words written on napkins
meant to change the world
the poetry of motion
the song of a kiss
the way my cigarette burned down to
touch on my lips
a hero fights dragons with a sword
made of ink
while the ruins of a nation crumble
to dust
sound the trumpets!
bang on the drums
welcome the harbinger of this peaceful
resistance
but wait. the change we sought
the sit ins and protests and flowers
we gave were met with the deafening
silence brought on by the gun
poets unite and take up your arms
for time calls when the sword is
mightier than the pen!
we are the broken
we are the lost
we are the fallen
and we are not quiet!
we fight for this day
words written on napkins meant
to change the world lay crumbled
in wastebaskets
for hands meant to write
now form a fist. - resist!

Silence lingers in crisp autumn air
as my feet rebound off concrete.
The uphill journey is traveled alone,
except for fellow early birds
and rare squirrels skittering across my path.
Questioning, I think, if I am threat enough
to keep them from their hunt for breakfast.

Sunlight fights its way through leaves
to flicker across my sleepy eyes.
As if the morning itself is trying to
jump start my system.
Wake me up for the long day ahead.

Finding my favorite perch
at the top of the hill,
I sit to watch campus slowly come to life.
Starting with a squirrel
and his newly found peach treasure,
and ending with the faces
of my unknown classmates.

This is Western, at 8 a.m.

Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.

Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved,--
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.

For it was in my heart you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always,--
They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.

I watch each delicate thread

Pull away

(Frail twine,
The string of life,
Warn from wash and
Off white)

The plink of one more

Surrender as

One by one

Their little hands

Let go under the pressure

(Too taxing;
Cracked glass
Invasive fissures
Wiggling their way
Downward until
Wrath forces its way
To the surface)

And prepare to lose

(Control
Tumbling upward in a
Bittersweet cone of
Fermented
Nineteenseventyeight
Exquisite wine
Ready to shoot
Straight to the brain
Unraveling the ties,
Letting the pieces fall)

Myself in fragments

Scattered upon the floor

Of who I really am

(or who I never knew
But learned to grow
Apart from.
Caged in my fear
Savagely
Awaiting freedom
So prohibited
;Slavery)

Until I shed my shell

(the painted
Actionfiguretell
Of the mold
I came from.
An assembly line model
Struck in posses
Clothed in garments of
Rejected leisure)

And feel my truenity

(the gentle nature
Peel out
And bloom
Like the dark rose
I’ve seen time and time again
Amidst a lot of pebbles
Waiting so eagerly
To be picked by
The one naïve
Green soul
To let the eye fall
In color
And lick the blood of christ
So tainted
With illusion)

***** the finger

Let the blood run out

Bleed me out

( ailments birthed
of a gentle betrayal
disease my being.
embalmed of any
logic for sense
the salvation of patience is
left by the wayside;
a token for those who
stop to think )

My sanity ridded

Corpse

A poor excuse

For my former self

(falling)

I often sit here and run my hands over the smooth shard of glass
that portrudes from my chest.
I feel it.  Everyday.  Everynight.
and wonder if someday i could yank it loose.
feel the pinch no more;
The pain of my heart as it warbles, trying to survive; cut in half.
I know i must keep one eye on the horizon, for hope ill see that day approach

If i look down, I know through this glass ill see you,
all that can be seen,
struck through my being,
and my chin will fall,
and my breath will shallow,
and my heart will
stop.

for you, in my head,
live
and all i feel,
all
is you

My head knocks against the stars.
My feet are on the hilltops.
My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of
     universal life.
Down in the sounding foam of primal things I
     reach my hands and play with pebbles of
     destiny.
I have been to hell and back many times.
I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God.
I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible.
I know the passionate seizure of beauty
And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs
     reading "Keep Off."

My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive
     in the universe.

Judge Bristol pronounced his sentence with the following words and said,
"The said William Bonney, alias Kid, alias William Antrim
shall be hanged by the neck until his body be dead, Dead, DEAD!!!"
Shackled Billy left the courthouse smiling, almost as if in glee.
"Why are you smiling?" an interviewer asked him inquisitively.
"What's the point in dwelling on the dreary side of life?" the Kid responded,
"Today the joke is on me."

A true tribute to The Kid's charm, humor and endearing personality.
The above is not legend. The above is true documented history.

I love you.
For everything,
that you are,
that you were,
and the amazing person you are going to become.

We seem so perfect for each other
but so
distant.
Two missing puzzle pieces
that fit immaculately together,
lost.

We tried so hard to stay connected,
but our edges became worn
and images faded.

So you stripped me
of everything I was.
You took all my colors,
all my strength,
all of my will,
and left me as just
cardboard.
Soggy,
from the tears,
of a shredded heart,
streaming from within.

But over time,
my skin dried
and was stained and crinkled.
Showing a new picture.
A new me.
Stronger.
Happier.
And even more beautiful than before.

I love you.
For everything,
that you are,
that you were,
and the amazing person you are going to become.

It's just that you don't love me...