The life of a soul
is like a candle.
Birth ignites the solid
wick,
and a fire, consuming, is breathed
into the malleable consciousness;
the wax of knowledge
is melted
and molded.

The soul is born
quite opposite of animosity,
and thrives in the
rapture of curiosity.
It is whole,
with nothing foretold
but that existence unfolds,
till pain settles and
fringes the rim.

Fear and hurt and loathing,

the gusts of extinguishing,

take back the breath of ignition,
and leave the candle's wax to settle
as before.

However, to the surprise of the mind,
observers shall find, that much like
the levels of wax still to mold,
the conscious, depressed,
is weary
and much less bold,

but, yet, passion thrives,
and the fire survives,
anew to seek what is
more potent
and true.

The cycle continues,
repeating.
Melting and fading and
melting and
fading,
and

Knowledge is gained!
Ignorance is burned like
the wick of the soul's
candle!

Until the wax is quite low,
and the fire won't show,
and the wick of life's candle,
once burning and fading,
is now dying.

The enlightened light,
the fire and shine,
was snuffed into nothing
by time.

The wax's decreasing
was brought forth
with the increase of knowledge;
with the process of living;
with the suffereing of wisdom.

Perhaps, then,
ignorance is not bliss,
but bliss is death,
for in death there is time,
time to reflect, and to grind
out the details of life,
and to rest
without the crossing breaths
of passion and exhaustion.

An unfeeling
mass of flesh,
an empty heart,
dry, sightless eyes.

           ---  

A string snaps,
pandemonium strikes.

           ---

Storms rage,
oceans ravage,
skies echo
wailing winds.

          ---

The throat chokes,
heart bleeds,
head screams,
eyes weep.

Loneliness.... in the empty world
Now I see, nothing at all
Just blank and still, stands the time
Have got no words,to make it rhyme

But still I dream, for an inch of hope
Through the clouds,and behind the rains
While I hear, the songs of chimes
Makes me write, indolent poems

Drops and dews,like beads and pearls
Catch my eyes,throwing my tears
Far behind,the hills so high
Teach me lessons as I see

Broken heart, is beating now
Thoughts that surround, are so new
Fresh and green, is my breath
With these I can, fight the death.....

I wanted to write about

The first

Time I saw a spotlight

And knew what it meant

It was in a theater

And

Smoke machines blew

The light into existence a light

I had never seen before the spotlights

They circled cut paths I couldn’t

Follow

Define

Shining through the smoke

Light made color made smoke made real

It wasn’t the light I saw it was the smoke spotlit but it was

Only the light I knew

Saw

Could see

Until I thought of driving

Home

Late one night in the front seat and falling asleep

As our headlights cut through the fog

And knowing if I could just

Crawl through the window and

Sit on the hood of the

Car and reach out my foot and stand

on the fog-beam I would

Be carried somewhere more comfortable than the

One crick-necked nook

I had found that would

Let me fall asleep dreaming of

Crawling through windows. I wanted

To write about that first time,

When I watched the spotlights draw symbols

A cuneiform language only the smoke could read and how the

Smoke danced and I realized

The only way to shine is to be

So

Small

That you cannot cast a shadow,

That everything casts a shadow that

To shine you must block something else from shining

Because we are not suns

We are not

We are small and

Lonely

moons.

But what if we were so small we didn’t have to be?

We could be dust and smoke and

The light could dance through us

Together

And we would dance through it

And bring it to life

Write in a language only

We can read as we swim through ourselves

Ourselves the light we’re swimming through

Light is only light until it hits the dust

The dust makes the beam

Be small with me and build beams of light in a small theater

Hall where the dust has

Collected where

We have collected

Ourselves.

That is what I wanted to write

About but as I watched the

Beams moving

And learned the smoke of a

Dusty theater-room

And how it dances

Even after the light leaves it,

It must, even though

I

Cannot see

It, because it is

Always ready always

Dancing when the light arrives

The dust is a beam of light

Waiting

To be built, a boat

Waiting

To breathe an ocean into

Existence and float

Through it and

Be rocked

By it and

Be

It, is

What I wanted to write about but

As I watched the beams

Moving one

Met my eye

And

The smoke vanished

And

The beam vanished

And

There was nothing

But the light

Staring at me

Ripping my shadow

Out of me and

Hurling it behind me only

For a second

An angry and

Vengeful second who are you to

Tell me that I need the dust?

You are not a sun

You are barely a moon you are

So small

So

small

And still you cast a shadow you

Take from me

Use me

Know yourself

Build your world

By me with me through me

And you sit

In this dusty theater hall

So small

And want to write

That it is dust that makes the beam?

No smoke machine could

Blow the light into

Existence what would you call

Smoke if there was no light to

Pass through it to

Light it breathe it into

Existence now

Sit

Lonely and selfish

moon

And watch the show.

Noise, Noise, Noise, Noise, Noise
That's all I hear
Drowning out the choruses
And the sweet melodies
The verses are distorted
And the poetry ignored
I don't see how people get by
With all of this Noise, Noise, Noise

time slip
             p   i
               n
                        g
through my fingers.
words w   w w
o  o      o   r words
words   r
d       d    d        s
   s            s
                  pouring
from my mouth.

three children catching fish in a pond
with an empty coke bottle, annoyance
at their little voices, "Not like that!"
"Let me catch it!"

victory in death to create their own peace.

the day was too shy for me to face myself
(excuses, reasons, call them as you see them,
  even if it's hard to look at things you don't like).
unpleasant thoughts surround me, there's nothing I can do,
except to remove the things that eat away, that keep me eating:
gluttony grabs hold, depressions wits (it knows if it drags me deeper
                                                          ­     then it'll probably get to stay).
sickness finds it's way through neglected troubles.
standing up to yourself for yourself is the beginning,
once you stand up to others is when you start to move forward.
patience, love, empathy, communication, assertion, emotion, fear:
let it flow: all complimentary, opposite and in between.
thrashing does you no good,
it simply sends you under.

I want to stick my head under and get a taste,
float on my back and breathe in fresh air,
avoid holding onto anything so as not to disturb what might need change,
enjoy what is here, be thankful for what was, and welcome what comes.

Secrets:
My daydreams cradle you

when your voice is raspy
you are still the miracle of music,
tapping my eardrums

autumn rebirth
smoooooth caffeine highs and your eyes
***** afternoons

as the sun sets:
taking pictures of a row of benches
shadows caress the corners of the frame

slowly persuading my shadows to blink
blink
you're stretching out my midnight mornings
I'm swelling, my heart is a sand castle
that could stand to be built up and broken down and built again into
something more beautiful.

Sunshine settles in...
We need no filters

Take my hand without asking, please
take my eyes and kiss my skin with your warmth
take me - me -
do you know what it means to give you my body?
a plunge into the future through fears of the past.
Jump with me.