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The smell of excrement,
is the smell of a  rose,
but a thousand fold.
where you see grey,
the sparrow sees gold.
deadly volt,
and thunder loud,
does not come
from dark cloud.
but from predispostion,
in poem, must be missing.
look to the woods,
you cannot see the wolf
in winter's morph,
with bleak at its worst.
these are invisible things,
that rely on more than sight,
that a poet must capture,
before he writes.
there is no party, nor seal,
or cause for zeal,
that can make this poet kneel,
except how poetry makes me feel.
For I,

hear the wolf,
smell the rose,
feel the charge of the cloud,
before it rings loud.
I see the sparrows light,
when I write,
and tree or incline,
no obstacle like "NO TRESSPASSING" sign.
Be a poet, rid the seal and sign,
leave all false laws behind.
lighten the load for the incline,
and all carcasses will be roses,
and bleakness a sparrow hue,
speak to the woods, and
surprise the wolf following you.
When reality is met we find our need to forget enlightenment,
We would rather run,
Then stay and battle our own resistance,
For some, survival is effortless,
Seeming so simple and serene,
But some are left to fight,
For if they do not they will fall,

The bottom you reach is empty,
A sad and lonesome place,
Yet the top is out of reach,
And could never hold your weight,

Beauty is in the eyes of every beholder,
But when the eyes meet yours,
Nothing feels colder than being incomplete,
Like an electronic gone obsolete,

Tis a shame how one must hold this weight,
The weight of your heart heavy with fear,
Useless and discouraged for no tangible reason,
The way you feel your mechanisms have been set,

You look in the mirror again,
Put on that face,
The strangers face,
The monster underneath that you cover for,
Secretly speaking in a tone that is dull,
    “Your nothing but baggage,
       A game that will never be won.”
For the happiness is on the out side,
Surrounding everyone but you,
In this sphere you stay encompassed,
With only one,

Consideration you must take,
For with your end all hearts would break,
Unannounced to you,
You matter,

Amidst this world of clutter,
Caring hearts are slow to say,
Appreciation not easily shown,
A thread barren heart that can not be sown,

Though your childhood was stolen,
Your future must we mend,
You must re discover,
Your Gods master piece,
Just waiting to be uncovered.
Dedicated to my dear friend Spencer
Almost everyday I feel like crying.
At first my emotions are under control
Then in the blink of an eye despair sinks in.
My chest feels tight, my heart aches.
I feel like at any moment I'll break down,
Allow the tears to pour freely from my eyes.
But I don't, I keep it in.
I do not give myself the satisfaction,
Of the body trembling
Earth shattering
Cry that I yearn for.
I take a deep breath
To ease the tightness of my chest,
And hope that I make it through another day
With out giving in to my weakness.
you are the soothing hum
the grass stains on my jeans
the summer in my hair
the color in my cheeks
you are the the constant wave
beating against my heart
the warm honey on my lips
the paint on my nails
you are the perfect dance
and a moonlit ride
the sticky vanilla cream
you are the flower in my palm
the reason I smile
the chills down my spine
you are more than you'll ever know
you are the love of my life
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

— The End —