Jealousy is a heart dying from its own cruelty
Using envy to ****** the marrow of its own soul
With ghosts of things that never were

Red is the color of freedom
Red is the color of rage
Rage is the voice of reason
Reason the key to the cage

I was never lost
To a painting as lovely
As your beating heart

Theres the girl at the bookstore
Always smiles
Makes small talk
Asks with a wink if I need help finding anything
I think the word "courage"
But never say anything but
"No thank you"
And then the waitress at the restaurant
Who has never waited on my table
But constantly stops by
To refill my coffee
Ask polite questions
Give subtle compliments
Hovers for a few minutes
And then saunters away
And the coffee shop girl
Who said she just had to say
How pleasant it was that
I was always smiling
Which I tried to tell her
Was certainly not true
But lost my voice at the time
And she still hasn't allowed
Me to pay for a single cup of coffee
Each one attractive
In their own hypnotic way
Their smile and lips
All worthy of verse
But if I am to die of any
Of the unseen maladies
Surely it will be by shyness
Quit and alone
But lacking the quality
And kindness of loneliness
Solitude is a tranquility
That has its own
Peaceful addiction

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

No rivers made of gold
No heaven to behold
Without your name humming softly in the air
No mountain tops so high
No cloud where  bird or angel fly
Without your light and warmth raining over them
No celestial cosmic flow
No paradise may unfold
Without the magic stars that swirl deep within your eyes
No flames dance upon the sun
No sin burns within the devils grin
Could burn as incandescently or as luminous as your heart
No moment or no breath
No beat or pulse of mine
That is not made into this dream
Where my heart lays at your feet
And my love sits in your hands

I know falling in love with you
is going to lead
to a broken heart one day...

but broken or not
my hearts going to love you
until its last thunderous beat

and even after its shell
has gone cold and dry
and it no longer moves

it will still be singing
your name
in wherever
and whatever
comes next
for all eternity

My Heart made out of paper
Gently folded and creased
The softest hues
And darkest shades
Of red
Tattooed on every layer
And at every bend
Words of eternity stitched
Throughout the depths
And pushing through its pulp
Poetry bloomed like flowers
Every day and every hour
Gardens of endless dreams
Sleeping safely in the seams
And love
Yes the love
Is the lead act of every page
And
No tale every told
No story ever read
No song ever sang
No poem ever penned
No adventure ever lived
Was ever quite
As
Delicate and strong
Bold and gentle
Shadowed and hoped
Beautifully felt
And loved
My paper heart
Made from pages
Of you

Come with me and dream
   of kisses
    that never
     cease
Come with me and love
  with hearts
   that never
     break
Come with me and carve
  our names on
   every passing
    star
Come and
  drift away
   with me
      on a
    forever
   that never
     ends

Behind the curtain
of closed doors
and words dressed
in gowns of metaphors
what of love is found
in flesh of lust
and what of lust is found
in raging blod of love

Under sheets of starlight
and blankets woven
from fresh flowers
bloomed from sin  
and why should
we wear this skin
if not to indulge in things
made from fire

In beds of verse and silk
and words of flame
burning your image in the night
I find your name painted
in the sound
and beating of my heart

In a dreamers grave
my bones will dry and fade
where my love died
buried under metaphors
for I could not find my way
behind the curtain
of closed doors

Come...

put your hand here on my chest...
feel this heart...
this beating inside...
this thing keeping me alive...

can you feel it...

do you know...
do you know...

it's you...

It's you...

Men were made gods and gods became men
and cats dreamed themselves kings and queens
as dogs gnawed lazily away
at the bones beneath the robes of death
and butterflies flutered from the heart
that beat within her ribs
and life ran like a child learning to fly above the clouds
and the stars made not a sound
and from the silence echos made
music did softly play from roaring waves
that lead the way to mermaids graves
where their skulls did sleep in troubled dreams
were men believed themselves gods
and ruined everything

I heard a gunshot in the middle of dreaming
I awoke to find Eros at the foot of my bed laughing
I lay there bleeding and dying and with my last bit of strength I wrote your name on my wall
And my last dying wish as I feel to the floor
Was to love you again in the next life
Over and over again

All I want is someone with a broken heart
and a tattered soul
and a kind smile
that is still willing to love
and we don’t have to love each other specifically
as long as we both just love to love
because facts and details become boring
and bodies age
and the same jokes might still be funny
but the haha’s have lost their edge
and isn’t love all we are
what are we other than the answer
to the last prayer falling
from the lips of a dying god
gone mad from being alone
in the emptiness that once was
and spit us out of the womb
of its dream that felt the pains
of first becoming aware
and we drifted and floated
and slowly covered its corpse
and wasn’t it beautiful then
when love was a singular vibration
and thread that connected us
one and all through dreams and death
and then somehow we lost touch
and became complicated
and advanced and civilized
and addicts and abusive and abused
and divided and conquered
and molded and cut and boxed
and domesticated and foreign and distant
and love became a postcard
and a postage stamp
and a card for a holiday
for this cheap replication of living
for this miserable thing we make out of life
so give me your broken heart
and your tattered soul
and your kind smile
and bore me with the details
and I’ll hang on every one
and we’ll get old
and laugh at the same joke
till we’ve fallen over the edge
and gone mad
and we’ll bury ourselves
in the corpse of the god
that gave birth to us all

Let the heart of generosity not be lost
and let us know the value
of the love we give and share
and let worry not rob of us
of the time we have to share
for time is a trickster and liar
for when laughter escapes
from our smiling lips
it moves all too quickly
and when burden and grief
weigh heavy on our hearts
and steals all but silent words
it seems to not move at all
for all we have are our brief moments
and small exchanges with eternity
and life is a string of luck
not good or bad
but of kind and cruel circumstances
beyond the control of fate
and one eyed kings and dead gods
and the wisest of prophets
and the maddest of men
are both fools when dispensing knowledge
of what may lay in wait
in the arms and robes and kiss of death
and if there be no heaven
beyond the footsteps
we take here on this earthly soil
what better way could we give value
to the love we give and share
than not losing our way
from the heart of generosity

If I could only tame the madness within  
  my heart and calm it just enough so that
    I might speak or move or do anything at
      all
If I could only break the spell that has me
  mesmerized and made my mouth
    so deadly shy what mite it say,
      what mite it do
If I could only dream like monsters
and dream of only you and slumber
   deeply for a thousand years before
     my eyes saw the morning sun,
       that sunrise would come to soon

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

twelve years ago you fell
from your mothers belly
like a soft prayer of small miracles
all of heaven contained within
the wonder sparkling in your eyes
everything that could be
more than I expected
happiness more abundant than infinite
beautiful in every sense
that love can be defined
I have never appreciated
the air in my lungs
or the blood in my veins
or the pulse and rhythm of my heart
more than the first time I held you
or the last time I heard you laugh

twelve years pasted so quickly
and I am torn equally
between wishing I could stop time
and the excitement of watching you grow
the impatience for seeing who you will become
you are both hope and the future

twelve years of being the luckiest dad
the happiest father
it often feels like you have been teaching me
more than I will ever be able to teach you
you have made it so easy
life so joyous

your heart is a treasure trove of kindness
your soul a gentle campaign of patience
your intellect sharp
with both wisdom and humor
what a gift it has been
to love you
to be loved by you

twelve years of everything
that could be more than I expected

From countless moons away
Where my heart has flown
To be with you
My chest still full
From dreams of you
And from across
The ocean I hear
My heart sing
These words to you
*I Love You

It's all just old news
Letter's rearranged
To form scattered words
Of dead and flightless birds
Dying stars and rotted moons
Cracked ribs and empty hearts
Heavy feet and ghostly dance
Old news printed in new blues

When falling starts to feel like floating
Thats when you're in too deep
Way over your head
When you've reached the bottom
  of the endless sea
The center of it all
The sweetest slice
The strongest spice
The truth of it all
The meaning of life
Love
Its endless
Its beautiful
Its dangerous
Its everything
And you're  at the bottom of its
  endless depths
And you're  over your head
And you're  all out of breath
And you're  lost in the middle
The mud and the ooze
And the lust of life
Love

There's fire in her footsteps
  and she would swallow you whole
She would crush your heart
  and leave you with nowhere to go
    but you would still call her
      beautiful
The tranquillity of her smile
  is matched by the devil in her hips
And you are dying to know
the depth of her bliss
  and sting of her kiss
And you would sell your soul
  if you could just tell her she's
     beautiful

Her heart was a wild poem
that bleed beautifully
through the skin of her chest

and you could feel it beating
out a rhythm of gentle kindness
that knew too much
about love and loss

their was a touch
of madness and folklore
in the unseen colors
of its song and pulse
he was hypnotized
by its seductive charm
of witchcraft

he was helpless to do anything
but walk into its flames and fire
and he felt no pain
as his body burned down
to cinder and ash and smoke

until he became part
of the wild poem
that made up
the whole of her heart
and her love

I don't love you because I think your an angel
No, I love you because your able to be human in a world full of monsters
To expose your heart to the unbearable act of living and breathing
To rather bare the painful ugly trurh
Than live the beautiful comfortable life of the lie everyone else  swims in
I love you for baring the pain and heartache  no one else dare touch or even look at
For breathing through the hurt days and cold lonely nights
For breaking and crying and falling weak to your knees in the darkness
While everyone else just pretends that they are strong
I love you for the sadness you accept
The bad unexplainable hours your heart beats and bleeds through
I love you for the beauty you carry that comes without aid of ribbons and bows and heaven
The beauty only found in the tears of a devil with a broken heart
I love you for being perfectly you

Stop the clock
Stop the noise
Stop the world
  from turning
Out another useless
  day
Stop the sands
Stop the sea
Stop the tides
  from claiming
Fate as its eternal
  toy
Stop the madness
Stop the ******
Stop the machine
  from grinding
Its outdated gears
  of war
Stop...
Now hug your
  children
Call your parents
Reach out to
  your friends
Life's a fight
Worth fighting
Even if we
Lose it
In the
End
...

Broken we sit and dream alone
in a world that won’t stop turning tragic tales
into melancholy doses of strange beauty
and the winds only whisper of love
to the lost that have never known
the way or comfort of home

and the road is deserted of everything
but heartache and dim scattered moon shadows
and somewhere in the dark corners
of hidden forests creatures lurk
with false promises and bad breath
pointing out suspicious short cuts to happiness
with the path littered with the bones of dead innocence
maybe some of our own
maybe some of the ones we left behind
on the way to adult maturity and shame

as if believing in ourselves so little
wasn’t enough of a burden
we had to make a list of the what not to do’s
when it comes to finding pleasure

this is ok

that is most definitely not

and if it feels good you better not do it
because it feels good
only do it because that is the way it is suppose to be
and if it isn’t
you’ve been warned
that someone or something or some sick and perverted god
is watching and judging and jerking in horror
at all our sinful acts
and the list has been checked
and the video watched twice

and it’s all the same over and over again
pawns without a board or a square
pretending to be kings that love queens
and queens that love fools
and fools that love themselves
with fists grasped in self gratification
building castles that crumble
as we sit alone in broken dreams

I "met" someone about a week ago... A stranger living across the ocean, and something clicked or turned or fell in just the right place.  And suddenly I found myself in a place where I don't really write as much as pull words from the air around me and trap them down on paper in ink.   More of a translator of the silence than anything else.  Stories and poems and songs and even love... are all just sitting in the quite still air waiting to be noticed and felt and heard and written down.  It has all been said and done before... but now, right now, I can just hear it louder and clearer than ever before.

If I showed you my empty pockets
Would you still see my heart as rich and sweet
If I showed you the door of my soul would you walk into my darkness with me
If I dared say the words were true
And not just ends to the poem
Would you belive
Would you feel the same way
I am living and dying in
The most beautiful breathes
Everything hurts in the
Most graceful way
And I am soaked with fear
And quiver in anticipation
I am hard in love
And leaking life
And mad in wanting your kiss
And crazy to comfort your soul
Wanting and longing to hold
Your hands
And pull and keep you warm in my arms
Sleeping and dreaming with you tucked safely before me
Whispering away your doubts and your demons
With true words of love and forever
Its painful how loudly my heart
Pounds in this most beautiful way
Never has love visited
So ferocious and wild before
Oh let me die here
And be completely devoured
And weighed down
To nothing
And drained of my all
No other fire
Would be as mad
And burn as quick
And as slow
**** me for I have
Found who I love

what a strange thing
this mournful pain
this longing for what
and who we've lost
for those who are gone
to places we do not know
cannot follow
this heartache
this broken hurt
this bitter fruit
we dare not let go
a hollow sound
an endless echo
a voice haunting
our every heartbeat
and is it not
above all
beautiful by its own right
its delicate necessity
how through its pain
we are also made comfortable
to be reminded
how fragile this life
how little time
we have to breath
how fast our nights fade
as if it all is but a dream
a bubble about to burst
nothing but ants
marching towards starvation
and one by one we go
a cruel act of kindness
to remind those left behind
how precious
how important
how necessary it is
to love