Something feels dead
and hollow inside my chest
and all I can hear
is the echo of distant gunfire
and the pleading of future grief

how many more bodies
will find their spirits
ripped away by bullets
piercing holes through their flesh
how many more lungs will burst
by the pop of gunfire
how many more hearts
will be poisoned by
the taste of lead
then no longer move

the only thing more endless
than the violence
is the debate of do nothing
or do even less
than nothing
and we all wear the target
of the wrong place
at the wrong time

wishfully thinking
it can’t happen here
even though it is
painfully obvious here
is now everywhere

I try to listen for anything
alive inside my chest
but all I hear is the echo
of distant gunfire
and the pleading of future grief

Life is a beautiful vicious cycle
of love and pain
and I want to feel it all
let me fall when I fal
let it be terrifying as hell
let it make me tremble
from the first time
my fingers brush hers
to our first kiss
to our last kiss

and when it ends
let the pain break me
let me grieve my dead heart
and all its broken pieces
let me cry hard
and long into the night
let me be sleepless
and dreamless
fill me with despair
let me wish to forget my name
but never her smile

and when I am whole again
when I stitch myself back together
when I can breath again
let my breath be stolen
one more time
let me find love again
bigger than the sunrise
fuller than the moon
holier than the first god
and more alive than the last one

let it shake me until my bones are dust
and I am nothing but a shy
and quivering heart in a new palm

and if it ends again
let me break as never before
let me grieve as I did
the first time I was broken

pathetically and dramatically

let me feel it all
all of the beautiful pain
the vicious cycle of love and loss

why else are we here
if not to weep
if not to crumble in rapture
if not to feel it all
all of it

I am the unwritten dictionary definition
  of damaged goods
I have so much baggage
  that I lose the airport
there isn’t a single spot on my heart
that doesn’t have a stitch or a scare
I have become so comfortable
in my solitude
that I no longer remember
what it feels like to be lonely

how absurd is it to feel lonely
nearly eight billion people on the planet
and yet we can feel so isolated
and disconnected from one another
that we dare let our hearts
be taken hostage by loneliness

that we let the breath
of the moment be stolen
let words die in our throats
before they leave our mouths
as if we had nothing to say

to each other

to our selves

self inflected wounds caused by
the doubts we plant
in the dying gardens of our own minds
happiness nothing but a wooden quote
framed and hanging on our walls
mocking us
laughing at us

love nothing but a mask
so we can feel normal
sitting side by side
while our hearts drift
farther and farther apart

form each other

from our selves

how often does the past
****** the present
how much damage does yesterdays pain
carry into today

when will I let go of the names and the ghosts
that steal what might be joyful
when will I let it all burn down to cinder and ash
and exhale all of the smoke
that is nothing more than regret and fear

when will I take back today

when will I rewrite my own definition

of who i am

who I want to become

who will I be when this body
is lowered into the ground

someone too afraid
to have lived

too afraid
to have loved

or someone who had lived
someone who had loved

will death notice my departure
or will I have been dead
before I had died

how long will I let my solitude
be so comfortable
that I forget to feel lonely

I wish I could pull you into my heart
so you could see
how beautiful you make it feel
how it has found heaven
here in this breathing moment

and if you could just feel this
this heart beating as your own
that never again in your life
would you have to question
what true love feels like
because true love
feels like you

who are we without are ****** egos
without are overindulgent narcissism
without are overinflated *****
in our own mouths
swallowing our own pride

how many selfies will it take
before we know our selfs
how much self pride will it take
before we realize we have nothing
to be prideful for

nothing more than civilized savages
of casual cruelty

so quick to anger
so willing to hate
so willful to ignorance

so blind to love

love

the only thing that makes
our miserable existence worthwhile
the only thing that makes our suffering
worth breathing through

yet we sit blind gazing
at our brief moments of eternity

trusting the lust of our eyes
over the truth of our hearts

giving into the desire
of instant gratification
to avoid the fear of being alone
the desperation of feeling lonely

pretending to know love
as we sit side by side
while drifting miles apart
strangers speaking different languages

smiling through the pain
******* away the time
as our flesh erodes
as our bones weaken
as our hearts fade away
from what we could become

how hollow is the echo
of what was once the song
of our hearts
how shallow of a river bed
have we made of our blood
is there anything but oxygen
filling our empty lungs and

if we let go of our egos
if we threw away our vulgarity

what would we find
what would we become

if we closed our eyes
and saw with our hearts
would we feel then
that we could be beautiful
without the cruelty of our narcissism

I miss so much of my old life...
old friends...
old lovers...
old what might have been...

but I was never brave...
so shy..
shy...
as the sin and sign of something ******...
i miss her lips that where...
the best of the days of long ago...
I miss the lips I never kissed...
the best of what might have been...

and I must apologize...
for running...
for running so far from friends...
so far from family...
because of a foolish heart...
a heart that I was equally to blame for breaking...

and it should not be so odd...
looking back...
the hindsight...
yet I curse my youth...
my younger self...
had it all...
before it knew gratitude...

has it all now...
but is to afraid too express itself...
what are fools other than pawns of repetition...

and how lucky am I...
to know love again...
to meet it more deeply...
to recognize it once more in my lungs...

to know its beauty...

its perfection...

what else matters...
what a cruel unmeaning less thing
we have made out of life...
how thoughtless we have become
in the seeking of intelligence...
how useless is knowledge
when it knows nothing of love...

and here I sit...
useless...
trying to deny...
trying to hide...
what I know...
is the only thing...

the only thing that knows beauty...
the only thing that knows perfection...
the only thing that knows love...
that knows love...
love is the only thing...
the only thing...
that can keep...
that can make...
our foolish life’s...
worth living

You’re going to have to
break my heart soon

we both know that

and thats ok

I always knew this was the only path
we would travel if I dared walk it
if I dared expose my heart
if I dared tell the truth
of how I felt
how long I have felt this way

I hope you know
I will still feel this way
I will not curse your name
I will not be angry
I will not walk away
from what we have built

if I were to grow angry at your rejection
if I were to be spiteful
that would only make me a liar
that would only expose my feelings
as nothing more than a lewd desire

you are more than beauty
more than light
more than inspiration
how did fate cross our paths
how was I deemed worthy
of your presence

I am not worthy to love you

but hopelessly I do

and always will

even after the inevitable
breaking of my heart

If you saw her heart
you might mistake it for gold
but I know it is the color of sunlight
lemons and tangerines
the sweet blood of honey
the song of the first morning bird

when god asked for light
it was her who split open her ribs
and it was the radiance of her heart  
that filled all that was once dark
and when god saw her
god trembled in awe
and wept the first tears of joy

and where gods tears fell
all the  dreams of love
and all the dreams of beauty
fell from those tears
and they swam out
into the empty cosmos

it is there in her chest
where the sun gets it color
where all light is born
from her heart
made out of sunshine
lemons and tangerines

filling what is empty
lighting what is black
giving dreams of love
giving dreams of beauty
giving meaning to everything
giving meaning to life
all life

I wish...

I wish I could share this with you...
I wish I could tell you how absolutely miserable I have become...
how wonderfully painful it has been...
and that I hope I will never quite be as intoxicated as I am now...

how strange a thing love can be...
to fill our hearts with such a melancholy joy...
to make us feel so wonderful in our chests
that we cry because we are
overburdened with happiness...

what a strange creatures we are...
how absolutely absurd of a species...
to sometimes find ourselves so in love that we become afraid...
afraid of something that feels so beautiful...
sounds so sweet humming in our hearts...
how can we fear a thing that can turn silence
into an orchestra within our blood and marrow...
that we would deny the majestic paradise
and heavenly garden it causes to bloom within our bones...

how is it that we can pray to an empty sky for redemption
in hopes of some eternal bliss in another life...
that we can pray to an unknown god
to treat us kindly after death...
yet waste our true potential while we are here
breathing for such a short and insignificant time
within the living moments of eternity...

that we fail to give our all to love...
our all to each other...
that we too often find ourselves barely able to whisper...
to softly utter under our breathes...
or say a single thing...
about the love we know is beating wildly
and carefree inside our very pulse...

I wish...

I wish I could share this with you...
that I have become a small boy inside again...
so perfectly and shyly obsessed with your beauty...
so curious of the warmth and light of your kindness...
so mesmerized by the humming of your heart...
heaven must be made from the sounds
echoing from within the light of your soul...
how hypnotic the music of your footsteps...
how elegant the harmony of your silence...
and what of the cosmic opera that plays so softly
from the caramel swirls of your eyes...
what a lovely song you are...

i wish...

i wish I could be the reason and inspiration
for your heart to feel this kind of misery...
this kind of wonderful pain...
to make it wish it would never be this intoxicated again...
to know love in all its strange bewildering beautiful truths...
for our hearts to be mirrors reflecting
the same endless love to each other...
for each other...

how kind has fate already been...
to have let my path cross with yours...
to let my heart feel such

a wonderful

miserable

painful love...
that I find myself wishing myself brave...
wishing myself young again...
wishing that I could share this with you...

one of these days before
there is no light left in my eyes
no movement in my chest
no air to exit my lungs
I will tell you how I fell  

maybe you already known

I will tell you how you made
my heart a happy place
with the time we spent
in the same rooms

how you turned earthly moments
into heavenly breaths
by showing me your heart
made out of sunshine

and how brightly and beautifully
your heart inspired my own
to know and feel love
beyond any I would have
dared hoped for
dreamt of
or possible imagined

how every moment with you
was a gift I could never
be grateful enough for
a debt beyond any
I could repay in this life

and that when
there is no light left in my eyes
no movement in my chest
no air to exit my lungs

that my heart will remember...

it will remember the light and beauty
of your sunshine heart
and all the love you inspired it
to know and feel

too many of us waste the day
looking for answers to questions
we have completely forgotten

we are lost out on a road
that is going nowhere
we sleep in beds
that are dreamless

we fill our hearts
with artificial sweetener
because we fear being alone
our bodies sit side by side
while our minds drift off
to separate worlds
and we define this as love

strangers to each other
strangers to ourselves

we ignore our true passions
our true desires
afraid of the fire
afraid of letting our blood
bleed through our chests
afraid of the only thing
we shouldn’t fear

the true beauty of love

and if we could face our fear
what would we find
what questions would we ask
if we found ourselves in front of

the true beauty of love

would we have any questions
or would we only have the answer
to a question that
never had to be asked
that never dared wander
through the chambers of our hearts
the hallways of our minds

then were would
this road take us
what dreams would
we find in our beds

what would we become
if we filled our lives
our lungs
our hearts
with the true beauty of love

and it happens
as it has before

love

beautiful
sharp
deadly

just a brief glimpse

my heart rejoices even though
it knows it will soon break
and even then as all the pieces sink
into the pit of my gut
into the nausea of my tears
each shattered chamber
will sing your name softly

there is no cruelty here
only the kindness
of what makes you beautiful
an undeniable inspiration of love
the sun of your heart
causing flowers to bloom
in the cavity of my chest

even if only for an hour
an hour that will last through eternity
be remembered after time crumbles
live long after I have been buried
and my name forgotten
by the wind and the trees

this love will follow me
will live with me
from this life
into what ever lies
in waiting in the next
into the unknown
the unknowable

and with this love
whatever I may meet and find
I will greet it with a smile
and i will show it this love
and it will say in all the truth
it has to offer
that it is the most beautiful thing
it has ever seen

love...

what else in this world
in this life
in our short existence here

tell me
what else makes
any of this worthwhile

how many illusions do we chase
how often do we uselessly spend our time
running endlessly as if time has no end
leaving today unused as we wait
for tomorrow to become
another tomorrow
yet always leaving tomorrow
as empty as we left today

is your heart just keeping
a dead carcass alive
is it just beating to push
stagnant blood through your veins
what moved you today

was it love

or did you just go through the motions

what purpose did your breath have
what did you breath in
what did you exhale

was it love

or was it just a waste of breath

love is as simple
as a flower blooming
a child scrapping their knee
a leaf aged and falling from a tree
an ant marching
and it is always there
but somehow we leave it
unnoticed on the sun rays
we fail to smell it
cooling on our windowsills
to feel it in the marrow
of our own bones

how often do we deny it
do we deny it from ourselves
do we turn from it in fear
fear of its beauty
fear of its pain
fear of its fragility

its vulnerability

when will we learn
that in this world
in this life
in our short existence here

it is the only thing
that makes it all worthwhile

They say we must fight to have peace
we must be prepared for war
we must be willing and ready...

and I wonder...
where is the math
in what equation
can this possible lead to peace

where does a gun plus a gun
add a plane and a tank
drop a bomb
subtract a life
multiply the bodies by death
take a way the future
from the boys pretending to be men
minus the weight of blood
from the additional price of pride
weigh the value of the stones
planted above the freshly dug graves
count the number of tears
from the grieving mothers
collect the broken pieces of the hearts
from the children that will never know
the voice of their fathers
divide it all up
and let the wealthy enjoy the feast
provided by the misery we endure
as we sacrifice our children
to keep the peace

the peace...
where is the peace in this
what war was won
that defines this as peace
and who was the winner
who did the gods favor
on what side did death
cheer and rejoice in

how many graves do we have to dig
and fill over and over again
how many children crusades
will we watch before we admit

god ******

there just ******* kids
killing kids
our children
murdering one another

how long will we purposely allow
this ****** definition of peace
to perpetuate the hate
that keeps war alive
this ugly excuse that does nothing
but bury any path to peace

to love

to humanity
learning to be humane
to one another

fighting for peace
will never add up
to the end of war

I walk out into the night naked
with only my skin and bones
my blood and breath
leaving my name
and my human sins behind
footsteps echoing into the nothing
one after the other
watching the everything
dissolve into the milk black sky

clouds spiral out beyond the atmosphere
I crawl through countless stars
and wave farewell to the moon
then swallow the sun
and watch the earth spin
spectacularly out of control
as gravity fades
and all the planets
are set free from their orbital bonds

I see a glimpse of a dream
mourning the death of eternity
and watch the last
of all the cuckoo clocks
lose track of everything
that gave time meaning

sanity comes full circle
as all the madmen crumble
hanging from the noose
of the wits end
there is no laughter here
only a joker out of jokes
except for the one
we’ve all heard before

knock knock
nobody’s home
and the light is just pollution
killing the view
of a once beautiful river of midnight

the horizon just a blur
of a destination no one dares travel
no one hungers with desperation
in the heartbeat of the living dead
civilized savages of casual cruelty

blink twice and look away
heads down with mouths stitched closed
minds caged in self doubt and fear
with nothing to fear
but the willingness to live free
free from the comforts of mental slavery

repeat what needs repeating
repeat history
its no mistake
read from the cue cards
repeat the abc’s
just parrots and lemmings
singing for crackers
marching one by one
slowly toward death

further and further away I go
from the memory of names and sin
dissolving into the nothing
until I am lost beyond finding
out in the middle
of the never never
of the ever ever
just skin and bones
blood and breath
naked in the night

There is no fixing what is broken
there is no raising the dead
you are just a dream
a promise of light
a path to better days
not made for me
my youth has been spent
and wasted
and yours still much alive
with much more to go
what awaits you
has much more to give
than I could match
I wish I could stay
give into this dream
love you with all of my heart
that is so desperate to love you
utterly
  completely
give all of itself to you...

but I am just a scared boy
living in a body that is growing old
a fool and a coward at best
more than forty years have passed
with likely less than forty to go
it's all been a blur

and what I have found in you
I have found too late in my life
love beyond perfection
life beyond beautiful
a sudden rush of euphoria
a glimpse of a eternal happiness
a visit from the pure joy of forever

I am grateful beyond words
indebted beyond times end
you have given me too much already
I am humbled and inspired
lucky and blessed to have seen
your hearts beauty
to have been touched
by the warmth of your kindness

but who am I other
than someone broken
with something dead inside
gazing up at a dream
I wish i could reach for
had time to nurture
to watch grow beautifully

who am I other than
a fool and a coward
to be afraid of love

Why would I say such a careless thing
what right do I have to be so reckless
so foolish
to give you something so heavy to hold
something bigger than I could ever be
something I could not hold on my own
to give you this burden
and hope you would see it as a gift

this broken
this ******
this bruised
this used up part of me...

the boy who never speaks
the deathly shy one
always afraid
always trembling inside
the coward that I keep so deeply hidden
no one could know
he is the largest part of me

the quite one
finally has something to say
someone to say it to
the words that always
get stuck in his gut
and never make it up his throat
and out his mouth
set loose upon your ears

and why
what good could these words do
when passed from me to you
would it not be better to keep them
to lock them up
in the chambers of my heart
what could I possibly hope to gain
by giving you something

so broken
so ******
so bruised
so used up

when I know you deserve
more than I can give
better than I can be

is it to push you away
to send you out of my life
to make it easier to pretend
that there is nothing I want to say
nothing that I am
completely desperate to express

is it only to watch you break
what is already broken
bleed what is already ******
bruise what is already bruised
find no use in what
has already been used

so I can quietly walk away
as if I had said nothing at all
felt nothing at all
and go back to my comforts
of quite solitude

I pulled the book off the shelf
ran my fingers down the spine
and then up again
feeling the magic bound within

I wept inside with tearful joy
my heart listening to the happy songs
from the pages waiting to be opened
read intently
gazed at endlessly
and finally turned

I held the book to my chest
hugged it tightly
as tightly as a mother
hugging a child
she thought lost to war
a husband hugging his wife
afraid if he let go
he would wake
and find his wife
had just been a dream
a child hugging everything
and anything

this book that is as much of my heart
as my hearts own flesh and blood
this book
the first book that taught me
life and love are so often the same thing
in all of their beauty and joy
all of their desperation and despair
love and life
pressed between
and printed on
the pages of this book

a good friend
a friend from long ago
an old friend
that will never grow old

the book opens
and my heart applauds

The morning light only became beautiful
as it reflected off the soft skin of your face
the smile dancing playfully on your lips
the dreams still awake in your eyes
and what light could be more beautiful
than the radiance of the song of your heart

to witness such splendor
to be a spectator of such graceful miracle
if this is not heaven
the room you adorn with dreams
from the flowers of eternity
then there is no heaven
there is only you
you and love

I watch the sun sink into tomorrow
and remember when
it first kissed todays mornings sky
my youth lays behind me wasted
time killed
and all the numbers of the clock
dead in my blood covered hands
what a strange journey it has been
what a beautiful voyage

I almost drowned in a swimming pool
when I was four
or maybe five
pulled out of what could have been
my watery grave by a stranger

as an adult...
I almost intentionally drank poison

not that long ago...

saved by a storm
and a yard full of frogs

maybe I just imagined it
or maybe I am just lying
because I can’t remember
the whole truth of the situation
or just don’t want to admit it
but it seemed that over the sound
of the hard falling rain
and booming thunder
the frogs were saying
the frogs were singing

"don't go
don't let your heart bleed out
from what will one day only be a scare
stay a little longer
this pain is only unbearable now

stay

see tomorrow
it wont always be so bad
it may get worse too
we won’t lie

but stay

rock bottom isn’t always hell
sometimes its lower
the bottom of a bottomless pit
the sinking center of the heart of despair
an ugly place
true

but stay

put your head down
sink to the bottom
drown
stay down
until your ready
ready to come back up

the pain will follow
it will be part of you
sculpt it into a trinket
tattoo it over the scar it leaves
a note to remind you
whenever the pain becomes unbearable
it will only be unbearable for a moment
a moment that will feel like eternity
but only for a moment

every day of your life
may not always
seem worth living through
but in the end
all together
they will be
all the good
all the horrible
the blend of torment and comfort
we promise in the end
it's all worth it
it's all worth it in the end"  

a lot for frogs to say
there were a lot of frogs that night
and if they had not been there
maybe I wouldn’t be here
in this here and now
watching the sun
bloom tomorrow into today
and I’m glad
I’m glad I’m still here

we are just insects trapped
in crystalized amber
unable to move away from today
broken clocks strapped to our wrists
believing in something that doesn't exist
forty hours a week to survive
the illusion we've made out of life
blood and bones worth less
than the cogs in a machine
pointless spinning in circles
hamsters on the wheel
rats safe in the maze
happy to fight in a cage
over scraps of cheese
waiting for our beds
to become coffins
we sleep with lies in our hearts
afraid of our reflection
as it still holds onto
the last remnants
of a dying dream
what a monster we've allowed
the new american way to become
a false ideology
only ******* and breeding
to keep the all mighty dollar alive
love only a mask
and an excuse to avoid
the feeling of loneliness
as we become more
and more alone together
no one is left with the quite desperation
to walk the path less traveled
as we move like pawns
one square at a time
chasing the carrot on a stick
that will only lead us
to our death beds
with nothing more than a chest
empty of anything but a few crumbs
and like insects we crawl along
a moebius strip that only leads
to us repeating today
day after day

and there it was
playing out it slow motion
a flip book animation
of the white picket fence dream

two people so perfectly in love
it could only exist
in the paintings of a fairytale

and how strange to see
my face painted in this dream
to see such a foolish grin
plastered on my lips
to imagine myself happy

to see love once again
living and breathing in my chest
to feel my heart alive
to feel longing and desire
roaming in its chambers

if only I could be so careless
to abandon reason
to ignore my aging bones
my autumn years

to be so brave
to give into the hopelessness
of hopelessly falling  in love

to be daring enough
to tell the truth
to stand before you
to hold your hand

to hand you my heart
knowing you could not hold it
they way it is desperate
to be held by you

to let it get broken
and then to watch
every scattered shard
still sing your name  

if I were only braver
if I were only younger

maybe then I could believe
that a love this perfect
could jump off the pages
of a flip book animation
and find us both living
a life made up of the love
only painted in fairytales

How lucky am I...

just to know you

to be touched by your kindness
to witness your grace
to be struck with awe
and wonder by your beauty

to feel love once again
beating wildly in my heart

I wish I was younger...
I wish I was braver...

I wish I felt I could give
as much back to you
as you have already given me

you...
you who are much more than beautiful
much more than inspiring
much more than I could wish for...

dream of...

so much more
than my heart dare imagine

yet here you are...

smile warmer than the sunrise
wider than the moon

eyes carved out of the dreams
of the stars dancing
in the milky way

what sweetness pours
from your soul
what promise and secrets
live in your lips

how many lifes would I give
how many times
would I play the role of Romeo
to just once touch
the soft skin of your cheek

to know your love
even at the price of death

that would be no tragedy
no tale of grim romance

for who other than you
could be as perfectly beautiful
as every definition
known and unknown
for the word love

Our lives are delicately finite
we have so little time
not one of us
is guaranteed another tomorrow
and no matter how many times
the earth may spin on its axis
or revolve around the sun
the truth is
all we ever have is today

one long moment
one small breath of eternity
we are here
we are gone

photographs frozen in time
falling like leafs caught in the wind
all in this brief glimpse
of the ever after
happening all
in the here and now

insects trapped in amber
children building sandcastles
too close to the waves
fools setting clocks
trying to measure the time
when time cannot be set
or measured

our hearts are so fragile
a dangerous thing
to find beauty in
and if there is not
beauty in our hearts
there will be no beauty
in our lives

and what is more beautiful
in our hearts
than its ability to love
its natural calling to dream
to long
to hope

our hearts may beat in our chest
but our hearts also live
in the pulse of infinity
rise and set over
the horizon of forevermore

the one thing in our life
that is not brief
not short
is the love we can create
for each other
for our selves
for the world around us

this dangerous
this delicate
this beautiful world

though it is not always
so beautiful
not this world
not our hearts

as we often forget
how delicately finite our lives are

how wasteful we become
with the moment
when we forget
that they are so few
that we forget
that they are precious trinkets
that can wither
rust
fade away
in the blinking of our eyes
if not tended to
if not remembered
that they can only stay young
in the memories of our hearts

how careless we become
with the love in our hearts
that we let it sit still
that we leave it to stagnate
that we forget to share in it
live in it
that we forget we have more
we can create
always
beating in our hearts

forgetting is something
we must always be conscious
to remember not to do

for when the end comes
when life meets death
on the sidewalk
where we come to an end

it will be on a day like today
because in all truth
today is all we will ever have

She taught the sun how to rise
how to warm the day
how to fill the day with light

she taught the birds how to fly
how to turn the breeze
into a song
how to spread joy through the world

she taught the moon how to smile
through the darkness
how to sing sweet soft lullabies
how to comfort our dreams

and she taught our hearts
how to beat
how to dance
how to live
and most importantly
how to love

And though it may never be real
it may never come true
I can dream of you
and find a place
of perfect love
an eternity of bliss
where I hold all of heaven
in my hands
as I find all of heaven to be
living and breathing in your heart
and in all this ache
in all this longing
what pain could I not bear
to be able to love you
even if only in dreams

She stole little pieces of his heart
or maybe he gave them to her freely

the truth is most likely hidden
in another story
another song
another poem

it was the little things
the simplest of gestures

the kindest of her smile
the soft colors reflecting in her eyes
in how she had perfected
the art of a hug
both in the duration and snugness

it was the the way she talked
how every word that left her lips
became a song bird all its own

it was in the way she listened
and the way she was quiet
when nothing else
needed to be said
in how she turned
a moment of silence
into a heart felt orchestra

and with every piece she stole
and every piece he gave
his heart grew bigger  

and so the story went
the truth hiding
in the open pages of a book
the notes of a song
waiting in a poem unwritten

where she stole
and he gave
until there was nothing left to give
and nothing left to steal
and all that was left
was love

As if falling from one dream into another
I awake to see your soft smile
and kind eyes looking down at me

the comfort of heaven fills my heart
as your grace and beauty
fill the room with warmth
and carve out a moment of eternity
in perfect crystallized form

a trinket of time that will never dull
never wither in the passing days
or months
or years

a summer sunset immortalized
to always sit and rest on the horizon
of a never ending dream
to never sink below the sea
to never sleep beneath the mountains

a simple moment perfect
in every aspect
of love and all its beauty

The poetry section is small
and somewhat hidden
Bukowski still floods the shelves
Baudelaire’s flowers still in bloom
eternity lives here
pressed between the pages
taken into our lungs
and released in every word

lucky for us
the dead write remarkably well
considering the are either ash
or dry bones
names long ago engraved into stone
printed along the spine of new books
and why should death
stop anyone from writing
it makes life more bearable for the living
and more hopeful for the dying

at least
sometimes it does

books, poems, fairy songs
somewhere to escape
something to escape with

writers, poets, storytellers
hiding in plain sight
sipping coffee
drinking wine
shooting whiskey

a sketch pad or journal isn’t official
until it has a stain of some type
a ring left behind
from a cup or mug or bottle
a splash of this or that

we tend to admire the dead
more than the living
as if living is something
we just  need to survive
as we wait our turn in line
to grow old
to become useless
to reach the wastebasket
that we can dump our dreams into
to let go of the burden of hope
and just settle into our caskets
our coffins
and wait for sleep
to become death

and that wait is made easier
by the dead who still write
as most of the living
seem to have forgotten
the color of their dreams
and what they had to live for

I can barely remember
there was something though
some dream
that feels a lifetime ago
or a lifetime away

maybe I could remember
if I could just sleep
through waking up
and wake up
while still dreaming

maybe I could read
some more Bukowski
while walking through
Baudelaire’s flower
lost somewhere in a bookstore
found between the lines of eternity

how many shots does it take
how many bullets fired
until you feel safe
beneath your kevlar vest
gun in hand
barrel smoking

was it fear in your eyes
or was it hate in your heart
a willing force of ignorance
that fueled such brutality

how dead does a man have to be
before you loosen
your finger from the trigger
how many holes
do you have to put into his body
before he is no longer a threat
how long does his heart
have to be still
before you feel
like you’ve done your job well

protector of the peace
upholder of the law
murderer of the innocence
yet innocent of ******

how do you escape the feeling of guilt
the taste of sin on your lips
how do you pray
with blood soaked hands

and the news is nothing new
the story stays the same
other than a new name
behind the hashtag
and the list grows
as does the number of grieving

Emmett Till is still dead
and the hate that killed him

so long ago

so long ago

is still alive
protected by kevlar vests
and loaded guns
that are emptied by fingers
choking triggers
with a noose tight grip

protector of the peace
upholder of the law
keeper of hate
how many more shots
how many more bullets
until you feel safe
murderer of the innocent
yet innocent of ******

Where does the time go
as we sit and slowly fade
from who we were
and turn away
from who we could have been
as we become nothing
of good use
to any notion
of something of goodwill

we weather the weather
by standing still
as the earth moves beneath our feet
and only dare to dream
in penny wishes
while sleeping in the waters
that drown us as we lay still

time is neither here or there
not past
not future
barely present
an illusion of eternity
a trick of light and shadow
a thief of life
a lie of death
nothing is gone
and nothing lasts forever

who am I missing
where have I been

tell me
was our love real
or was our first kiss
no more or less than our last
nothing but a dream
a fevered moment of eternity
an illusion born
from a broken hearts loneliness

I can feel the dusk of autumn
in the creaking of my bones
I have been lucky in this life
both good and bad

I have walked through days of pasture greens
I have sank in storms of dark and grey
I have felt heaven living in my heart
I have become both the void and the despair

I have been alone with nothing
but the night sky above my head  
and the cool earth beneath my feet
and never felt lonely

I have felt loneliness in it’s cruelest hour
while lost in the chatter of a crowded room
full of empty eyes
hovering above mouths
full of meaningless talk

and time slips by unnoticed
as we fade away
from who we were
becoming strangers
to our own shadows
and we turn away
from who we could have been

You are eleven now
almost twelve
almost a teenager
that incredibly bewildering part
  of your life
where you’re not quite a kid anymore
yet you’re not an adult yet either

the world is going
to start asking more from you
maybe too much at times
maybe not enough at others
maybe a little too soon
maybe not soon enough

some kids your age feel like
they are dying to leave
their childhoods behind them
to cut the umbilical cord
to their adolescence

that urge to rush into the adult world
they feel restless in their youth
they feel power growing in their voice
but they feel unheard when they use it

and it seems unfair
this mixed signal
of start acting like an adult
but not being trusted
to be responsible as an adult

this time frame of
act your age
but don’t act your age anymore
be more mature
but “WOOOOO”
not too mature

and yea its not fair
not really
and that’s where life is headed now
your life is slowly treading
into the waters of unfair
you’ll be swimming
and sinking
and drowning
not being able to distinguish
between what is fair
and what isn’t fair

life will always be hitting
and crashing into you
in waves of what fells like
bad luck
day after day
while only seeming to drizzle
good luck outside
on days you are trapped inside

I hope you will learn this though
that you will see it sooner than most
that luck is just luck
good and bad are just different
perspectives to the same story

that life isn’t fair or unfair
it’s just life
it’s a journey
good things will happen
tragedies will occur

love

will be the most beautiful thing
you get to hold
and also be the most painful thing
you will have to endure

cherish the beauty
and breathe through the pain
it won’t always feel like
it’s going to be worth it

but it is

always just breathe through it

inhale

exhale

one more day

listen to your heart
hear the sound it makes
that is your music
the baseline to the soundtrack of your life
and its always playing a new song
hold onto it
never let it get old

there is no stopping time
you will become an adult
both in body and mind
as you age into it
grow into it
as you figure out whatever it is
that you will one day
define as being an adult

it’s your life
and your life alone
don’t let anyone else
give you a definition that doesn’t fit

and if you ever have trouble
finding the words
if you have days where
you cant quite remember who you are
or how to define yourself

thats ok

it happens
we get lost
we wander
its part of the journey
its part of life

just remember

inhale

exhale

and listen to your heart
listen to your song
thats you

and no matter who you become
with each new day
each new song
no matter how many changes
of costumes
of character
whatever role you end up playing

I will be watching
I will be cheering  
I will be loving you

I remember the night we first meet
how time stood still
with you standing before me
how the whole world went silent
except for the song of your voice

I can't remember what I said
wether I stuttered the word "hi"
or just mouthed "hello"
or just stood their with a stupid
goofy smile on my face

and that smile became yours
and only yours
I had never known that happiness
could feel that good

then as life so often goes
and happiness so often ends
you where gone
dissappeared
with the autumn of the leaves

now a life of seasons
have lived and passed
through the marrow of my bones
and here you are standing
holding down the hands on the clock
the years between us fade away
and in all the white noise
all I can hear is you

and I smile I have not worn
since the last time
you left eternity on my lips
finds my face
in all its goofy stupid glory

and even when I'm not
that smile is still yours

always

and only yours

a poet sits in a corner
mind adrift floating some eons away
nether here nor there
but somewhere in between
yesterday and tomorrow and today

a reflection escaped from a mirror
a voice without a mouth
an ocean trapped in a tear
a story told over and over again
in a forest where every tree growing
makes its own sound

death is a mystery woven
into the fabric of life
grief is the thread
to which we use to mend our hearts
tragedy is the sacrificial lamb
to the alter where we will find
our laughter again

and love...

love is a sweater in the lost and found
waiting to be worn by anyone
in need of warmth
knitted from the softest yarn
from the generosity of kindness

love is row of crooked deciduous teeth
in a fresh bright smile
not yet ready to be traded
for quarters and trinkets
all giggles and sugar
in the innocence of youth
the magic of children

love is adrift
a vibration
connecting every heart
from this corner to that drugstore
from the gas station
to the solemn park bench
both here and there
anywhere and everywhere
looped through yesterday
  and tomorrow and today

I remember the last time
my chest felt heavy and empty
and everything I knew about love
was shattered and lost
in all of that hollow
all of that heavy

I remember the words that broke me
though I won’t repeat them here

maybe it’s unfortunate
or maybe it’s just life
but you probably have a memory now
or will one day
of similar
or completely different words
reminding you of a night or day
when hope and love and dreams
slip through your fingers
and leave your palms bleeding

leaving you holding nothing

nothing

but all of that hollow
all of that heavy

I almost died that night
I almost willing paid the price
for the luxury of suicide

the sweet and bitter cold nothing
the nothing that felt like
it was the only thing
that could relieve the pain
of everything hurting

everything inside of my body
and everything outside of my body
pushing and crushing
and constricting around me

it was a perfect night for dying
with all the cliches needed for a poetic obituary
the sky was painted with loud black clouds
and the rain poured down in waves of waterfalls
the air beat with the thunder of a funeral song
and the flashes of lightning captured
the contorted shape of my face
a bad caricature with an ugly cry

a sniveling and snot filled
******* gurgle
everything but the pain
pouring out of my face

I was sitting in my car writing my last note
with a ballpoint pen in a sketch pad

it probably didn’t make any sense
I’m sure I still have it...
somewhere....

I can see the driveway
I can see my car parked there
I can still feel the bottle of poison
   in my trembling hands
I can see the lightning illuminating the rain
  I can see the rain
    and the gravel it was falling on
     the dirt it was dancing on
       the puddles it was forming
         and then swimming in

and there in that darkness
there in that heavy beat of thunder
there in that hard falling rain

in all of that hollow
in all of that heavy

I saw the miracle of frogs
fresh tadpoles that just lost their tales
brave and beautiful as only children can be
leaping here and there
playing in the rain

no fear of living
no thoughts of dying
with nothing of nothing
in their tiny hearts

having the time of their lives
in all of that hollow
in all of that heavy

I saw the miracle of frogs

and I cried again
a little heavier
a little harder than I had been

all that pain inside
and all that pain outside
somehow in someway
chased out
all of that hollow
all of that heavy

my hands were still shaking
my whole body was still crying
as I got out of my car
and walked through the driveway
walked through the yard
I left everything of nothing
in the darkness and the rain
as I walked through
and with the miracle of frogs

sometimes I spell my name wrong on purpose
hoping to accidentally discover who I really am
who I use to imagine I was suppose to be
or maybe just who I use to be
back when believing in love and magic
was as easy as breathing

back when breathing was easy

back before I needed
to keep a feather in my copy of Peter Pan
to book mark chapter 13
to remind me that love and magic
can only be as real as I believe them to be

because lately its been hard to believe in anything
I want to believe
there is more good than bad in the world
more light than darkness
more beauty in the truth
than just its ugly reality

more kindness than cruelty
more generosity than greed
more miracles in daily living
and not just the tragedy
of meaningless death
after meaningless death

but I have lost count
of the slogans piling up behind the hashtags
and I struggle to remember the names
of all the victims of all the senseless violence
spilling out from all the blind hatred
beating wildly in this world
that seems to be losing its way

and I wonder if I am even human
because if anything human
can be so blind to all the pain
and all the poverty
and all the hunger in this world

if anything human
can have nothing but apathy
to the needless suffering inflicted
by the social inequality
that plaques any minority
by the masses of *****
that make up the majority

then why
tell me why
would anyone with a heart
anyone who can still believe
in love and magic
want to be human

if being human doesn’t mean
to be filled with love and compassion
to have the kindness and generosity of our hearts
flow freely to and out of our hands
to any and everyone that needs help

to anyone who needs shelter
from the cold and unforgiving gaze
of hate filled eyes
to anyone that needs something more
than just food to **** the doubts and ache
stirring in their bellies
to anyone who just needs a moment
a brief moment
to know they are not alone
that their fight to survive
isn’t a battle they have to fight alone

if being human isn’t meant
to help one another
then what is it?
are we all just out here misspelling our names
hoping to become anything
but what we really are

a good bullet never saw a good war
a good bullet never felt the hammer strike
a good bullet never heard the thunder
  never felt the heat of the explosion
    that sent it like lightning
      flying from the chamber of a gun
       the barrel of a riffle

a good bullet never tore a hole through flesh
a good bullet never shattered bone
a good bullet never bite into a heart
  and held it in its teeth
   until it stopped beating

a good bullet was never made
  
  was never made

was never made to steal a child’s smile away

not your sons
not your daughters
not at any age

a good bullet was never made

  a good bullet was never made

a good bullet was never made
to turn a playground into a graveyard
where a mothers eyes drained
of all their colors but grey
fill with storm clouds
that endless pour down
tears of grief over the dug open earth

a good bullet was never made
to turn a school into a war zone
where a fathers chest is emptied
of everything but the pains of loss
for his daughters smile
that he will only see
in photographs of memories
and haunted dreams

a good bullet was never made
to turn a traffic stop into an obituary
where blind hate and fear
flows from heart to hand
to trigger and hammer and...

****** will somehow
not be considered ******
when the hand of the killer
wears a badge
and the training manual
says shoot to ****
as it is more cost effective
and the deceased
will become just another name
to be lined up behind a hashtag
and a slogan...

a good bullet was never made

   was never made

to feel the hammer strike
to leave the chamber off a gun
to steal a life away

A good bullet was never...

I want to give you the alphabet
and every syllable and punctuation and exclamation mark
I want to build you a stage out of the bones
dying to get out from under my skin
and watch you make the world a better place
a softer and safer place
I’ve seen you do it before
and I know I will watch you do it again

there is nothing more beautifully alive
than when you are up there on the stage
a slight tremor in your voice
as your hand trembles
holding that piece of paper in your hand
and with all the fury of nature you exhale

your heart comes flying out
and fills the room with such a gentle warmth
that it feels like a Christmas snow is falling outside
and the fire place is crackling and popping
and snapping inside all of us
and the hot cocoa is just about cooled off enough to drink
and we drink it all in

every painful truth you paint from your inside
every broken bone of your past
all the heartache in the ghost of the tears that haunt your cheeks
the madness in your sanity of pushing
and shaping your dreams into a better future
where everyone is loved for who they are
no matter who they are
and everyone can love who they love
no matter who they love
and kindness is the only rule anyone follows
and for every one person that has a hungry mouth
their are two people not just willing but eager
to cook a meal for the belly at the bottom of that mouth
and no one is homeless
because everyones heart has opened up
into something much bigger than a fist
and there is no stranger too strange
that we cannot invite them into our homes
and help them find their feet
and give them a pillow and place to lay their head
and all the cogs in the machines of war and industry
have been melted down
and minted into pennies for the wishing well
and everyone gets a turn to wish
and every wish comes true

now everyone
everyone do me a favor
put your hand over your chest
do you feel that?
That electricity
that booming thunder
that thing keeping you alive

that heart

that heart is you
and in that heart is the universe
with the power of every star shining at night  
and the heat of every burning sun throughout the day
and the song of every named and unnamed moon
do you feel it
do you feel how we are all connected
how we all need each other

how that heart
how that universe is part of us all

how we all belong
we all belong to the here and now

How do we decapitate a headless monster
how do we **** something that does not have a heart
a cold mist of illusion and deceit
a bodiless creature made out of the poison of fear and lies

a lesson handed down from generation to generation
  written inside their blood
and scribbled blindly on the walls
  that keep their minds caged
    inside an ignorant state of being

a ghost of terrible influence and horrible power
a being that maybe near as old as time
infesting the body of believes of an unknowing youth
a mountain of evil worn like a suit of armor
  over their misguided pride
     their arrogant smirks

a finger over the trigger of a gun...

a fast and repeating explosion...

a room filling with smoke and blood...

lungs giving their last breath
hearts taking their last beat
screams echoing deep into the future

and quietly the monster slips away
untouched with no remorse
thinking itself a hero

this monster without a head
  this thing that has no heart
    this misguided pride
     this mountain of evil

how...
tell me how...
how do we defeat

this thing called hate

She was there last night
the girl you write about
the one you read of
I saw her again
I heard her voice

she was on stage
pulling her ribs open
exposing her heart

it was a blazing star
full of warm soft fire
burning with passion
and vulnerability

her eyes glistening jewels
carved out of moonlight
full of both mystery and wonder

her smile...

her smile
I wish I could describe it
without sounding like a teenage boy
falling in love for the first time
because my teenage years
were a long time ago
and I was never that kind of brave...
not then...
not now either...

I don’t know if when we die
if heaven will be there
if we will meet a god or gods
but to see her smile
is to catch a  glimpse of eternity
to feel the safety
of what heaven is dreamt to be

and that is only a small piece
of her beauty
the larger part
the fullness of her beauty
isn’t all the pretty
that can be seen with our eyes

no... the fullness of her beauty

is how she crafts
the time and space of the room
how she walks through
the infinite mysteries of life
leaving questions hanging in the air
like ripe fruit ready to be harvested
to nourish the mind
encourage the spirit

the fullness of her beauty
is felt in the tremble of her voice
the quake of sound
she lets loose into the air
the rumbling war drum beat
thundering from her open chest

it is the song of her heart
reaching out to the lost
to let them know
they are not alone

it is the soft warmth
you feel when she takes the stage
it is the seed of hope
she weaves into her words
it is the fire  
that dances in her poetry

the fullness of her beauty
is the beauty
of all the things
we can only feel with our hearts
only hold in our breath
the things that can touch us
that we can not touch
back with our fingertips
it is the beauty
of all the things vulnerable

While the mother crow cries
over the dead bodies
of her children
the doves fly away
as if the murdering of crows
is not any kind of crime

as the doves
see evil
hear evil
protect evil

The crows heart
a constant target
of the doves violence

Who's next?
Whose name is destined for hashtags and ******
how many lives
will it take
before the hate
and fear
in the doves heart
bleeds out

The deadline of
the life of a crow
is drawn by the jeweled crown
of loathing the dove wears
on its head
and the fear inside
the loaded gun
of the doves eye
and the hate beating
wildly beneath its wings
and blindly in its heart

Hope is a heavy burden
under the pounding
blood red sky

Where the doves
practice ******
more often than
they protect the peace

As the oath has changed
to protect and serve
their own kind

and lady justice
has been blinded
by a white wash
of white lies

And the murdering of crows
goes on...
and on...
and on...

While the living
can wait their turn
to be murdered
and crucified
and martyred
on the next hashtag

while serving their time
from inside the freedom
they have behind the bars
of the cage of poverty
and there is always
more room for another
and another
and another
inside the skin
of the prison cell life
they were born in

The crow is suspected guilty
until pronounced dead

and its innocence
is nothing the doves
cannot beat out of it
even after it is already dead

as the color
of the doves guilt
is judged to be
more pure than
a corpse with
a crows dead heart
no matter the weight
of its innocence

and the murdering of crows
goes on...

and on...

and on...

While the feathers
of the doves wing
spread out sharp like knives
with a seemingly
bottomless hunger
for the heart of the crows

and we lower the body
of another martyr
into the earth
how much longer
will we allow
the murders of crows
to walk free
as if the murdering of crows
is not a crime

the doves can bury
the body of a crow
after crow
(one after another and another)
but never their songs
never their names
never their hearts
and the dead will speak
for the living
as long as the living
never forget the dead

one day the crows
  are going to rise up
over the black asphalt
  city skyline

singing into the
  blood red sky
   hearts crowned
    with fire and hope

flying high and free
   flying over
     the mountain tops

singing of the
   promised land

singing for the dead
   but not forgotten

singing words
  of flame
    and poetry

singing for
   freedom
     and unity

carrying the weight of hope
and hope is a heavy burden
we all must carry into tomorrow
and tomorrow
or tomorrow will never
be better than today
we must always lift our dreams
with love and hope
and one day may we find
our way over the mountain top
and into the land of promise
where birds of every feather
are free to fly in a sky
without violence
and fear
and hate
where tomorrow is a river
flowing into a better today

The art of war is a canvas painted
with the blood of our children’s lives
it is paint dyed with the colors
stolen from their dreams and futures
that will never blossom or bloom

it is the chiseled marble
forced from the flesh
stripped from their bones

it is the shaped clay
from the hole in the earth
where their bodies will decay

it is the blind writing eulogies in Braille
for all the mothers who will never again
set their eyes on the sunshine
of their sons smile

it is the deaf writing songs
for fathers who will never again
hear the sweet sound
of their daughters laughter

it is the end of the road
for all those who are lost
waiting for the loved ones
who will never make it back home

there is no beauty here
death does not sing of glory
death does not smile
for the fresh and never ending harvest
from the art of war

death...
my heart breaks for you
what a terrible burden
we place in your hands

and for what?

pride?

faith?

country?

who is killing who
is killing who is killing

who made the enemy the enemy
of my brother
and my brother the enemy
of my brother
and my brother the enemy

in what womb was the cord cut
that once connected us all
in what field did hate start the fire
that turned the world
into “us” and “them”

from what heart did the cold blood
first flow into the finger
that squeezed the trigger
that drew first blood

whose life was lost
to the first brush stroke
of the art of war

I saw her
the girl you talked about
I heard her voice
with the slight tremble
and a rumbling hope

she still had spitfire in her words
and starlight in her eyes
she wasn’t lost
not really

she may have had more questions
than answers in her head
but give her time

sometimes the questions
don’t need to find answers right away
or maybe even ever

sometimes they just need to be asked
they need to bloom and find wings
and wander and float off into the sky
sometimes its more about the wondering
the exploring of both
the inside and outside world

questions of the mind
mending doubts of the heart
a burning in the soul
to be cooled by a passing wind
a kind smile
a gentle hand
to hold in the darkness
so it knows it is not alone

it is often the silent conversations
that offer the most light
when the words that need
to be heard
do not need to be spoken
as they are already
being sung by the stars above
and we already know
the song by heart

love is an art that can be shared
between two strangers
that never touch each other
but still hold each other’s hearts

maybe for only a slight moment
maybe an entire life

two voices shouting
into the void of despair
declaring I will not go quietly
I will not live silently
I will live and fight
for something worth living for
something that will make death weep
when it whispers my name

I may lose my way
I may feel hopeless
and defeated
from time to time

but I will not give in
I will not give up
I will make my fist into a grenade
I will make my heart
into something larger than a fist
and I will live my life
by finding
and practicing the art of love

and that girl
the one you talked about
her voice with the slight tremble
and a rumbling hope
she is closer than you think
when you find her again
when you see her again
tell her thanks

sometimes
sometimes I forget
that I’m not alone
and even the slightest of moments
can last a lifetime

Do not try to outwit your grief
do not try to hide your love
what is desire but to burn
what if the only true path to heaven
is to walk through the fire

what if the only real sin
is regret
regret for the things you never did
the things you never said

tell me would that change
what you do tonight
before you sleep
what you do tomorrow
when you first wake up

what if there is no light
at the end of the tunnel
what if there is no dark
at the bottom of the well
what if the closest
you can get to god
is how close
you can get to your heart
what if the only devil
is the fear
that lives in your doubts
what if god
is nothing more
than your reflection

tell me what would that change
what would you pray for
if the answer to your prayers
was the miracle waiting
in your own hands

what if your dreams
are no farther away
than your imagination
what if your imagination
is the key
and the door
and the path
to the home of your dreams

show me all of your secrets
and I will bury all of my lies
what good is a metaphor
that cannot hide the truth
in the plain sight
of the sleeping sun
and the first breath of the moon

when the weather calls for tears
water the fields
that sing the song
of your heart beating
and when the fire falls and spreads
hold my hand
and walk through the flames with me

Our interpretation of time
is only backed
by the ego of our arrogance
as if we alone could master
the infinite mysteries of the stars
and chain them to the definition
of the dot to dot constellations
of our limited imaginations

then trap the sands of time
to gears and springs
and strap it to our brittle wrists
as we crown ourselves
the children of a grand designer
who sculpted our flesh alone
in “HIS” most holly image

we know nothing of the things
we pretend to know
as the flaw of our intelligence
is that it is self designed

we are non the better
than the creatures
we share this planet with

other than we deny ourselves
the simple pleasures
of howling at the moon
or singing with the sunrise
or laying on the surface
and in the silence
of the moonlight shimmering
over the still waters of a pond

we make noise
when it is unnecessary
and keep silent
when we should speak out
as the devil in our deeds
is in every detail
of the cruelty
we have spread out through history

sometimes in the name of god
and sometimes in the name of country
and in the times
of our most overindulgent hypocrisy
in the name of both

as we have dived ourselves
by imaginary lines
drawn in the sand
we believe we have trapped
and strapped to our brittle wrists

as if time is only on our side
moving in one direction
playing by our rules
shaped by the god
we created to bless us
for our self inflected
and self indulgent sins

because it is easier
to blame the devil
for the all fruit we steal and horde

but the devil is only real
in the crimes committed
by the blood we have
running in our veins
and the blood we spill
to feed the fear and hatred
of fables and myths too old
for anyone to remember
written in languages
no one has ever spoken or heard

all the while we ignore
the simplest of facts
that when we have gone too far
dropped one too many bombs
let one too many bullets soar
that when fear and hate swallows
the last of us whole

that time will march on without us
and that all in all
all we have strapped to our brittle wrists
is nothing more
than our meaningless egos

He steps into his fathers boots
and his feet are soaked in blood
and he straps on a helmet
already riddled with bullet holes
to his head
and marches off to an endless war
with the same hate in his blood
fueled by the same pride in his heart
as his fathers father before him
“For god and glory!” he shouts
without questioning what it is
he’s fighting for

A pawn from the other side
steps onto the board
and repeats the same thing
walking the same steps as his father
in the same shoes as his father
in blind obedience
with the same hate
and the same pride

two sides on the same board
and somewhere in the middle
all the pieces are painted
with the same color of death
and the squares disappear
into puddles of blood
that turn into the rivers of ink
that write the obituaries
of all the young lives sold off
to the illusion of freedom
that whispers that this is the price
we must pay over and over again
for god and glory

but somewhere behind the curtain
hands are being shook
and money is exchanged and piled up
and the pigs are keeping themselves fat
from the feast provided
by the endless storm of bullets and bombs
raining down from the smoke pouring out
of the diseased heart
of the never dying war machine

the corpses are stripped down
and sent home  
and the boots are recycled
and isn’t it a beautiful parade
with all those dead bodies
wrapped in a flag full of pride
with a lesson of how to hate

to keep the peace
we keep a gun loaded
with nuclear bombs
pointed at each other’s forehead

and somewhere in the distance
in a hospital room
in a bedroom
in the arms of a new mother
a new father

a baby cries

with a fresh pair of feet
that will one day
******* an old pair of boots
and step onto a square
and march off
to the endless war
of god and glory

The hateful state of the new american way
what a monstrous thing
we have made of the dream
fear rules the simple minded
and the simple minded don’t mind
the mess we have made of everything

history repeats itself
as we have learned nothing
from our past mistakes
rinse reload repeat
a brand new ****** day
for the new american way

not safe in the school yards
not safe in the churches
and synagogues
not safe in our own skin

how do we fight the monster
that stays invisible
until the moment it squeezes
the trigger of a gun full of bullets
from a heart full of hate

what has might ever made right
when war after war treaties are signed
but the peace that is kept
is nothing more than a powder keg
waiting to explode

unfortunately hatred
survived the holocaust too