With thoughts on the ice,
Willing to sacrifice,

For a true friend,
Willing to bend,

Tissues for the cry,
Willing to die,

Shatter me against your skin
shred my heart and drown my eyes
darkness whispers softly now,
temptation sings it's wicked lies.

Nail me to your whitewashed bones
tie my hands with spit and twine,
Flay my flesh til rawness weeps,
blood drips mark the passing time.

Hoist my heathen body high
my tortured soul the world to see,
that they may learn of what it means
to give a sacred heart to thee.

Steal away at twilight's calling
make your bed and tell your lies
meet me on the lonely hillside
bathed in guilt and alibi's.

Take me to the singing river
hold me under, wash me clean,
rid my spirit of this longing
breathe to life my only need.

Lay me down on emerald pasture, moonlight pale with eyes aglow
make my skin your only comfort,
savour pleasures yet unknown.

Touch me where he shall not enter
take your hands and soothe my soul,
press your holy weight upon me
taint my flesh and make me whole.

Take me home in sacred silence,
once again we mourn our deed
hearts now closed, our minds preparing
tales of time, meant to deceive.

Quiet guilt it will not linger
as we crave to taste once more
taken hearts and love forbidden
wrapped in lies forevermore.

heartstrings unbound
pulled apart like petals
blossoming truth beheld
this is Love

I don't rhyme stuff just to rhyme it
Though I do it all the time.  It
Seems to follow some odd pattern
Though it doesn't seem to matter.
Words just fall into their spot.
It tends to happen quite a lot.
Take this here, for one example-
Use it as a simple sample-
I can't help it; It's my nature...
Syntax, meter, nomenclature.

(And if I've offended thee
with my skewed-phonology,
     I bow and beg and plead.
For it is only silly rhyme I
Tend to write from time to time
     To make your eyeballs bleed.
To make your eyeballs bleed I do with verse obscure and all askew
     And dire opinion spake)

So if I have offended thee
Just take a nap and you will see
My meaning when you wake.

This poem was only written to
Create a meter and a rhyme
There is no deeper meaning here,
So if you don't like wasting time
On mindless drivel, here's your hat
Because this poem is just that!

No wellsprings of emotion flow
Nor subtle allegories preach
Within these empty, patterned words -
I have no wish to moan or teach
Go somewhere else for love or fear
Because you will not find it here.

Now to apply some filler words
Like catnip, ice cream, roller rink,
Because I have no words to speak
And do not wish to feel or think.
I told you you were wasting time
Upon tetrameter and rhyme.

Twisting thoughts into tunnels
Bending memories into mimes
It’s been quite a while
Since the last time I rhymed.

It was in this ancient diary
I found from days of old
Where I dreamt about my dreams
Weaving secrets into gold

Here I wrote of the dying sun
And the afterlife of moons
I tried to rhyme starry-eyed stars
With dusty afternoons

Meter keys are rusty now
Free verse scoffs at these lines
Because it’s been quite a while
Since I tried to rhyme a rhyme.

Remember boundless possibility?
The certainty that life would be
A blade of grass, an open field
A panoramic view of destiny

This wanderlust, like sunray dust
Shines through every cursive line
Between college essays and status updates
I lost that old, elusive rhyme.

The dust and grime and dirt and death—
The darkened gloom of corners near—
Invade the mind with waning breath,
Steal peace of mind with petty theft;
And lightless grins rise up and leer
Until you think there’s nothing left.

Becoming an adult in America is a profound experience.

I honestly don't believe that you're fully an adult until the day that you're an eighteen year old and you realize the equilibrium that exists between you and your teacher.

It's no longer a relationship between master and pupil, (as if it ever were)
It's a somber understanding that his dreams have died,
And yours are just about to.