A “Rap-tap-tapping” from the door,
To stir my thoughts with sudden force,
It’s time to answer, evermore,
The “Rap-tap-tapping” from the door,

It asks the question, “What’s my name?”
As I walk in haste up to the frame,
Yet answer slowly all the same,
And as I answer, it slips away.

I ponder there in solemn thought,
At this sudden, urgent shock,
“What was the name, now I forgot.”
And rack my brain for what was lost.

Tomorrow comes and all the same,
A “Rap-tap-tapping” from the frame,
Asking me to give a name,
For the “Rap-tap-tapping” from the frame.

I hear a distant, echoed voice,
A rapier-witted, clever boy,
And turn to face him just to find,
A trail of photos left behind.

One of me and 4 of you,
In rather somber fading view,
I look them over with saddened eyes,
And start to wonder “Who was I?”

I shake it off and face the door,
And answer slowly as before,
To find the asker there had gone,
And left a note to ponder on.

I take the note and write it down,
A name to match the question found,
And tuck it there in simple sleeve,
To be kept safely as I sleep.

Tomorrow comes and then once more,
A “Rap-tap-tapping” from the door,
Asking questions as before,
With such sudden, urgent force.

In mirrored haste and matching speed,
I pull the note there in my sleeve,
Yet find that all the words were gone,
As the “Rap-tap-tapping” carried on.

If I’m being honest,
I’ve never got this,
So hold my beer,
It’s ever-clear,
Doesn’t exist,
I guess I missed that class,
Never party,
Never study,
Just a lazy-***,
But if you need me I’ll be here,
That’s more than most can say,
You need a savior then say no more,
Just say my name,
But it doesn’t matter,
Give it 2 weeks time,
You’ll forget it all the same,
But that’s all I’ve got,
How do I live for myself?
I forgot.

So I sit on a shelf,
Like a bottle of pills,
Medication self-help,
Just human-sized,
But if I’m being honest,
I’m tired of the lies,
I care,
I’m here,
I’ve heard it a million times,
Not to say I’m wounded,
But I know you are,
And I’m still here,
Right from the start,
So go on,
Tell me one more time,
Straight from the bleeding heart.

In a land ablaze with flame you hold to a name you once loved because what else can you do? I’ve been there it’s true and they say that if you’re going through hell then keep on going, but the issue is hell’s starting to feel ***** so know me to be trying but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking of lying down. So hear me now, I know where you are, keep pushing, know your dreams and you’ll go far, remember who you are is part of who you were and stay married down on earth. Here, grounded, surrounded by friends, take a moment to breathe again and remember, that even if Hell feels like home, you’re not alone.

From shade to shade,
I’ve danced and played,
From red to blue,
In every hue,
And all the colors,
Shine  the same,

Yet separate still,
By stubborn will,
All are different,
Within the frame,
And so they judge,
In such a way,
To live divided,
In this place.

By earthy base,
Or dullest-grays,
Separate too,
By weight and age,
Baby Blue or heavy states,
Like green and brown,
So simply named.

Some are dark,
And others light,
Marked by names,
Like black and white,
But still and so,
They have a place,
On the canvas,
All the same.

She dances there, in stutter-step,
To match the beating of my heart.
An angel fair, pirouettes forever in my mind, spinning gracefully back and forth.
Every now and then she calls to me, summoning back feelings long since forgotten. Of joy and trust, true love and hope, and for a moment, I remember this is my home. I swore I’d never come back here, but here I am. Memories are weird like that, when you least expect it, they can make you smile.

On sands he sat, contemplating quiet things. Things left unsaid and things rarely shown. Reflecting on the feelings of men, or the friendliness of misery. After all, if no one likes being miserable, why are so many people unhappy with their lot in life. He chucked, realizing that he was only 12, and probably shouldn’t be thinking of such things.

But how important they were, and how common they were, begged such questions. Thinking of this, his father’s voice rang in his ears.
“Such thoughts are an older man’s game. Enjoy these years while you have them.” But again his mind raced, he was so often called an old soul, one of the few left. All of these things, rarely spoken of, always needed, and slowly fading.


Perhaps it is simply due to the way we grow older, he thought. The way so many of us rarely get a chance to ponder such questions, we are given our roles to play, and little else. He sat there on the shore of the beach, thinking and writing for a while longer, until a starfish washed up on shore next to him and broke the spell.

From spirit to echo,
From father to son,
I am neither, and both at once.
It is not my place to say,
That in the infinite expanse of life,
I mean anything.
Yet my father proclaims we are the world,
And everything.

He does so with quiet clarity,
Reveling with a drink in one hand.
Oh, what a sad and clairvoyant man.
He speaks of wisdom beyond his years,
Yet with the courage of several beers,
And who am I, to judge his choice,
When he so often represses voice?

A quiet dream should be celebrated, not killed.
And I fear that spark is all but dying,
So in the moments of his clarity,
I sit and I listen, for fear of denying destiny.
He speaks as I, once did, and so,
I consider his words as beautiful prose,
Of death, and dying, of breath, and life,
I ponder them all, as forgotten advice.

A lucky little moment, of wisdom to be saved,
Speaking solely to me, and my glory days,
Where tales were once written,
Of dinners and of guests,
And betrayals in order,
To sort out the rest.
That was the first one, I ever wrote,
A poem, like the Bible, to a girl of note.
Not of love, and cheesy, ****** lines,
But an allegory for Jesus, and the way that he died.

And I did this with passion,
No fear, and no doubt,
It was a wonderful creation,
That spontaneous spout.
Such wordplay and wisdom, inspired by love,
Is one thing, I’m missing,
With no memory of.