Words that are left unsaid
Fester and rot inside my head.
That which I have failed to say,
Words that torment everyday.
**** those words that wouldn't release.
Words of love and words of peace
Words I lacked the courage to speak.
I'm too quick to yield, a bit too meek.

Restrained words tend to cut my tongue,
They stab me deep within my lungs.
Words that could have saved a life,
Instead they pierce me like a knife.
Don't get me wrong, I like the pain
Like the misery in my brain.
Yet maybe if I had spoken up
My heart wouldn't feel so corrupt.

Words that decay over time,
Words that collect soot and grime,
That die and wither in my mind.
Their corpses linger to remind
Me of what I should have said.
Brutally they tear me to shreds.
So internally I bleed
Until these words can be freed.

Yet when words are harsh I spit them out
Words that spread hatred, fear, and doubt.
So easily they float away,
So careless with the things I say,
So selfish with the words I hoard  
The ones I've buried and ignored.
Yet deep within me they will dwell
Words that burn in eternal hell.

Who knew that the cure
For a mind stricken with grey
Was leaves on the breeze?

I dipped my pen in Midnight's well,
but still, my quill remained dry.
I chased fallen stars to the Moon's mournful waterfalls,
and still, I had no tears to cry.
I followed the paths carved throughout my soul's forest,
but still, could not find where I'd let my dreams lie.
Finally, I crawled through the gates of every hell and saw
the trail leading to the grave where I'd let myself die.

The silence followed me everywhere I went;
that dreadful nothingness ringing in my ears would not relent.
No words, no words, no words could I invent
to relieve the pain caused by this constant, quiet torment.

I'm nothing. Nothing I dreamed I'd be.
I'm shipwrecked driftwood in this mighty sea,
tossed to and fro without understanding or control.
I've lost too much to ever dream of being whole.

Then, one day, an old artist told me,
"Never cover over your imperfections;
never hide the flaws beneath the perceived perfection,
because the truest beauty lies in being able to see
all the madness and chaos that birthed the masterpiece."

So I won't hide from my shadows anymore;
I won't run from the demons sleeping underneath my pillows.
I will not shrink in the light of the golden Sphinx's baleful eye;
I won't keep myself chained to never-arriving Tomorrow's.

I will face my silence until my ears are bleeding,
and from that blood will I find the words to write,
and from the river of those crimson words flooding,
perhaps I'll find the picture of what my masterpiece will look like.

Don't worry, love,
I know those gates of stone
stand firmly
to guard the most precious parts
of your soul.

I am not here like the others;
not as a warrior
planning a siege
or a strategist
plotting to knock them down.

I respect your walls too much.

You have fought in more wars
than most;
you have been betrayed by more loves
than most could survive -
your walls are the result
of your scars.

So here I stand before you,
my weapons laid down,
my intentions spread out before the Sun,
with nothing in my hands
but open palms,
asking you
to let me in.

Show me, love,
all those terrible,
beautiful
wild flowers
growing in your garden -
I want to do nothing
but paint them to remember,
and carry their fallen petals
safely in my heart.

Open up to me, please,
my love -
I am already yours.

Sunlight is filtering in.
The floorboards are broken
and the counters deaf with dust,
but somehow,
these weak rays
are highlighting the rose,
the silver,
the gold
in every loose splinter
and wandering mote.

In this sunlight,
it even looks like stars
have settled into the living room
where no one else will walk
and certainly no one will eat.

This is acceptable.

There are beautiful galaxies to breathe
and a precious serenity
in the golden silence.