Representative of the Ocean;
The under side of galaxies -
depths that man will never come to know,
But will foolishly never cease to search to for.
The tips of waves
Caressing the shore line to meet man once again,
Though it draws its feeble hand back often.
The color blue is
The moment after grieving,
The emptying of great seas.
Temporary peace.

A crystalline tree
Bountiful jewels; they are proud
But what use are they?

I desire warmth and
Despise the void,
Despite convincing myself that
I was not missing anything
And just dissatisfied with the "completeness".
Realizations travel the more gentle current
And you find them on shore in a
slow succession.
Picking up these messages,
My hands do not feel frigid-
A sensation my heart envies;
It longs to outshine the sun.
Now days will pass in a frenzy
Searching for an embrace.
A rendezvous with redamancy.
(Beginning with myself.)

I do admire
How our seasons change
Winter's tale
Becomes summer's sonnet.
Quaint complexes
And their uncomplicated dwellers
Existing in solid metronome.
Years skip over
And it's always the same story.
How do you keep your composure so well?
He painted still life on repeat.

Sometimes things
Are better admired from a distance.

Her tattered quill
Has been crafting chronicles
For ages
Most with mixed morals
And chapters of relentless passion
Shared by the wicked,
The naive,
The reckless,
And the virtuous.
Divulging into each finely chiseled character
Their legends, their struggles
Bid to cease only when
Clocks move in reverse
(History may not repeat itself here)
Here we believe
We posses the entirety of the universe.
(Infinity stops at the border
Of silver sheens
And construction beams)
Within our pool
Of blood and glory
The myths are no longer only
Fool's dialogue.
In this city,
They are alive.

only drives me mad
creating poor obstruction
transparently vexed

It was when the
lanterns embarked
on their ember infused journey,
painting a somber September sky
with something more brilliant than the stars.
they carried notes of nostalgia,
told stories with glory and grace,
and signed off with love and remembrance.
Their grievance soon became
a celebration of light,
The concrete palace
burst into tiny flames,
tips reaching for the heavens
and they knew your soul lingered here
And when they spoke,
one by one
with trembling voices
and choking back tears
their words shook the heavens,
invoked despairing cries
but also brought forth
gentle smiles,
knowing all too well
that one day we would be all right.
September 5th,
That was when
I realized life was indeed
Valuable.

I wish

They had looked at each other

Straight through the eyes

Down to the soul

And did not recite,
but instead proclaim

"I will love you

Through unlucky love,

Through love

That travels across

Oceans, cities, and time

Because at the end of every night

I will sleep

Knowing we share the same skies,

The same stars that grant us the same wishes,

The same God.

And though He is a good deity,

If even God gave us an ultimatum,

We would be denied Heaven together.
(Though when we are together,
Nothing would seem more divine.)
And that is why

We come together

On this fine February evening.”

train lights diffuse their somber luminescence over a person equally, so as to dismiss the illusion that whichever feature is displayed so prominently should become the fixture of one's spirit. your eyes will wander over their eyes, their cheek bones, the curve of their lips. your questions will entail,"where are you going," which lends to,"what must you be leaving?" in place of compliments or condescensions. under train lights, you will remember the person, as opposed to a set of eyes, a grimace, a grin, or the rise and fall of a single face.

4PM
---
Arms intertwine
Fingers lace
A Soft touch,
Thoughts of grace
The whispering rustle
of aging trees
and the autumn breeze caressing
flushed faces.
Flashing wide tooth grins,
Hushed "I love you,"'s
And "Life is great"
In between low chuckles
Waiting for tomorrow's glory.

4AM
---
4 AM
when paper meets pen
relentlessly.
the mind breaks
my whole body shakes,
trembles.
working through calloused hands.
glimpses of the sullen, charcoal sky,
peering through tousled drapes.
spirits are drained
and not a bird
dares to sing
one wistful melody.

Phrase: I want to live,
Phrase of ingenuity.
Crave self destruction

They said this was the end,
That no good was left.
The world would not burn,
Because nothing would rise
From the ashes.
They told us,"So the world will be silenced."
By the very substance
That allowed us life.
For they believed 40 days of constriction, demolition
Would purge this God forsaken soil.
But we did not believe
God had abandoned our souls.
He just lost faith.
We did not.
So we built an ark.
Maybe we were not a Phoenix,
But we created something
Much stronger than the ashes of Earth.
We would not be silenced.

And that is when we saw the dove.
Which did not grace us
With valor of the Phoenix
But with its blessing of peace,
Purification
And we knew we were saved

though equipped with
an open heart and
pursuing mind
we still struggle to find the time
before we knew that
these striking hues
only made us blind.
to when white teeth glistened
through genuine grins
and whole, hearty chuckles
instead of only imprinting lines.

i can feel the change
surging through my bones.
a sharp, electric current
igniting and destroying
sour cells and lies
(apathy is not strength).
igniting and creating
new creeds and new bones
that can withstand the occasional
jolts and grits.

though a remedial renewal
of soul came through,
seeing the change and
being the change
will not come quite as easy.

God is at the bottom of a pool,
And hopefully Jesus really can save me,
Because I'm looking for religion
When I don't know how to swim.
I'll dive in,
With all my sins tied around my ankles.

It will be the loudest hymn-
the type of things
Peter himself would write in gospel.
Or maybe
Lucifer will claim my blood in
blasphemy.