Internal quarrels rage within,
While all the while I'm without
Your kiss, your lips, unpursed for me.
I blindly fall about.

A steady hand is just a show.
A steady heart betrays
A heady feeling from below
Dissipates and fades.

Distance, time and lofty words
Can **** a man with strength,
But just one thought, one smile, one wink,
Can bring to life in length.

For lengthy is the depth of love
That like those oceans fill,
But even depth and distance stop,
And years can dull the thrill.

So in my words, forever be,
My love, my dove, for me.
While distance, time and quarrels fade,
You will thrive immortally.

With sagging shoulders
slumped like rolling hills
falling not as precipitously
as a promontory
but still falling,

with these shoulders
temporarily shrugged not so temporarily,
you take a deep breath,
and listen.

you know that the caged bird sings,
caged by the floor of cement,
caged by the convenience of cement,
but it still sings.

and summer knows not why.
maybe the bird doesn't know it's caged,
so its ignorance allows it melodies.
may a song have meaning,
if sung in ignorance?

like the worker's song
we chant and chime in
our rants and rhymes pin us
down.
for words aren't liberty.
forward isn't freedom.

then and now and then and now,
exist like cement,
only for convenience.
time is not an illusion,
just a simile.

because if we truly knew
what is
then the burden of knowledge would weigh us down,
slumping our shoulders.

but we don't need our shoulders to sing,
for that is how
a caged bird sings.
it doesn't have shoulders to slouch.

Gimmicks and shenanigans
Are altogether lame.
Overt meanings of a poem
Are meant to be more tamed.

Puns and plays on ev'ry word,
Or rhymes and playground taunts,
Lack a subtle nature;
Alliteration flaunts.

For free lines feel unforced,
And poems portray with power.
But not with gaudy gilding,
Like petals on a flower.

No, poems are not much better
When written tongue-in-cheek.
In fact, for all those reasons,
This one's considered weak.

From dusk to dusk we wait in vain,

While searching for our thoughts.

Til sunset comes, we’ll waste our time

And then massage our knots.



While we’re ******* in daily speak,

Our goals become our flags.

We’ll wave them high and proud above,

But failure’s such a drag.



So down they go, our signs of pride,

Just like our Sun at night.

And twilight’s hope comes in the morn,

When dawning breaks first light.



But unlike time, which knows no end,

Our hopes and dreams can fail.

And unlike Sun, who sleeps and wakes,

We’ll rise, to no avail.