This courage is different than
The courage  I've tried on before
It's firey
And strong
And makes me feel warm
It's blazing
And daring
It flows to the floor.
It's empowering
And bright
And dark and
Propelling.

There's nothing like
Crying yourself to sleep
For someone else's broken heart.

I'll be your
words
if you'll be my
stillness

I'll be your
sword
If you'll be my
comfort

I'll be your
fire
if you'll be my
backbone

please
lay your
shyness
down

take my
hand and
I will show

I'll be your words. Please be my stillness.

Sigh
I wish he was here

Sigh
He won't leave I fear

Sigh
You wont believe what was said

Sigh
It's easy to slander the dead

Sigh
What it is to be warm

Sigh
To feel without scorn

Sigh
The need to be safe

Sigh
An embrace that chafes

Sigh
Where are we now

Sigh
No feilds to plow

Sigh
Wrap yours arms around me

Sigh
We'll  be what we want to be

Laugh
Happieness, a piece

Laugh
Freedom of release

Home is more than a pile of bricks,
It's the view from the window
And the walk down the road.
It's houses you pass
It's the people you see
It's the beep of the coffee ***
And the bark of the dog
It's the texture of clay
It's the floor boards that creak
It's the sound of the motors
And the memories of love
It's where you were when you
Learned how to count.
It's the murmur of voices
It's the colors of fall,
It's the mess that you made
It's the time you were proud
It's the thunder and lightening
It's the faces you know
It's the habits you break
And the things that you count on
It's the sound of a word
It's the line in the joke
It's the restaurants and waiters
It's the predictable  vote
It's the aisles of the store
It's the pinching of cheeks
It's the hard times, the help
And the vegetable stands
It's the churches and prayer
It's the clock in the square
It's the traffic, the football,
The police and the sun
It's the tick of the clock
And the hum of the pipes
It's the drawer with the spoons,
It's the trick to the tub
It's the stop sign you ignore
It's the trash cans you empty
It's gas in the tank
And playing hide and seek
It's the traditions we cherish
It's the rhythm we find
Home is more than an address
It's more than just family,
It's God and it's time
It's an attitude, an  adaption
It's everyday lives
Home isn't where the heart is,
Home is what makes up the heart.

**** it up
it's not that bad.
keep your head up
it's not that bad.
they have it worse
what is your problem?
you don't feel that bad
quit laying down.

shut up shut up
i know my limit.
if i want rest,
i will.

**** it up
if you talk
and try to
be energetic
it will feel better.

that is why,
people think I
am crazy,
i talk too much.

well if that
is what it takes
to keep you up,
then thats what it takes.
no one here matters
anyway.

don't be so
futilistic.

have you prayed about it?

no.

why not?

because, Others have it worse

that's ridiculous
do you really
think that you can
get by with out God's grace?

No, I don't

Then get it together.

I'm trying, it's hard.

not really that hard

Who's side are you on anyway?

No ones.

The battles against no one are the hardest fought.

Sleeping faces
Sleeping thoughts
Therefore an escapee
Of what nature wrought.

Standby callers
Standby gaurds
Full length mirrors
That fall in shards.

Extra hairpins
Extra sticks
Girls that won't
Pet dogs with ticks.

Walls of iron
Walls of glass
Men that will never
Deal with class.

Pride in you and
Pride in me
Who shall succed?
We soon shall see.

Who owns the sunset?
Who is mistress of the stars?
Do the navigators of fortune
Sit at a table and boast?
Are the humours four fine sisters?

Can it be that I am
Master of all these things?
Do I  hold the yet untwined
Ball of string of the future in my hands?
My hands. My hands of no strength,
My hands of no extraordinary skill,
My hands that arrive at eternity unclean.

These fingers that are whole
In spite of broken spirits
Are treated as the fingers
Of perfection.
Of blamelessness.
Of forgiveness.

The threads of time
Are dusty in my fingers.
A fine mist of sediment
Crumbles at my touch.
Delicate stars are loosened
And burn out in my sight.

Reaching up I return
This future to the hands
In which It belongs.  
Stars and light dance down
Into my eyes, and I know
Who owns the sunset.

Who owns the sunset?
Who is mistress of the stars?
Do the navigators of fortune
Sit at a table and boast?
Are the humours four fine sisters?

Can it be that I am
Master of all these things?
Do I  hold the yet untwined
Ball of string of the future in my hands?
My hands. My hands of no strength,
My hands of no extraordinary skill,
My hands that arrive at eternity unclean.

These fingers that are whole
In spite of broken spirits
Are treated as the fingers
Of perfection.
Of blamelessness.
Of forgiveness.

The threads of time
Are dusty in my fingers.
A fine mist of sediment
Crumbles at my touch.
Delicate stars are loosened
And burn out in my sight.

Reaching up I return
This future to the hands
In which It belongs.  
Stars and light dance down
Into my eyes, and I know
Who owns the sunset.

Bright blue green
The Sea is a silken cloth
Tossed around the shoulders of wealth.

Dark grey it is
A woolen charity
Scratching the shoulders of the poor.

When the color of rusted copper
It is a thick rubber mat
Rolled back at tapered
edges to reveal
The crags of earth
Thrusted up by misfortune
And sullied by time.

Like lead by moonlight
It is the pavement
We pound on,
Crumbling in some places
Smooth in others.

White hot and reflecting the sun
It is what we could be,
What we sometimes are.
The intense, pin point light.

Like glass it is
All the shades of
What we are,

For today I shall pretend,
No matter what the truth ammends.
Today I will go climbing towers,
Spending all my loving hours.

I care not why he came,
He was there just the same.
I had him there, by my side,
And oh! Our forces did collide

Shifting did they mingle-mix,
Laughing hearty, turning tricks.
And looking on me his eyes did smile,
Even for a little while.

I smiled too, returned his gaze
Pondering his every phrase.
He was brilliant, his music bright,
It shone in me a consuming light.

I live on in his embrace,
Remembering his loving face,
The way held out his arms for me,
They way that anchor set me free.

It is true, that his return
May not have been the result of burn,
But for today, I shall think it so
Postpone the reality I hate to know.

the thought
isn't still
it moves as
it will
it goes on
and on
it doesn't
stop
it doesn't
use grammar
***** the
grammar
the thought
is its own
its expression
is shown
how ever
it feels.
it's nice to
think you
have somewhere
to go
but the
truth is that
you don't know
if it's all
real, or
just or  for show.
their hearts
are always drifting
on low,
but if it
goes fast
then it
goes slow.
what it the parallel
where is
the why
how can a screaming voice
climb but
so high?
let's watch
the battle between the
pernicious
and shy
the thought
will visit
all dressed
in red.
stripping the black
and the blood
from your dread
if you are
the king who
fights in your stead?
where is your iron,
where is your lead?
has it been melted in
some internal fire,
is it burnt
up without
hope,
hope in those spires,
the thought
has run
its course and now
can move
away
   with a
   pitter
       patter
   pitter
       patter
             sing.

There is a ship
Down at the bay
Bright and shimmering as a star
It has your name
Across its helm
It is waiting for you
When you board
It will set sail
Gliding in the open sea
The sea of dreams
It calls to you
So go now quick,
And join it's crew.
And when your captain
Steers the vessel to sea
I hope he brings you to me.
I'll be waiting beneath the sun
Sitting at the horizon.
When your captain
Steers to sea
I hope he brings you to me.
You'll be with me.

my silence
is a sign
of my devotion.

it's true -I
will not be
the reason

that you break
the promise that
you made yourself-

I could not
have that on
my conscience.

So I will be
silent, and not
tell you those

things that I
have known for one
fortnight by one
hundred fifty six.

you are probably
happier not
knowing anyway.

As we behold their twinkling  light
The stars beckon us
To join their joyous flight

And as we sit and stare above
They do not tell us
That to fly is to love

And if we think of some one dear
All we should do
Is pull them near

And if by chance they're not close by
We can send them a message
If we close our eyes and try

This is what the stars would say
If we would listen instead
Of sleep through their day.

And if we listened to the moon
She would tell us to speak
Our minds not later but soon

So as the stars sway and dance
They wish for us
To take a chance

When we speak they begin to spin
And if we whisper from our
Hearts they laugh and grin

They are happy for us all in all
we've discovered their secret
And to us they fall

So now you know the secret of the stars
The ponderings of luna,
Jupiter and mars.

The rhapsody
Of beating hearts
The symphony
Of combining parts
The precision
Of emotional darts
The condition
Of refined art
No one's sure
Of where to start

tonight I have no illness,
tonight I will be free,
I have no worries in the world,
I can unlimit me.

tonight there is calm,
tonight there is release,
simply beauty standing
in the absence of disease

Millions of souls
Has the Sea.

Millions of souls
Have stood by her waters,
Pulled and repelled by
Raw power and salty fear.

Millions of faces
Millions of variations
And shades in between,
has she subtly worn.

They come to her,
They flock to her and reach out
To her. Her sun and moon are different
Than theirs are.

Fingers pull at layers of
Color and life, attempting
To cover themselves
With the depth.

But just when she
Has covered the pilgrims
She flippantly rips back
Her blanket and exposes them.
Even they are surprised
at the revelation. They are.....


She returns to apologize,
Meek and gentle, offering
Little jewels in her warm,
Glittering palm.

They always accept
Her offering. And in turn share
With her the smallest, mosaic
Piece of their own souls.

Millions of souls
Has the Sea.
She tries them on like hats.

She sat in a corn field
drawn into herself,
folded into a world of her own making.

He wrote from distant shores,
spoke of places she could only glimpse
through his eyes.

Her eyes followed his cadenced words.
Syllables as robust as any brew,
waking up her hidden senses.

Distance an allusion.
Language a fibrous connection.

The sun that set over them
was and was not the same.

The paper a beating heart,
the ink an invisible sentiment.

Miles travelled in the twinkling
of an eye across the page,
words rich to the taste.

She dug her hands into the earth
and held onto the flavor.

Lord, I am
broken.
  I seek,
Your face.
it is so hard,
To feel you,
to know you
are there.
I know
that you are near
but you seem
so far away.
all I want
is to know
that the path
I am on
is the path
that you
have chosen.
I cry out, and do not hear your voice.
I lay down, and do not feel you.
I am broken by this trial.
help me in my unbelief help me in my unbelief.

The undone heart
is a beautiful thing.

So tell me,
will you let me untie
the little string
that guards you
to reveal the
Immeasurable light
within you.

Drops of water collide
with the paper,
a casual rendez-vous
with the ink.

Colors run,
expanding from the
thin lines of my heart,
blurring my intentions.

If you started a fire
I doubt
that I'd put it out.

I'd sit back
and watch it burn,
dreaming of the ocean
and the sound of water.

The roar of the waves
inside of my ears
would **** the flames.

For me at least.

Maybe not for you.

this is why
i don't let
anyone read
my poems.

They read
to much into
them,

they think
they mean
things they
don't

a small
word
written in
a moment

does not
have to
mean anything
at all.

you can
write from
the point of
view of
others,

many of
my words
are things
that another
might say

but instead
of realizing this
they try to
shape my world
for me.

And this
is why
I don't let
others
read
my
heart.

Joy is in the little moments
The small smiles
The patterns I pick up
It's the way the day
Isn't erased
After our goodbyes

Lying in the silence
of the blue dark night,
tucked in the pockets of souls
thumps from cages issue,

Mountains rise
and ashes fall.
Towers crumble
and oceans stand,
our will is not
a test of what
we have built,
but who we
in the core of
our souls
know ourselves
to be,
For the mountains are high