Pictures are a light
shining bright,
to the depths of our souls.
They catch you in your truest form and
you cannot lie,
not then or now,
because pictures never die.
They may brighten or darken the day,
but in the end they always light,
shining bright,
a time in the past
because pictures always last.

Can my poems touch you?
Can they make you feel?
I tell you what I think is true,
show you what is real.
How could my poems touch you,
maybe make you kneel,
if when the day is through,
even I can't feel?

Rage and crush and ****,
that's what I want to do,
I scream at the stars,
and reopen old scars.
My vision is red,
is it all in my head?
Why does this happen?
Who am I now?
Certainly not me,
at least not how I was meant to be.
I want to be loving,
and kind,
but doing that only gets me
left behind.

So I leave love,
like a lonesome banner
blowing in the wind,
after some tragic battle,
bloodied and tattered.
It means nothing,
because those who fight for it are gone.
It means nothing,
Because it's no longer needed,
It means nothing,
because it isn't real,
because a truer word for love is pain,
Ha! No, I could never do that,
I'm not strong enough to really do that,
so I sit and I wait
and I rage and I hate,
and maybe someday someone will come and they will see,
what truly has become of me,
they'll stay and we'll love and we'll cherish each other,
together we'll conquer and never leave for another,
forever turning to face new threats,
finding happiness like fishermen with overflowing nets,
but probably not.
For I haven't left love,
love has left me.

I am just a teddy bear,
that's what you always say,
to love and cuddle,
with you I simply lay,
but see,
I know the truth,
teddy bears never stay,
they are forgotten,
dismissed,
and finally thrown away.

They tell me that the night is black,
but I do not believe them,
darkness is
red-speckled,
        flowing
awash in crimson hue,
it is pink and puckered like a scar,
always present,
like shadows on a sunny day
are twisted
        doubled
more alive in sun.
They say the night is black,
but I do not believe them.
It is open wide and gushing
sanguine in its purest.

I wouldn't say you're who I thought
I'd end up with someday,
but even still your southern voice
binds me here to stay.
A kiss please,
just a slight peck,
that's all I really need,
to show me that I'm not alone,
to let my stone heart feed,
but even this is still denied,
by distance and by time,
these things are not so easy,
as movies have implied.
And yes oh yes I've tried,
tried and strained and groaned,
but even after such persistence
I still remain alone.
Your sweet warm lips
they mock me,
tearing me inside,
your full smile
speaks to me,
of love and oft-cursed friendship,
burning me to ash.
But the worst has yet to come,
your deep brown eyes
reflect to me,
all I could not grasp.

Because the deep of my mind is a buzzing thing
analyzing, thinking, joking,
the best of each thought hiding, staying, dozing.
But rarely in coming, a true thought strays,
out of mouth and into being.
It trickles through ears,
roars through brains,
soars the winds,
and it conquers the world.
But then it dies.

I helped my neighbor mend his walls,
but then I tripped and fell,
the walls rose up before me tall,
leaving me in hell.
Ladders in production?
Oh no not that at all,
We use found trees for firewood
but flames, they do not warm.