Though many seek to destroy,
tear asunder the ties that bind,
to take from me my serenity,
I will not bow.

Though many may seek to defame,
to separate mother from child,
to expose brutal and violent philosophy,
I will not bow.

Though the tides converge,
crashing waves with overwhelming force,
I cannot hope to overcome,
I will not bow.

Though the forces of fate conspire,
alone am I against the world,
my views are singular and often discouraged,
I will not bow.

Though man will try to change my mind,
to make me see through their eyes,
to see things as they are,
not what they are to me,
I will not bow.

Though contention rages in my world,
though doubt clouds my mind,
caught in the tempters snare,
a creation wrought of man,
I will not bow.

Though tempests will swarm,
maniacal laughter sold as new,
and time will change all things,
I will not bow.

Though the things I love will one day die.
though my generation will fade into obscurity,
a loss of collective value and shared experience,
my progeny will carry the flame,
they will not bow.

Though my body will succumb to the world,
my soul will not,
*I will not bow.

The world is a bleak,
devoid of pity,
desolate peaks,
and broken cities.

The landscape is torn,
refineries come to collect,
but hidden from the storm,
hides secret places that need remain hid.

The skyline is littered with ravaged beauty,
towering structures of glass and steel,
and betwixt titans lay many an oasis,
a bulwark of barbs,
a poignant seal.

Titan towers are trivial in comparison,
colossal peaks and monolithic expanses,
war torn deserts,
Eastern jungles echoing with the cries of forgotten children.

It is not nature that will destroy man,
man will destroy man,
and nature will reclaim its own,
this Earth we mistakenly call our home,
this life is but temporary.

Evermore has man searched for God,
the one who lives forever,
reaching upward towards the sun,
Icarus smitten with metallic rod.

Evermore has man dreamed of eternal life,
mixing potions,
magnum opus,
man or monster under knife.

Evermore has man sought immunity,
medical perfection,
telomeres with regeneration,
society given a longer unity.

Evermore has man longed for the paranormal,
vampires and immortal beasts,
fireside stories fit for fear,
portals to the imagination.

*The bird of Hermes,
is my name,
eating my wings,
to make me tame.

Flickering flame,
languishing light,
beating upon wooden frame,
a forgotten story,
lost from sight.

One day they were here,
the next they were gone,
they were extinguished out of fear,
no longer can they sing,
they've forgotten the song.

In a way they were innocent,
in a way they were wrong,
their ideals were incandescent,
their trials afterward,
long.

And still,
when they are found in other places,
they are held against their will,
but then again,
is this not true in all cases?

You confuse me perpetually,
your personality is extreme,
your views the same,
but I may discover you eventually.

You are dramatic,
your prose over-wrought,
but still I see through,
the meaning you've hidden from view.

You are cheerful,
you give compliments undue,
but I see something else deep inside you,
I am suspicious of this happiness that you exude.

Your smile seems forced,
your personality a facade,
forged from childhood condition,
not exactly an original rendition.

Your words seem hollow,
rather than hallowed,
I'm wrong I know,
our differences are borrowed.

Your advice is often right,
seeing not what the others see,
a intuition beyond sight,
but it seems contrived to me.

You are human,
and so am I,
your intentions are pure,
mine are lost on the sky.

But still I have love for you,
unsure of the tinkering of your heart,
you,
as beautiful as your art.

Although your wife is a catch,
you're no slouch yourself,
an excellent match,
your children are themselves top-shelf.

You don't work for the money,
you work only for your family,
you have yet to receive your fair due,
I can't help but have respect for you.

To your wife you are a rock,
an anchor against the tide,
carrying the world on your shoulders,
an atlas that will never shrug.

To your children you are a guide,
a lamppost on the way of life,
a warm hand until the fear subsides,
I'm quite sure they'll turn out fine.

To me you are a hero,
thank you for the experiences,
that you share with me,
the best uncle that you can be.

You are my godfather,
you do it all,
you are a saint,
a hero to me.

I have an aunt,
but she's more like a best friend,
we're more alike than all my friends,
more alike than family even.

We have similar phases,
she helps me through,
she's my godmother,
I love her,
it's true.

She is relaxed,
she puts things in perspective,
her children are god-sent,
her husband a saint.

Her spirit is sweet,
not unlike my mother,
with sacred things she is devout,
but does not overdo.

Her house is a second home,
a refuge from the storm clouds,
that brew in my head,
for that I thank her,
for all that she's said.

I love you AJ,
despite the fact that sometimes life is hard,
I'm glad that you're my aunt,
my eternal friend.

The language of love,
it isn't French,
the language of love,
it's action.

There's a girl I know,
I don't know her well,
I haven't known her for long,
but she's someone I'd miss,
if I found she were gone.

Her eyes are quite pretty,
her smile infectious,
her views on the world,
are pure and relentless.

She knows not of the future,
but that doesn't bother her,
she smiles anyway,
though life is often unsure.

Her style is different,
her heroes are loving,
endearing and god-fearing,
to adversity indifferent.

She isn't quite perfect,
but knows what she knows,
she loves other people,
and cares not for first-world woes.

She listens well,
and understands,
she returns worthy feedback,
and gives few demands.

Her intentions are pure,
she knows where she stands,
her spirit is lovely,
as if cast with God's hand.

There's a girl I know,
I don't know her well,
I haven't known her for long,
but she's someone I'd miss,
if I found she were gone,

She's one the better people I've met,
her persona serene,
her presence is impactful,
though she doesn't realize it yet.

A cool Summer breeze,
the sun at my back,
wind blowing softly,
cast lazily betwixt leaves,
surrounding my mind,
with the soft touch of peace.

A wish in my heart,
a prayer on my breath,
remembering the times,
from then till my death.

My mind often clouded,
doubt and white lies,
my soul is transparent,
filled with warm sighs.

These trails of wind,
tell my story to me,
from the simplicity of childhood,
until my body succumbs to disease.

Do not worry about the length,
care not for the width,
find strength in the journey,
each second a gift.

The shades of grey darken,
I find myself afraid,
may direction find me,
I have lost my way,
shine on me,
light the gravel at my feet,
produce fuel for ignition,
and a reason to believe.

Ropes only bind,
they do not guide,
sounds only deceive,
stealing my perception of time,
any steps forward,
are lost in my pride.

Even your hand I dare not hold,
for fear of sinking,
a shared demise,
for our worlds are far removed,
and signals in the distance,
will only lead me to shallow coves,
I am a shipwreck in the night.

Give me light,
sight to go with illumination,
intuition to go with my eyes,
and a key for this cage I create in my mind.

Presto,
with haste,
bring forth the measure,
striking sound to create.

Allegro,
with grace,
flow forth like a river,
beauty in God's eternal round.

Moderato,
with taste,
medium to the greats,
note upon note,
slowly mounting.

Andante,
with slackened pace,
venerable vineyard of sound,
sing forth,
no appeasement for the proud.

Adagio,
with measured blow,
The Hammer on anvil,
ring out your chord,
the tonic repeats below.

Presto*,
cantabile*,
homunculus,
the human voice,
Stradivari sings to us.

Sometimes I feel restless,
especially when I am alone,
it is the object of my stress,
there are no longer any feelings of home.

Sometimes at night,
I hear scratching at my door,
when I investigate all is right,
not a thing out of place.

Sometimes I feel claustrophobic,
the walls close in around me,
I shake this feeling off,
but cannot escape the seeping of dread.

I think I am paranoid,
slowly losing my grip,
my mind,
at wit's end.

There came a knocking at my cellar door,
impossible,
what for?

Thunder crashes,
vibrations ring through my hall,
lightning flashes overhead,
I shudder at its pall.

The storm rages on,
shattering glass and vase alike,
splintering doorways with its might,
no more can I pleasantly scoff.

The knocking comes again from below,
I fear I must investigate,
sadly I am no hero,
but still I must go,
despite enervation.

*The poor man never arrived at his station last night,
friends reported stories of his paranoia,
they sincerely hope he is alright,
nothing amiss at his residence,
but no man to be found.

I will look back the on past,
reminiscence for awhile,
on things that cannot exist,
feeling the splints and casts I had as a child.

I'll prepare for the future,
for a loving wife and a child,
to which I am lovingly indentured,
for all of my life,
doing so with a smile.

I'll clear my mind,
and think of the present,
I'll dream good dreams,
and care not of my sutures,
this is all I can do,
moving forward to the future.

Life is no destination,
life is line,
stretching back and forth,
spun together with time.

Eternal is our pathway,
this trial only a point,
our own little struggle,
the pain in our joints.

This path is ours alone to walk,
each step getting lighter,
towards whatever end,
to which we might meet,
for humans are frail creatures,
and our spirits are meek.

Childhood friend,
comic(al) book hero,
humor in everything you do,
what happened?

Onset of adolescence,
hanging out in the backyard,
ultimate frisbee,
no thought for coming days.

Hours spent,
how content were we,
wasting away time like it grows on trees,
finite is time.

Then came marijuana,
there goes motivation,
don't let the door hit you on the way out,
look at how much fun you're having.

Controversy,
law in and law out,
a little different,
but more of the same.

Still the same kid lies somewhere inside,
suffocating under cloud and flame,
no negative consequences,
yea right,
I'm not so easily convinced.

Warm and healthy humor gone,
only morbid and ****** jokes remain,
silliness slept safe at night,
and in crept the pain of adulthood,
knife in hand.

Time heals all wounds,
looking glass,
kaleidoscope,
maybe you'll stop conforming someday,
au revoir mon ami.

My favorite recipe,
mix laughter with wit,
laughter without awareness,
mix them together and great is what you get.

Glances shared,
laughter ensues,
no one is any wiser,
the childish becomes elegant.

What is humor,
the quality of being amusing or comic,
esp. as expressed in literature or speech,
wrong,
it's a contradiction between comrades.

Laughter shouldn't require effort,
a glance,
a wink,
a smile,
send you back,
nostalgia,
a reference to another day,
brighter or darker alike.

A friend taught me this lesson,
we met as children,
and still chuckle as men,
and so my hat off to him.

All kinds of people,
what you'll find in life,
some are chasing steeples,
some chasing intellectual might,
and still others aren't chasing anything at all.

And still there is another kind of person,
they don't carry any particular banner,
still it's held high,
enthusiasm unfolding.

They have no need for organized religion,
no need for basic convention,
they simply know what is and what isn't,
no need for retrospection,
always moving forward.

They reject both philosophy and religion,
at least for now,
something is amiss,
no need for crowns,
philosophy,
pedantic,
religion,
self-righteous.

Still they fight,
they struggle forward,
doing what feels right for now,
growing without notice,
philosophy and religion constitute their heartbeat,
the subconscious without doubt.

They blend in today,
and tomorrow will furrow their brow,
funny how it works,
I like to think he's chasing the unseen.

My perspective is broken,
I have no opinion,
no political theory,
nothing upon which to stand.
I find myself lost,
not enough information to inform the rest,
the ignorant masses,
the proletariat.
I myself am ignorant,
and ignorance isn't bliss,
I don't know for certain if God exists,
but truthfully that's my greatest wish.
I've locked myself away,
afraid of taking a side,
afraid of playing the fool,
but I'm working my way out.
But, perhaps that's it,
that's the truth of all things,
life is a work in progress,
the truth itself is bottomless.
The vault reaches infinitely in both directions,
seek the future and the present,
not the past,
faith without works will not outlast.

I awake to a world unfamiliar,
my surrounding not the same,
the sand beneath,
crushed up glass,
the color,
eton blue,
the sky beyond me,
a different hue,
the same color,
but time changes all,
mist in the eves of the earth,
as it heaves,
trees rise from the sand,
reaching farther than the eye can see,
the water at the end,
ripples and fades,
colorless and grey,
a reflection of the same above,
a mirror to a parallel world,
pallid,
pensive,
a contemporary of my own.

I am atom,
I am quark,
I am dust,
I am ash.

Fluttering in the breeze,
mouth of the beast,
from my pyroclasm there is no retreat,
unto all the ends of the earth,
the east,
the west.

I find a home among the dreams of man,
civilization,
ascension and degradation,
here I am.

I slip between the cracks,
the grass mixed betwixt water and ash,
winding through the leaves,
upwards through the trees.

My arms burgeon upwards,
reaching for the sun,
from whence I have come,
drifting in the sky,
and sifting through sand as I lie.

Fruits bursts from my fingers,
I recede and give way,
on my way I go,
oh how sweet is the sound.

I fall and taste nostalgia,
falling through such familiar leaves,
a tasty treat.

Churning and mixing,
dripping and assimilating,
I find that I can move,
what am I now?
Who knows?

Off to the east,
as far as these feet can carry,
water and salt mix together in my teeth,
slithering across my hair.

I spy and unfamiliar creature,
I feel unsure,
unsure?
I like it.

She spies me and smiles,
a smile?
I like it.
And that's the story of how we,
came to be.

Long ago there lived a man,
a little Frenchman,
he had an idea,
a wonderful contradiction.

If you choose to believe,
decide what you'll get,
make your choice,
your's to agree or contradict.

If you choose disbelief,
and find yourself in the right,
you'll find yourself forever gone,
and if wrong,
everything is lost.

If you choose belief,
and find yourself in the wrong,
you'll find you care not at all,
but if right,
eternal is your delight.

Even if the man upstairs doesn't exist,
I say that he does,
a culmination of ethics and good,
we a member of the godhood.

The street is empty,
rain has washed clean the road,
the trees provide a canopy,
the streetlamps a goal.

We walk arms interlocked,
no need for time,
no time for measurements,
no measurement for age,
for the night is young.

So many charming phrases to say,
they lay on the tip of my tongue,
and with the beauty of the night,
I am easily outdone.

The ambiance begins a song,
the breeze the melody,
life simply sings along,
casting ripples across the stream.

The sights around us are calming,
she's the only thing I can see,
I can't believe it myself,
how does she have time for me?

The moonlight strikes forth,
hammer on anvil,
forging love from old embers,
stories untold.

Whether we'll be together or not,
I cannot say,
but right now it doesn't matter to me,
that's the kind of love you don't often see.

As I laying dreaming one night,
I lay on my porch staring at the sky,
my vision blurred with the onset of sleep,
a smile on my face.

I floated off into the distance,
mind sent downstream,
collective experience open before me,
I find that I have no resistance.

I am not where I was,
I lay in a field of flowers,
stretched beyond sight,
it is here that I want to die.

Hands and knees,
above me I see a girl,
she's wearing a summer dress,
her outline slightly different from the rest.

The sun beats down,
the flowers reach up,
drips of sunshine hit the grass,
the girl's dress melds with the sky.

I don't know who or what she is,
I don't know where she's come from,
why she's here,
but she's all I want.

I reach up towards her hand,
the flowers heed my call,
hand in hand,
I can't evade her draw.

Our hands touch,
the cliché is broken,
her hand is filled not with first loves,
but the warmth of nostalgia flooding back again.

On her palm rests,
fond times out on the lake,
overcoming family deaths,
of what family we have left,
and in the end that's all we've got.

I take her hand in mine,
and in return I give it all back,
songs and stories,
defeats and glories.

We lay back against the sky,
dreams and tears both go by,
wishing for the gift of flight,
basking in a unfamiliar sun's light.

In a flash it's all gone,
I think that perhaps I was wrong,
I'm always singing the same tune,
saying that I love you,
just me and the moon.

If I were to describe my perfect women,
I'd say she would have to confuse me,
shock me again and again,
jolt from my steady routine.

She'd be sweet as can be,
meek and perceptive,
kind influence rolling as far as the eye can see,
show me what this world is.

She'd be a spicy girl,
sharp wit and silver tongue,
she'd like to dance and twirl,
always aware of the smoking gun.

She'd be sweet and spicy,
my perfect dish,
our meals won't be pricey,
when life swings and we miss.

She embodies the dream,
teaming with love for the kids,
love stitched to the seam,
connection grown with each kiss.

You feel so lonely,
the shadows overtake you,
things never feel the same,
if only.

You don't feel accepted,
you've held on fairly well,
to your credit,
but endurance can only go so far.
You're at wit's end,
the end of your rope,
frayed and broken,
but don't let go.

Letting go seems easy,
no more suffering,
no more sighs,
echoing through your soul.
Your body is wracked with sobs,
shaken,
but you can't give in,
don't pull the pin.

Do NOT give in,
don't let it **** you in,
the tidal wave,
the thunderstorm in your head.
If you pull that trigger,
you might as well do me too,
the pain you'll cause is greater by far,
than the hand you've been dealt.

Don't give in to what is easy,
do not give into the pain,
but don't drown it out either,
life isn't a game.
No matter the hardship,
no matter the trial,
day by day,
morning by morning,
how great will be your reward,
be it a culmination of humanistic ideals,
or a loving father's arms.

The Devil,
King of Hell,
Lord of Deception,
and to me,
a common misconception.

He tempts us when we least expect it,
he tempts us all the time,
subversive puppet strings,
his subterfuge refined.
He is evil,
he is cruel,
participant of time's longest feud.

But wait,
his intention wasn't this at all,
where did he lose his way?
where did he go wrong?
He was prideful,
an unwitting thrall,
Son of Perdition,
hated by the one and the all.
Guile isn't an easy game,
he must have intellect beyond our scope,
why can't he see what's in front of him?
He himself is his own undoing.
He gives us agency,
is that such a bad thing?
He's either,
stupid,
spiteful,
or most frightening of all,
knows the truth,
the necessity he represents.
Perhaps,
this whole game is a ruse,
a tool,
a pawn ready for use.
A necessary evil,
corrupting some,
perfecting others,
a tragic story to tell.
He struggles in vain,
we struggle the same,
struck from the Good Lord's veins,
made to improve.

There is no refuge in the dark,
darkness is stark against the light,
without the one,
there can be no other.

I'm building a house,
with my own two hands.

The kitchen is empty,
the walls sigh,
their breath is restful,
the oven serenades.

I can taste the sweetness in the air,
it rings softly as trees billow,
willows casting shadows,
their tears hang in the air.

A bulwark,
shelter from the storm,
I am alone,
but I do not feel lonely,
I am home.

I have made a home,
with my own two hands.

I lay smiling,
staring up through the leaves,
underneath our favorite tree,
that old weeping willow.
It's a world of its own,
leaves envelope me,
the death of entropy,
if only for a short time.
I sit and I remember,
of days spent,
days unkempt and full of spirit,
I sit and I remember.
That day I was off singing with friends,
walking down dark, warm streets,
no padding to accompany my feet,
enjoying all that is sweet.
The sunlight tears through the leaves,
I can't help it,
you're staring back at me,
through this willow.

Your blue eyes pierce me.

I sit and I smile,
I sit and I cry,
I sit alone,
I am not lonely,
this place is our home.

We met here as children,
happy times,
smiles shared between friends,
love at its prime.
Everyday we meet,
streamers,
*****,
crayons held high,
in our small hands,
the three of us,
no time for judgement,
no time for worry,
far too many adventures to be had,
underneath this apricot tree.

The meetings grow infrequent,
we meet here as acquaintances,
we meet here as lovers,
knife for the carving of flesh and bark,
dreams of brighter days,
days obscured by a terrestrial haze,
we love,
we hate,
we grow,
we regress,
under this apricot tree.

Years pass,
the meetings are infrequent,
the successful no longer indulge,
there are only two of us left,
we meet as strangers under summer sky,
cursing God for death,
estrangement,
birth,
divorce,
broken,
realizations,
invent­ion,
convention,
peace,
understanding what love is,
so clear now,
how did we get this far,
underneath this apricot tree?

They meet here as children,
they meet as friends,
in its truest sense,
running,
pushing,
playing,
the days get lighter,
the sun a little brighter,
grazing fresh skin,
sun-kissed lullabies,
the toys are different,
but the game is the same,
underneath this apricot tree.

We meet here as children,
laying underneath our tree,
nostalgia feels our lungs,
the feeling is familiar,
but the landscape is inverted,
we love,
we hate,
we grow,
we regress,
estrangement,
birth,
divorce,
broken,
realizations,
inve­ntion,
convention,
peace,
running,
pushing,
playing,
everyday we meet,
streamers,
*****,
crayons held high,
in our small hands,
the three of us,
our children with us,
we meet here as one,
underneath this apricot tree.

I walk along the shoreline,
wind blowing through the south-side trees,
around my face streams a familiar scent,
the smell of fresh pine.

This lake is one of many,
the North is a wonderful time,
crime is negligible,
the people are not many.

Whispers come rustling through the leaves,
they tell me stories,
of love and of glory,
they tell of a long lost people.

They are my people is some ways,
we are interconnected,
strung together on the strings,
the same dichotomy.

I wonder if they're watching me now,
are they weeping for their loss,
or are they rejoicing in my freedom,
yes,
this is our kingdom.

There is always hope,
though we often sway,
caught in the tempest,
the only remedy is to pray.
Forgive our trespasses,
giants of steel,
piercing the earth,
no steward are we.
Ravaged lands,
children lost,
endless confrontation,
deceptive use of the cross.
Forgive us,
we know not what we do,
this has ever been the truth,
we are all hopeless without trust.

But,
in this wasteland there is love,
hope for a better tomorrow,
idealism going above.

There is always hope,
despite the torrent of decay,
the sun peaks over the clouds,
at the end of the day.

Intelligent,
willpower beyond recognition,
far beyond our scope,
dreaming gently of great things.

Your intentions were pure,
they always are,
I find it odd,
how easily you fell away.

Your shoulders are burdened,
your countenance taxed,
weight of the world,
so afraid of death.

So much fear,
you've lost your way,
don't be afraid,
your good deeds do not go unpunished,

You are so proud,
and rightly so,
you are among the greats,
and much will be your reward one day.

What you lack is courage,
belief without sight,
truth without proof,
love without reservation,
but as luck would have it,
you already have it,
traits simply waiting for re-inclination.

Man of honor,
the standard of valor,
strong in both spirit and stature,
holding tight to your breast,
the God of love.

Stern,
powerful,
no anger in the face,
just hope for brighter days.

Solemn patriarch,
guiding his sheep,
spirit stark with might,
our success is yours to keep.

Wracked with affliction,
body ravaged by the unnatural,
smile fades away,
struggling against the current,
the supernatural.

In the end you found your answer,
faith exceeding human fear,
I have no doubt in my mind,
where you ended up,
for you I stem my tears,
I miss you grandpa.

Wise beyond your years,
soul so ancient,
strong in spirit,
holding tight the change of the years.

Your advice is always loving,
always relevant,
but that's just your style,
just the way that you paint.

Brush strokes of wisdom,
swirls of honesty,
texture with experience,
touched with glaze for preservation,
divine inspiration.

Always patient,
profound,
always accepting,
mind free from the world,
persona clear,
and never afraid of the human tear.

Tears of joy,
love and intellect both,
beyond comprehension,
without measure,
she already knows what in life to treasure.

Pollyanna,
naivety,
perfect characteristics,
roses in the cheeks,
from her unto me.

No matter the trial,
she's resilient,
a gift to the world,
a world undeserving.

Slow to anger,
quick to trust,
never to hate,
always forgiving.

Master of kindness,
lover of fate,
baker and nurse,
warmth and intuition within her replete.

Warm baked bread,
jam on my toast,
hugs of a seasoned mother,
arms of a saint.

Love,
unconditional,
respect,
automatic,
spirituality,
ov­erflowing.

Her sensibilities are timeless,
she's full to brim with honey,
creamies and recliners,
the foundation of my childhood,
remembered into the eternities.

Molded and shaped,
firm against the skin,
so much strength,
so subject to change.

Formation of shape,
line,
and form,
never the same,
defying the norm,
hand pressed down,
as I work to create.

Thick and centered,
grooves along the base,
just as life,
art is far from a race.

As with the burgeoning of the oak,
wings spring forth from the dust,
living sediment,
free from my grasp.

Clarity of heart,
strength of spirit,
alacrity of mind,
pureness of intent.

So much love,
I can't comprehend,
the sweetness of her soul,
so much love,
it brings me shame.

Despite poor circumstance,
a bulwark to the storm,
a guardian angel,
she loves everyone.

Celestial bound,
no heaven too high,
she always asks the right questions,
but never asks why.

God first,
family second,
I cannot resent,
I cannot fight it,
the principles she represents.

Charity,
because of her,
that's all there is for me in this life,
hardship,
she can handle it,
surgery wasn't kind,
her body is fragile,
but she doesn't mind.

She held me as a child,
she holds me still as an adult,
love without limit,
I like to think that she'll hold me,
even as I die.

Sell out,
give up your soul,
seed in place of satire,
nurture your money tree,
spread the disease.

Patron of the arts,
never an artist,
always an adult,
blue-blooded realist,
always aware.

Grandiose,
platinum soul ringing out,
bills stacked to the roof,
really dear man,
what is truth?

You sold yourself,
of that there is no doubt,
fools curse your fortune,
but who can blame you for a system,
that we created in the first place?

A change of heart,
scraping at behavior,
a hope of better days,
not always so easy.

Reinvention of idealism,
rebirth of the renaissance,
a truth or a lie,
who's to say?

Love is right,
but not enough,
the world is cold,
and though the lines are connected,
this doesn't make it relevant.

An old man's dream,
fire in the bones,
future no longer two toned,
wrought with silver-screen,
and fed to the hearts of youth,
*like me.

Gray is the color of complacency,
and rightly so,
it shows the dullness of apathy,
cold and metallic.

White is color of purity,
and rightly so,
its cold warmth,
its softness,
it is better by far than gray,
but shares still its scale.

Red is the color of rebellion,
and of passion,
and rightly so,
red is deep and powerful,
encompassing rage and defiance alike,
and for this reason I choose red.

Love,
love in its truest form,
it isn't exciting,
it doesn't make my heart pace,
it doesn't appear on a certain date.

Love is a shared experience,
a harmonic connection,
a sentiment unseen,
a song unsung,
a dream without destination.

Love isn't for the faint of heart,
it isn't a childhood condition,
it doesn't arrive bound in ribbon,
and sometimes,
it is my decision.

Love is a house built slowly,
the architect unknown,
the resident unwitting,
it is imperceptible,
a seed sown in the heart.

Love isn't clean,
it can't be borrowed,
it cannot cure the human condition,
it cannot be stored away,
for the reconciliation of sunlight.

Love is a dull ache in the middle of your chest,
love is laughter,
love accompanies a smile,
love amplifies the presence of fear,
multiplication of loneliness on moonlit nights.

Love is found in the stitches of heart and mind,
love holds your hand as they separate,
clear and decisive cuts across the fabric,
lacking the strength of nonexistent twine.

Love is letting go,
love is found in tears,
love is a brother to courage,
love is held near,
grasping at straws as you let go,
whatever it is that made you whole.

Predictable,
always the same,
no differentiation in sight,
forever trapped in this silly game.

Day in,
day out,
definition of lunacy,
I hold a monopoly of sanity.

This city is founded on conformity,
the people, more of the same,
the city, a deformity,
the people, a symphony of the same.

Though I still dream of the mystical,
sifting through grains of sand,
crushed up glass,
always finding myself back at the beginning,
a malcontent in my own way.

Still I take comfort in the sound,
the sound of vibrancy,
of dissonance and playful rebellion,
lost in endless sands,
my name is homophony.

Flag-bearers,
one and all,
a white flag held,
pallid and proud.

Hold high that banner,
straighten your stance,
temper with faith,
and steady your pace.

Remember your promises,
lock and key,
remember your promises,
they remember you.

Hold high that banner,
though the task is difficult,
the going is tough,
and it only gets harder,
trudging through lengths of mud,
that only get longer.

Over tight-rope,
across coal and flame,
under hammer and pen,
remember who you are,
and your burden will be lightened.
as you reach the end.

Carry me when I feel small,
give me light when I am dark,
lift me up when I fall,
always treat me the same.

Teach me in my ignorance,
break me down,
reconstitute my prideful nature,
always treat me the same.

Struggle against my restlessness,
listen to my rare flecks of wisdom,
direct me in times of moral crisis,
always treat me the same.

Bless me when I am sick,
hold my arm when I am lost,
love me when my soul tears,
always treat me the same,
and I'll do the same for you.

To me the world is stagnant,
to you the world is beautiful,
to me butterflies emerge from the thaw,
to you they emerge from Spring.

To me love is unchanging,
to you love is elusive,
to me music is an art-form,
to you music is life.

To me requests are conditional,
to you they are not,
to me guns are necessary,
to you they are antiquated.

To me life is a hardship,
to you life is an experience,
to me you are a tragically beautiful idealist,
and I envy you.

Free me from this sickness,
rip from me my heart,
leave it beating on the open street.
Living is hard,
dying is easy,
struggling forward down towards the dust.
Life is a game they say,
it seems I'm not good at it,
the keys are backward,
ivory and ebony.
It is not without sunlit ray,
I have with me my family,
hearts beating in syncopation.
I can't quit just yet,
somewhere off in the distance,
lies an unborn child,
waiting for my assistance.

There was a time when I once loved Winter,
its glittering flakes,
its snow covered lakes.
I once dreamed of cold winter nights,
thick folds of a quilt,
stitched with care.

There was a time when I once loved Winter,
this has now changed,
now I know of the sunflower,
I had known of it,
but never its name.

There was a time when I once loved Winter,
but no more,
I now thirst for Spring,
where the chill cannot find me.

There was a time when I once loved Winter,
now I love only spring,
no need for the burden of cloth.

There was a time when I once loved Winter,
I hope one day the sunflower may know of impending warmth,
so thus I pray,
she may bloom without fear of Winter.

We are not what we seem to be,
To be,
or not to be,
what a joke.

We are always,
never are we not,
existing forever,
sublimating never,
never to be forgot.

Matter cannot be destroyed,
souls are made of the same stuff,
mind and body,
edges tapered to the triumphant.

We are far more than we seem,
far more than the sum of our parts,
our insignificant parts.

What we are is the culmination of,
what we are,
what we were,
and what we ever will be.

If I can't find my place in this world,
I won't mind if my wings unfurl,
Tempest tossed,
Countless pages lost.
If I don't find myself fairly judged by the gavel,
I don't mind if my mind unravels.
Trapped like a bird in a cage,
waiting for release,
I'll sleep softly.