We conquer foul play caused by past discrepancies
Somewhere along the chart, hearts sink into the sand
Scars caused by burned skin never change their shape
Even when nursed back to health, they still hold the same print.
The pleasure that you speak of is too far in the distance,
All moves are read with a cautious eye
Feelings cannot be talked off the overhanging ledge
The fire of pain cannot be put out inside.

Roads do not just lay out paths before us,
They form partings of what was once a unified land.
Promised deliveries are only distractions
So the forbidden can again be secretly admired.
Why does the bond have to be evolved?
Why does it have to mean coexist as the separate?
We all live lives so solitary and curious
Where there is always a bit left on the side.

Hopeless and heartless is what we are left with
The more we go on the less we can hold onto in pride.
Call the delivery man for food, love and friendship
When we are done we tell him to go on and drive.
All feels like an existence in a video game
Where all the lights are made to be blinding
Same pages may exist but
How they are read is never beloved again.

the shadow picks
a nice path on your face;

across planes,
                        in wells
I never drank from,
                        on a pink bud
from which I stole
sugar
        instead
of
tasting.

Where words slipped
I thieved, not
                       kissed.

shadow hovers
as a bee
             searching
for pollen
in darkness.

It loves all
the places
                I missed

because

I substituted French phrases for
your limbs;
spoke to your
light
in a language I didn't quite
know yet

but

sounded
         like
              like
the poetry found

in light's absence.

How do you react
But with utter sadness
And sorrow when
You're given a time frame?

When there's a time stamp
On your life as you know it,
How do you act around
Your family and friends?

Do you spend the six weeks
That you've got left,
Moping and sulking,
Or making the most of every moment?

It's hard to focus on success
When you know the ultimate reality
That you're being faced with,
And quite frankly, it *****.

Your life went from whatever
Normal may be for you,
To living every moment
On a severely impairing time crunch.

Six weeks, seven at best,
But regardless, it's not enough time.
You need time to cope,
Time to heal mentally.

You need time,
But that's the one thing you don't have.

killing time before time kills you
would seem legitimate self-defence
a poets reasoning in the face of a killer

On being ask why I waste my time writing poetry.*

A poet lives three times:
once remembering,
once writing,
once being read.

Three lives unfolding
the genetic code
of the soul.

Not such easy
lives to create,
but they produce
a map of memory
that vindicates
your existence
and may lead strangers
to small, keen joys
they never imagined.

Modest delights
keep hearts alive.

  ~mce

I love flowers
But not the kind that are planted side by side in perfectly straight rows
or precisely arranged into a delicate bouquet
Instead I love the ones that grow wild and ragged along the sides of highways
Surrounded by broken glass and litter
Pops of bright yellow bursting alongside the dull gray asphalt
Free to grow in whichever way they please.

It is raining but not as we know it
Raining moon beams and stars
Shooting across the night sky
Colourful rainbows in the dead of night
A jet engine had waxed burners
etching the dark revealing colour
Like a finger nail scratching the board
a painted dark board with wax beneath.
The sky, lined with violet and crimson
lime and yellow, a show for occasions
But it is an event especially for my friend
My life long friend, who is always in my heart.
The message in the sky reads like this.
Happy Anniversary to my friends Liz and John
May your day be filled with colourful confetti.