my legs are twitching with the need to run

to chase a moment, a year,

a lifetime that’s slipping away.

my hands are numb, fingertips brushing

working on autopilot,

following the logic

of things that need to be done

before anything can happen.

my body,

it’s exploding.

waves crashing inside me

yearning, urging, and tearing

at my stationary being,

at my hollow bones attached to tried muscle

and tired skin.

psychologically imploding

with the need to live

and breathe

and do.

experience.

but i’m trapped in this prison of a cultureless culture

in these shackles of people, zombified,

telling me what i can and can’t be

bound to the ground

by the word no;

darling you can’t,

darling you’re too young,

darling you’re trapped,

darling you can’t leave,

darling, you’re stuck.

and with my lips aflame,

trying to release my need to be,

when i simply can’t be,

not yet.

my body, it’s rotting.

twiddling my thumbs,

until life is allowed to start.

Look closely, do you see it?
Down below, where man has not been
A deity with roots, deeply burrowed in the earth
There lies a mighty tree
Taking warmth from the core and
in return, provides life on the surface

Thousands of birds live within his branches
Songs sung of unexplainable beauty
His base, hollowed out for
furry creatures in the colder months
Oh, how he loves the tiny animals
They make him laugh,
dropping the sweetest of fruit

Perfection it would seem, he grew curious
What goes on beyond his personal Eden?
Several branches wrap around each other
Winding and unwinding, to reveal an old man
Terra-god, in flesh and blood
Ripping out a strong root to help hold himself up,
The long journey begins

Three days he walked through the forest
But what is three days to a man
who has lived hundred of thousands of years.
Entire civilizations rise and fall,
lifetimes must feel like matters of seconds
He continues to wander along.

Suddenly he sees something not seen before,
No cover from his branches, an open night sky
He had never felt such wonder
How many stars were as old as he?
Taking it all in, he continued to walk.

Morning came as did another discovery.
A jungle, grey, concrete, filled with soulless monsters
Black thick air, foulest of all
Stacks of stolen, re-engineered earth
rising higher then any tree.
There is no life here, only man's false heaven.
Disgusted and furious at what he saw,
he cursed this domain of blastphemy,
and turned homeward

Upon walking back as time progressed he felt weaker
He began to feel time, slower, and slower
Something felt wrong, something, felt wrong
He noticed the animals wandering about, picked one up
“Find shelter little one” in a worried tone, “It will be cold soon”

As he looked up, he trembled
His home Eden, ***** and torn by man
The sweetest of fruit,
The furry animals,
All destroyed, leaving but a trunk
He fell to the ground weeping,
Withering to nothing
The age of nature has ended

Rain, lightning and thunder.

Let's put on some music,
curl up on the couch together
and pretend the sun's shining.

Sometimes I cry.
Usually it's before bed.
My pillow becomes wet with tears
let loose by loneliness, anger, surrender.
My body shakes as each sob tears through my soul
and vibrates through my vocal chords to come out as helpless whimpers.
My arms constantly reach for comfort and reassurance, but grasp nothing but despair.
I blink through the tears, seeing nothing,
and wonder why I'm still alive.
If anyone would miss me if I were gone.
My lungs search for air in gasps
between each bout of fresh tears
and take in thick fog
that suffocates everything but my cries.
I can feel my heart physically breaking
and losing its once-steady beat.
This goes on for the longest time.
Until my throat is parched, my tongue is dry, and my eyes are empty
My body numbs over and everything goes limp.
I am already unconscious though I am awake, so there is no transition to sleep.
I do not dream.
I wake up the next morning with crusty eyes
and a sunken feeling.
There is no relief.

I am sorry to bother you,
so please
                                                          ­                                  ignore these words
or don't.
Who am I
                                                                ­                      to tell you what to do?
Whatever you choose to do,
                                           know this poem has no greater cosmic meaning.
That was not its purpose.
If there is some deeper meaning,
                                                        ­                                      I'm unaware of it.
I'll leave it to you to speculate.

sweet sleep, I know you
the way that a blind man is
said to know the moon.

The noon's greygolden meshes make
All night a veil,
The shorelamps in the sleeping lake
Laburnum tendrils trail.

The sly reeds whisper to the night
A name-- her name-
And all my soul is a delight,
A swoon of shame.