Don’t pass Go and don’t collect two hundred
Societal standards keep us encumbered
Put these shoes on and try to walk a mile
I’ll be here waiting, disguising my guile

To open your eyes and empathize
To live the life of another
The greatest gift of humanity
Leaves a soul to wonder

When the night falls, when the street lights go out
The curse of the romantic is always the mind
When the wind picks up, screaming its shouts
Contemplating secrets he never thought to find

Beginning to end, end to beginning
Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
Playing on words, if the chicken laid the egg
The end to beginning, metaphorically speaking

Rambling on, a generation at a screen
The romantic left wondering at a timeless wonder
Opening your eyes, but closing them to dream
Leaving the rest for the poorest to ponder

Incapable of empathy, desensitized to fear
The literal end is always so near
Listening, watching, a self sentenced pledge
I watch the lemmings step up to the ledge

Sheep to slaughter, minds of fodder
Couples dancing, funerals entrancing
Services held, services dealt
Always wondering, wondering whats felt

Tears appear in the corners of eyes
Nothing left to use for disguise
Nothing but emotion left to bare true witness
The meaningless words of a false forgiveness

When being yourself is creating yourself, what is left to see?
The strangulation of freedom, an oxymoronic irony.

an insomniac's pleasure,
a dying man's wish
to hear the voice of her,
the one thing they both miss;

whether love left quiet,
or love once lost
they'd do anything to hear it,
no matter the cost

while her voice would bring the dying man peace,
i doubt it would bring the insomniac sleep
she is but one of the dying man's wishes,
while she is what the insomniac misses;

so while the dying man dies,
and while the insomniac lies awake
one heart stops;
and another heart breaks.

While the birds begin to sing their songs
The sun climbs silently into the sky
Fleeting dreams fade away at the breaking of day
The dreamer reprieved, he opens his eyes

He gets ready for work and puts on a tie
Fit for a funeral or fit for a wedding
He sees during the day but its only a lie
Truth to be found only when the dreamer is resting

As the sun creeps quietly down to the West
The dreamer lays his head down to rest
Escaping his reality to something more real
He attempts to lose himself in his dream surreal

Light sets the scene as it infallibly does,
The dreamer alone but feeling no fright
Rosewood, as usual, the door appears
Gold handle glowing bright in the light

Behind the door is an unknown world
A world without convention and without ties
The dreamer caught motionless in a reach for the handle
Indefinitely pondering a world without lies

While the birds begin to sing their song
The dreamer reopens his eyes
He could only think of the rosewood door
And how he did not want to wear a tie.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
If harmony is what you’re looking for
I would compose a symphony for you

I’d create it out of the little things, usually carelessly overlooked
Writing the notes down as I go as if the pages of a book
Breaking form, strutting style
I’ll make it plain for you to see

We compliment each other well,
Regardless of the key

The sunlight burns into the trees but with the prevailing shade
The sunlight catches you in glances, as you walk away
But still I’d conduct a symphony, fingers riding every rift
Laying out a masterpiece, your own personal Fifth

I’d use my mittened hands, keeping the cadence stern
Smiling without saving face, I’m loving to relearn

My music floats atop the beat, crescendoing to the sky
The trees sway to and fro as nature joins in with a cry
Trumpet fanfare, chordal rounds, the most beautiful of sounds
If only, if only you could hear what I hear
And see these beautiful rounds

Venturing off across the medium, a tangent between right and wrong
An exhibit of choreography, justifying every wrong
You would find me smiling, artfully whirling my baton
A conductor at my finest, while trying to impress
As a romantic I expect the worst,
Without losing hope of finding the best
Continuing to break the mold, creation in rawest form
Discussion through composition, a shattering of the norms

As the piece draws to its close the conductor takes a bow
The lights dim with the curtain call as the cheers ring out
Then you’ll catch me beaming, an artificer plain to be
You’re the reason why I smile, it can’t be hard to see
Every time I see your face, all I hear

Is your symphony.

Two for the Price of One

Change isn’t easy
Healing is the hardest
An impossible task to be
Never knowing where the heart is
Going from thought to thought
Entrancing, the mind taut

Inarguable beauty makes life worth living
Sinner among sinner, who’s to be unforgiving?

Perhaps its inevitable
An always perplexing concept
If an idea is regrettable
No one can know what to accept
Finding the truth vertically
Unusual as it seems
Leads to a constant urgency and unexpected dreams

Belief being a powerful tool
Useful until its useless
To wage a war or convince a friend, how can one not be clueless?

Entities that keep you safe
Souls restricted to what we know
Supernatural entities
Examples of reindeer tracks in the snow
Nonexistent but firmly existing
Trivial pursuits of a tired mind
Insomnia seems to be a constant
Alluring words, crystalline lines,
Let the concept transcend time.

Shades of orange and green and yellow
Settle upon the ground
Twilight wind blows through the trees
As the leaves dance, and twirl, around

Painting a perfect picture, the colors that match so well
The winds’ whispering chants, casting a shadow of a spell
Listening to the echoes of tangents of thoughts
Words moving quickly to avoid being caught

The rushed nature of the world and the words that move within
Leaves the observer waiting, wondering, where do I begin?
Inhaling crunchy autumn air as if tasting leaves from off the ground
Listening to the wind howl and tear while not making a sound

Time moves faster and faster, but at a constant pace
The preoccupying obstacle being the finish line of the race
But time seems to hold still as the trees bend with the wind
When you listen, take it in, you’ll know where to begin

Allowing yourself to see with both eyes is a rare commodity
Constantly changing subjects, society as comedy
Blinded by issues, the light in our eyes makes it hard to see
But I live with my eyes open and my being, free

memories tend to create emotion
a power matched by few,
memories like ripples from rocks tossed in the ocean
a power found by being an absolute truth

a lack of light made the night opaque,
our mysterious caravan cloaked by the dark
only to break for an invisible cigarette;
an illusion shattered by its ember, and the spark

further down the winding path we slowly made our way
moonlight flickering through the windswept trees,
we turned the our last corner, and they broke for the bay;
dresses only complimented by the saltwater breeze

the stars seemed to dance, to mock other light
while carefully observed by the four on the beach,
waves breaking, and crashing, the soundtrack of the night;
four beach-bound astronomers praying their stars within reach

time never stopped, yet moved not a time,
as the saltwater breeze still swirls in the air
the sun the began his ritual climb,
the rising light, an end-signaling flare;

But the light shines through my window pane,
A rude awakening from the deepest sleep
Her perfume and that breeze, both together, still linger,
As my memories pull me back to our beach.

You close your eye and the sun embraces you.
A saltwater breeze caresses you.
The trees sway where the sand ends, as if in reach of the gentle waves.
You open your eyes.
You reach for the hand so close to yours, all fingers fitting like the most intricate puzzle.
The sand beneath your feet shifts, but never so much that you lose your footing.
The water seems cold, but you know better.
Every step you take, you leave an impermanent mark on the world.
A trail susceptible to time in every way.
A smile crosses your face, and you realize;
This is your life.
You can do whatever you want,
Whenever you want to.
Some poems don’t rhyme,
Some wishes never come true.
In the end, only one thing matters:
You.