A war has ensued
And who will win?
The heart or the head?
Let the battle begin.
The heart strums loudly
From the sound of his voice.
The head screams soundly
It's false rejoice!
The thought of his touch
And the heart's a flutter.
The head doesn't think much,
Except that it's clutter.
The heart declared proudly,
I've already won this fight!
I've convinced you to create bad verse
In the middle if the night!

I've never liked Valentines Day
Don't think I ever will
Never received a single flower
No bouquet to put on a window sill
No heart box full of chocolates
No card with a cute, witty note
No red balloon or small stuffed animal
No tiny gift wrapped with rope
Single, all alone, that's how its always been
No one to be romantic with
Just me, myself, no men
Some people say it's for the better
Don't have to deal with heartbreaks
Never understood why this is
always assuming I've made too many mistakes
I blame this all on me
Don't try to ask me why
I guess you could say i'm scared of being hurt
So to myself I have to lie
I've never liked Valentines Day
Don't think I ever will
Never received a single flower
No bouquet to put on a window sill.

I have this detestable habit
Of setting up scenarios
That will make me upset.
Little reminders reminding me
Of how I am not meant to be happy.
Whether these be the songs you played me
On repeat and repeat.
Or waking to a face that is not home to eyes
Of that enigmatic, lucid green hue.

     I saw the world through those eyes;
     Now my sight is less clear.

But everyone has an art
That makes them the object of affection.
When I found a love so divine,
It was when I spent my time honing mine.
Now my art involves dry liquids;
A masterpiece comes at the end of a bottle.
Because nobody is lonely
When they’re seeing double.

But our cars are our peace of mind,
So let’s jump in yours, always so cold
And warm the inside with our inconvenient love.
Play Jets to Brazil all the way through;
I’ll lower the volume to listen to you,
Because nothing is as sweet
As the sound of that voice.
Our love is a hopeless love,
But that does not mean anything;
Hopeless love is still love,
Isn’t it?

When out of a clear sky, the bright

Sky over Japan, they tumbled the

death of light,

For a moment, it's said, there was

brilliance sword-sharp,

A dazzle of white, and then dark.

Into the cavernous blackness, as

home to hell,

Agonies crowded; and high above

in the swell

Of the gentle tide of the sky, lucid

and fair,

Men floated serenely as angels

disporting there.

I do not ask for youth, nor for delay
in the rising of time's irreversible river
that takes the jewelled arc of the waterfall
in which I glimpse, minute by glinting minute,
all that I have and all I am always losing
as sunlight lights each drop fast, fast falling.

I do not dream that you, young again,
might come to me darkly in love's green darkness
where the dust of the bracken spices the air
moss, crushed, gives out an astringent sweetness
and water holds our reflections
motionless, as if for ever.

It is enough now to come into a room
and find the kindness we have for each other
— calling it love — in eyes that are shrewd
but trustful still, face chastened by years
of careful judgement; to sit in the afternoons
in mild conversation, without nostalgia.

But when you leave me, with your jauntiness
sinewed by resolution more than strength
— suddenly then I love you with a quick
intensity, remembering that water,
however luminous and grand, falls fast
and only once to the dark pool below.

The soft whirring of the heater
keeps my breathing steady
just long enough
for me to close my eyes
and fight back the tears.
But it's not enough
to reassure me of much,
aside from the fact
that my skin is warm
and I am alive.
For it cannot calm my heart
or quell my fears.
It will not provide answers
to the questions burning
inside of my throat.
Where are you?

The armrest holding my head up
is uncomfortable at best;
it is a nagging reminder
of all that is amiss.
I turn over and back
trying to make it right
but it still hurts.
My gaze is downcast,
fixed upon an object
so prone to destruction
that it's a wonder
I've kept it around.
Double checking myself
brings not relief
but disappointment;
not in you, but in me.

The phone that sits beside me
is endlessly mocking;
I clench it tightly
in a fist of frustration,
willing it to respond.
Not only is it lifeless
but it drains me
of what life is left
within my broken heart.
I catch myself
hoping you're okay;
then I face reality
and admit to myself
that this is the end.
Will you return?
There is no answer.

Lightning screams
Across the sky.
Thunder roars.
The Angels cry.
The Gods enraged
At our hate
Raise our Demons,
To seal our Fate.

The sky, is grey.
The ground ****** red.
The crosses clutched.
Our kin long dead.

Cause unknown
Excuses made.
The life of the wounded
Slowly fades.

A single tear upon the ground
I have shed,
Next to where I see my friend,
Lying dead.
Although it's sad,
This is war.
The irony is; Living
That's what we are dying for.

B.P.
07/13/09

Even if I'm not the one,
you'll come to, every time.
Even if I'm not the one,
who's always on your mind.
I'll be here when you need me,
whenever that may be.
I'll be here when you need me,
I will not be busy.
Even if you can not trust,
with your heart or your mind.
Even if you can not trust,
I'll teach you in due time.
You can always come to me,
I'll share my time with you.
You can always come to me,
with any of your issues.
I'll do my best to help you,
so you won't feel alone,
I'll do my best to help you,
I'll make you feel at home.

The scarecrow is bored playing the same old game
Cold wet clothes hanging from a wooden frame.
He has no choice but to stand perfectly still
Scaring all the bird s at the top of the hill.
A crow calls out from under the hedgerow
“Catch me, scare me old wooden scarecrow”
But the scarecrow was staring across at a stable
As he had noticed there’s food laid on a table.
“Make haste little bird and fly over to the meadow
Bring me some nice juicy berries from the mistletoe”
“Please little bird, hurry now and be on your way
And can you bring m back some of the lovely hay”
But when the crow returned he found him asleep
He had become bored counting sheep.
The Crow lay beside his feet to keep himself warm
And needed shelter from the oncoming storm.
The scarecrow awoke and looked at his shoe
He had found a friend he could talk to.