the rush the bustle
all that hustle
move, keep moving
don't stop
don't slow
move. Move. MOVE.

Don't stand here
amongst the crowd
blurred faces passing you
a stream and a river
of top hats and longs coats
of blue eyes and dark faces.

Don't slow US down
as we hurry and be productive
as we forget the meaning of leisure,
of relaxing and unwinding.
Don't slow us down
because you need to stand still.

Keep busy.
Do work.
Go from dance to self-defense
from yoga to your nine-to-five job
from soccer to the sports bar
from the bar to the club
from your friend's home to the movies.
Keep moving.

Lose breath and you lose.
If you can't do it,
you're too slow
too weak
too incompetent.
Your body is limp with inability
a flimsy piece of paper
that can't support a dream.

So keep moving.
Be busy and hustle
follow all that bustle.

Inner emptiness,
lost faith,
dying hopes and dreams.
Do I have a purpose?
Where am I meant to be?
Do I walk these halls alone?
Is there someone I should meet?

Hello friend,
I see you through a doorway.
Bars are between us.
Whatever happened to no secrets kept?
Look at the distance that has grown,
between me and you.
These bars took years to build,
and I never saw them there.
I guess I'll see you
in the coming years
through more bars, I'm sure.

Is that a light I see?
Something not from me?
It lightens this dreary mood.
Whom might that be?

I walk along toward it.
It seems to never get closer.
I pass doors with empty rooms
and friends that I see through glass walls.
But the light is always further away.
God,
is that you?

To seek art in
perfect form
drawn on paper, still

a skill unlearned
formed by a dying hand

To dreams that we aspire
to words we left unwritten
to never have accomplished
and to wish to always have.

To not succeed
and always fail
but to gain in knowledge still

The words 'keep trying'
running through my mind.

Across the class,
            past the sea of faces—
I lock my eyes on him—
We stare for a moment
            in a dance of questioning eyes,
                        of observation and wonder.
I **** away
            with a smile on my face,
      he was looking back at me.

Two halves of me are warring.
One with logic and good intent.
The other with feeling and a heart.

One bends all reality
in an attempt to prevent
heartache and hurt.

The other speaks from
the tip of the tongue
nothing censured
and without care for possible pain.

One wages battle
against all that I know of you.
The other will never give up
or back down
or cease to care
for you.

One waves a ****** banner
claiming death unto the enemy.
"**** thine own heart"
They shout.

The other waves a banner of peace
Doves upon a white sheet.
"Love thyself and he"
They call out.

The ****** battle rages on
Each side claiming to be right.
Slowly one half begins to wane.
Its prowess cannot match
The other's beating heart.

One strikes the fatal blow
One side dies a mangled mess.
If the heart beats the logic,
logic might be spared.
But if logic doth prevail,
the heart shall be no more.