
poisons the body
and love can tend the broken
of past and present
and bring warmth in days to come
why do we give into
the short quick fuse
of anger and hate when love
is always there
patient and waiting

write me down in a tragedy
tie me up with metaphor
devour me with pleasures sin
****** me with lust
steal my last breath of love

would you be
the queen of muses
would I be
the fool of kings

what am I doing here
lost within the stars
I can only imagine
as your eyes

what secrets could I find
in the garden of your night
is there more than
forbidden fruit
hanging from the vines

would the sweetness
quench my thirst
or would I need more
and more
until I found
my tongue tied
my teeth rotted
my mouth dry
still hungering
still wanting
one more taste

what am I doing here
lost in a tragedy
tangled in metaphor
staggering between
pleasure and sin
murdered by lust
while stealing from love