Bursting out of me,
like waves,
crahing against a distant shore,
my voice cascades wildly;
trilling and thrilling,
as it enraptures
and captures
the emotion of the tale yet to come.
Warbling,
and wavering,
the story unfolds-
a love concrete,
a life complete,
while time doth fleet,
and flitter away.
My passionate notes startle
the birds nearby,
silencing thier meager attempts
at music.
I am no virtuoso,
no child prodigy;
but the raw power
of my heart unrestrained
will put feathered tails
to the north
at the sound of my soul unleashed.
I sing;
not a question
or doubt
in my mind-
there is no audience to impress,
no friends to shame me into awkward silence.
I sing,
because I must release the fluttering creation
caged inside my soul;
unaltered,
it must emerge to outshine the stars,
to chase away the shadows that linger
in a waking mind.
I might offend with my noise,
my off notes,
and slaughtered choruses,
my silly screeching
that grates upon the ears;
but I am merely a vessel
containing these words and emotions,
unfortunately unequipped to perform justice
to these thoughts trapped within.
I sing
to empty myself
of these creative burdens,
these ideas that have a life of thier own
straining and pushing
to escape the walls that hold them here inside.
I sing-
because I can.

The key to words,
when written down,
is to view them
like a Lost and Found.
For, when faced with creativity,
one can be lost in eternity,
and the endless options
that thoughts present-
all the struggles
in the time that's spent.
One could hear a phrase-
uttered on a whim-
but for a creative mind,
it makes a cup flowing to the brim.
Ideas and conjurations
spring forward with ease,
like delicate whisperings
on a warm summer's breeze.
Bursting with inspiration,
so suddenly found,
makes each step a blessing
as it touches the ground.
Then how is it,
that once imparted,
it is so easy
to find those dear words departed?
A moments distraction,
and then they are helplessly gone;
as you frown and despair
over a writing gone wrong.
You scavenge the void
and the dark recesses
of a previous list
of brilliant successes,
only to find that,
though measurable indeed,
the words on that list
are not what you need.
So treasure wisely
your words today-
for a borrowed word
is tomorrow's play.

The sun arises
to dawn on new troubles,
tribulations,
and tribble-sized problems-
things that will start small
and multiply-
into invasive thoughts,
pervading senses of doom and despair,
becoming conquering masters
of deceit,
illusion,
and trickery.
From outside my bleak and tiny window,
the rays of betraying star-fire reach-
creeping over parked cars,
dazzling my eyes
in an ill attempt to gain my favor,
as it entangles the world in its ancient hands.
Redefining what it is to be alive,
each and every morning,
it persistently climbs with self centered surety,
to lord over my aching head
as I cling to the skin of this tiny world,
bound to it by responsibilities and duties
of the most mundane necessity.
What will this day bring?
Shall all the nusisances of adult life be avenged?
Or am I doomed
to continue plodding on in grunting,
laborious,
displeasure;
to pen my utter dismay
at having to work before the sun is up?

Quiet whispers

mark the morning

hushed, and rattling

like the leaves on the concrete outside;

eyes sleepily open

to mid morning sun

blinking

struggling

to see the new day.

Your arm sneaks over me

and you pull me close-

I won't be leaving the soft bed before you this morning.

your soft breath haunts the back of my neck

sending chills down my spine,

your loving lips caressing away

the strands of hair that have fallen over my face;

your fingertips brush-

so gently

so softly-

as if I were a doll that would break

and be lost forever

or a vision that would melt away

and disappear.

We laugh quietly-

this is our world

and no one can disturb our play

when we are so absorbed in each other-

our smiles making the shadows of night

cringe,

and melt into the corners-

ashamed to be there

in the presence of our golden light.

Here,

in your arms,

in our morning world,

there is nothing that can break my spirit,

nothing that I cannot feel glad for.

You

and I

we are happy,

we are free to love

and laugh

and live today-

and every day-

because happiness is here,

with you.

I wrestled with Time today.

And I lost.

Another second,
another hour of my life blew away,
tossed on the winds of chance,
and the stirrings of change.

I lost,
because I could not stay-
lingering like old photographs
in a box in the attic,
gathering dust
on memoirs from the past
that I wanted to forget.
I wanted to erase,
to scrub clean,
the guilt,
and horror,
and pain I have gone through-
the hours crying in the dark,
curled up against the wall;
the moments of embarrassment and dismay
at having failed;
the terrible irony that makes up my waking existence,
my very being.
I wished for something different
wished for Time to stop.

I lost the battle today;
because I can't stop if I don't have you-
because all of Time
and all of Space doesn't matter
if I don't have you there beside me when the universe ends.
I lost because I want to lose this battle,
because I want to see where life will take us,
who we will become through Time's endless passions.

Will we grow old together,
as we imagine we might;
sitting on an old wooden porch,
laughing at the world?

Will we find the answers to the world's imponderable questions,
to ourselves?

Or will we discover that it all doesn't matter-
that the truth is drawing breath,
our hearts beating in tandem,
our hands touching for the last time
before we drift to sleep?

I lost the battle today;
and I don't regret it at all.

I lost
because I love you.

A rose that only knows sunlight
Can never understand rain;
A heart that's only known gladness
Can never understand pain.
Eyes that have never seen darkness
Cannot comprehend hope;
Passions that have never felt torment
Are fires that can not be stoked.
But wisdom that hearkens to anger
Will someday turn its cheek;
A bold king of cruelty
Will someday join the meek.
Though the good and the bad
Writhe in confliction
Inside us all
Is a whole conviction.
Two parts to a whole,
Two sides in the glass,
The push and the pull,
The future and past.
We stumble about
Our hearts divided in twain
Eking out answers
In our fight to remain.
We ask ourselves
Whatis wrong?
What is right?
Too scared of the dark
To embrace the light.
We cannot be happy
Without having been sad
We cannot have good
Without the bad.

The days are long and arduous,
the drawn out afternoons
smoldering slowly in the expansive heat,
as the sweet taste of breathy breezes
sweep laboriously across the sky,
sinking deeply into the rich brown earth.
The sweat-soaked fields
sway wearily in the extravagant heat;
the golden grains glinting in the graceful rays
of the warm, mellow sunlight.
The trring-trring of bicycles ring all around,
the flashing metal brilliant in the noon day light.
Rivers sparkle,
teeming with life so overjoyed
at the return of better days,
better ways.
Dawn gives way to dusk,
the precious light fading at the corners now,
wiping the clouds down
with deep plums,
and dark blues,
until only night is left.
The star wink and shimmer,
casting silvery light onto solemn rooftops,
shrouding and holding their slumbering contents
in a Mid-summer's night dream.
As the season draws to its close-
its fading glory resplendent
in all the wonders of such a comforting season,
the world breaths in-
quietly content
to put the day
to rest.

These scars
on my arm
remind me
that I am not the person I was before.
Ropy and twisted,
they are scraped across my skin
in memory of all the pains I suffered-
heartache,
betrayal,
torture,
abuse.
They will never leave me,
a permanent discovery of self
that should never be forgotten.
I used to wish I could make them go away,
ashamed of my tainted appearance,
ashamed of my frailty exposed in public.
But, now,
they are like a map to me-
crossroads etched across my skin
in purpling reds and browns;
a timeline that reminds me of how far I have come,
and what I have gone through to get here.
Sometimes, I look at them
and can see where I need to go next-
for each scar has its own story,
and its own lesson.
So, if you see me
on the streets,
arms bared and waving in the wind-
just know that these scars are mine,
my journey,
my burden to bear;
be happy for me-
not sad for the person you think I am-
I know where I've been,
and I know where i'm going.

The wisdom of the ages

falls deaf on silent ears,

when those of 'better' knowledge

lack in better years.

The words they speak are naught but verse,

a pretty, failing void;

They barter time and trade despair,

and on ignorance are sold.

They traipse about with jaunty stride-

merrily nonchalant-

flinging thoughtless wording

like an idiot savant.

To all those who have viewed them,

they are deemed to be unfit;

For who would suffer morons

when they have but half a wit?

In truth, they are our future,

but 'tis a future that I'd fear;

Too many of this generation

talk and will not hear.

They crave with desperation

a life too dark and harrowed,

for live lived in deprivation

'tis a point of view too narrowed.

They do not seek a power inside,

instead, they seek a chalice;

in which all the world's a stage-

but 'tis a poison breeding malice.

Oh- I weep!

for the years that lie ahead-

my brain rebels in horror,

my heart bleeds, raw and red;

The youth are turning old enough,

the future is uncertain;

and all because the high schools

treat education like a curtain.

"Behind this doors, labeled number one,

we have a distant future,

where minding manners, and respect

will make you kind and nurtured;

where all the pathways open up,

and you've made a great success;

...Or pick door number two,

and make life, now, a mess."

Of course our ****-sure young ones

will pick the latter door-

for partying, and breaking rules,

surely, there couldn't be more?

So to all the world, I say Nay!!

This is not the way for things to transpire!

What happened to change, and progress??

What happened to stoking the fire??

I won't support a mindless flock,

I will not suffer fools;

But most of all, I will not suffer

no education in our schools.

A forgotten shoe
lies abandoned on the floor,
your cracking heart too painful
to lean down and pick it up.
Her abandoned toys are just memories now,
trinkets,
lost to time;
the whispers of the little one-
once here,
now gone-
haunt,
and echo strangely-
mingling with the broken spirits
of the loved ones she left behind.
What hope there was
now takes a different form-
sadnesss turns to grief,
and grief to helpless anger.
Hands shake
with guilt and rage,
locked together in the fingers of other sufferers,
hearts swelling in solitary pain,
yet shared by all.
What is lost now
is still just around the corner,
though far from reach-
little footsteps still ring in the hallways,
peals of laughter bouncing off the now bleak walls,
where peeling paint remembers crayon scribbles
and unicorn doodles.
Wild manes still flash in the summer sun,
rippling like a mirage just out of sight,
but the windows reflect only cold light inside these empty rooms.
You've tried appealing to your silver lining attitude,
the one you wished you had,
attempting to comfrt yourself,
even when a smile is impossible.
Breath, steady;
your mantra continues in a voiceless chant,
hoping you don't forget to pull it together,
or else the heartache may riddle holes through your mask,
baring for all the world to see
how broken
and crumpled you are on the inside.
Smile-
she wouldn't approve of stern faces,
or somber stares at the floor;
Laugh-
she wouldn't want to see you cry,
those 'funny little dew-drops' won't bring her back.
Be strong,
as she was in her final days-
stronger than you ever thought a child of six could be.
Believe in life,
for her sake,
for Rebecca.

With patient hands, and caring heart,

a mother's love was shown

in the tender, stubborn saplings,

she loved enough to grow.

She listened to their tearful woes,

she kissed their hurts away;

She offered up the best advice

and tried to show the way.

She taught them well,

and scolded when they failed;

She laughed with them and played with them

and watched them blaze a trail.

She let them fall, she let them choose,

she watched them from the dark;

for a mother's greatest heartache

is watching them depart.

If not for the strength of mothers,

if not for their watchful eyes

the saplings would have shriveled,

curled up,

and died.

So here is to the mothers.

the ones that try their best;

know that we saplings love you,

to this we can attest.

Hopeful,
we cities are quiet
waiting for the news to come.
We sense the message
and the terrible waiting continues.
Alone,
we pray for release from
our cruel bondsman;
the mankind
that houses inside our stomachs,
disturbing the peace
with grief
and evil.
Waiting,
Waiting,
We listen as the walls crumble and fall
as they,
our protected,
will too one day.
We wait-
silent and hopeful
for peace
that comes with regret
at the cost of man's crown
and fur robe-
Weeping,
we cities know what awaits in the skies
and the seas
and the rivers,
in the very earth we are built upon-
in the hands of our youth-
guns
and rifles
and bombs-
words of venom and acid,
fearful loathing
and fretful tears
shed over the aging walls
that wearily stand tall in defense of a broken people's heart-
disgorging their rage onto a city
that can no longer hold their bursting anger
spilling out from our cracked barriers
and lashing like fire
helped along by a vengeful wind.
Our streets and markets bleed
for the young ones of the future,
hearing their pain
their terror whispered in unheeded prayers
screamed into dark alleyways
beaten from their lips as they deny themselves-
Oh children...
Our walls are too weak to hide you,
our guidance too frail and unheeded.
We cannot stand strong this time;
Forgive us,
forgive us as we fall to dust.

Hello,
This strange dream continues
leading me through
dim hallways
devoid of you
and empty carriages
that take me there-
to where you used to be;
a time where golden rays
of sunshine
embolden me
to newer heights,
till i never remember
that you were never here-
a mere memory betrayed,
a figment of my imagination,
you alight on my mind,
twittering a senseless tune,
random
things
to suppress what is really there-
the sum of crazy.

Late dusk falls
on statuesque trees
old and wise as the millennia they've stood through;
the slanting sunlight bursting through
the leafless branches
seems vibrant and ******;
garishly parading its natural glory
and vision to the lone pedestrian who walks there.
Looking longingly at the rim of transparent darkness
crowding just above the horizon,
he walks on-
the daylight is not for him-
nor the sweet colors of all the flowers
that stand to spring from the moistened earth
and grow to grey withering dust-
as all things must-
as he will never do.
Creeping,
the night slows the advance of life;
and he feels empty and alone-
the cloying air is not as sweet as it once was,
the dark earth beneath is too inviting,
too hungry,
and the songs of birds seem sad and prolonged now.
He walks on in abnormality-
his physical being an utter sham,
his soul long gone and devoured...
At last the sun dies, and the moon rises gloriously
shedding unnatural light,
and unnatural life,
on the man who once lived.

I tried to tell you that I was lost,
trapped in these drowning waves,
that dragged at my self esteem,
and brought down my courage-
sinking to the bottom
like a cast off piece of garbage
that no one remembered to pick up;
but the ocean captured my words,
bouncing them in refrain across the sparkling surface
that I  thought I might never see again.
I tried to reach above the water,
begging,
searching for a kind soul to aid me,
to save me from this dark despair
that threatened to claim me,
and keep me chained at the bottom of my soul.
But no hands came to pull me out,
to rescue me,
to put a warm blanket around me,
to give me hope when I had none.
I tried to shout,
to draw attention to my pain,
pleading with the eternal silence in the oceans
for my savior to find me;
but no one heard,
and my lonely gasps
against the despair filling my lungs
stopped.
Though I might drown in waters I poured myself,
I reject your help,
come too late-
I have waited too long to need you anymore;
I can swim;
I am strong.
You offer your hands to bear the easiest burdens now,
assured of your generous nature,
your seeming friendship;
But your hands are of no use to me,
for I became strong enough with out them-
to pull my own weight,
to staunch my own bleeding wounds;
to create a world where I didn't need to rely
on such frail limbs to catch me when I fell,
on such worthless promises of relief.
You think me cold,
but these waters are too,
still swirling around my ankles;
encroaching yet again.
Burning on my lips,
the thing I have pondered,
the one question I will never ask-
Where were you, friend,
when I needed you most?

This way and that
you pull me-
This way and that
you throw me-
Like my dark ocean tides
crashing into the shore
and leaving
for the continents untouched
except by these rough waves.
I tire of this,
these selfish games,
this human desire to own,
and control all that I am.
The ocean I am will grow darker and deeper,
Cradling mad ideas of revenge and destruction;
waiting until you sleep safe in your beds,
where you assume you are safe-
And I will strike-
I will howl my rage and horror
I will crash into you
I will break your frail attempts to wrap me into reason
I will drag you down into my wounded depths-
where you shall never escape.
you push and pull-
I will bide my time;
this cycle will bring you to me soon enough.
I will be what you never imagined;
I will be stronger,
hungrier,
I will make you yearn for me,
your unstable mistress-
holding your heart in my gripping tide
til I hold you forever at the bottom of my ire;
I will be your grave, sailor.

The wisdom of the world lies close,
in every ad and song;
Whispering  their coarse complaints
and their sweetly ****** sentiments,
that so hideously colored the very attitude
of the people once subjected
to its cheery caterwauling,
leering out from the nostalgic billboards.
The monstrous whining hum
of the spoiled cities
echoes loudly off the haunted bluffs
and peaks-
the abandoned parks
sit quietly,
simmering in discontent
and harboring flora
with a wicked unease;
seething with a desire,
a thirst for revenge,
that even in earth's creation
was never fully quenched;
The raging inferno dripping off the walls
in violent shades of fiery green and gold
strangles the life from this once bustling city-
creeping sneakily to reclaim
what humans thought to govern,
to control;
Turning the cities brown and vacant,
like the souls of the leaves scattered
on the naked cold ground.
Where once a city thrived,
and where Flora  takes her revenge;
purging the black polluted streets
with green oxygen and life;
Flora's revenge remains  
dedicated to this change-
In a city
of growing ruin.

Spin, spin my little spider
The traveler of the night;
The moonlight lies awaiting
For you to spin it right;
Each night you've concentrated,
Each night you've spun and spun
But must undo what you did
each time that morning comes.
So, spin my little spider-
Spin a web for me;
That you may learn, with great care-
The trade of the family.

Wild flowers bloom,
drenched in your smiling light,
happy to grow there
in your sheltering gaze;
Where the seasons are long
and carefree-
the cornfields are bright and yellow,
ripe with laughter,
With dappled shadows of merriment
streaking across the fields we explore together.
There is Indian Summer
in your eyes-
You see the clouds,
pearly white like fluffed cotton
and taste the breeze-
moist with the flavors of wild strawberries,
clover,
and honey;
I found this place in your heart
where I can join you,
and feel young enough for this world,
the one so big around us;
I'm here,
in your eyes;
In strawberry fields
that stretch across vast space and time,
reaching out to blanket my heart
in the sweet scent of lost reality;
drawing me into
your Indian Summer.

Cruel intentions,
laid bare on the table,
dim the sparkle of the champagne,
and the happy smiles slide off,
to fall forgotten
underneath the plates;
your foolish words sneak;
crawling like a snake,
over the rich desserts
laden with sickly sweet toppings,
around the silver spoons-
despising its own marred reflection
and spitting cruel poison onto the very fork I eat from.
Your insensitive words cut me to ribbons,
that you stuff in your pocket
to comfort your dry handkerchief,
where no regret exists for your callousness
or your betrayal;
and the pocket-watch
tick
tick
ticks away-
breaking the silence
after your cast-iron declaration;
You sit so coolly, relaxed;
when the walls that supported this house
are falling down around us-
the banisters and chandeliers frozen solid
by a wave of my cold-hearted fury.
When my pained voice cracks
the glacier above your head,
will you still smile and laugh
as you meet your doom?
Will cool water calm your throbbing ego,
poured so effortlessly by my hand
on to that perfect smile?
The water will fly,
and smother that sour sting
of your pride undisturbed,
Sweeping you off your feet,
and down the river,
where the refuse naturally goes.
You are not the only one who knows how to fight-
and yet,
you find relief in arrogance,
in a momentary victory,
believing you have already won-
But I see the truth of your stupidity-
for, only a  fool wages a war
that no one wins.

Cats
on the back of the couch,
live through the windows-
watching the happily fluttering birds
who seem unaware of the
hunting eyes
watching them;
listening through the ventilated screens,
waiting for the door to open-
to escape-
into the wide open outdoors;
To play and leap,
catch and hunt-
to be themselves
as they really are
inside;
a fierce tiger-
prowling the jungles,
proud and majestic,
blending as it hunts the deer...
a panther-
stalking the amazon,
listening to the waterfalls of rustling wings
and terrified heartbeats of small ones crouching in the brush...
a leopard-
running the edge of the savannah
eying the prey it so longingly watches…
A cat is a cat when the wild closes in,
When the wild inside
breaks free-
in my backyard.

Simple or elegant
Rich or detailed
a tapestry-
a bauble-
a candle burning slowly down........
a market place can sell it;
a jeweler can craft it;
an artist can paint it;
but the eyes alone can't see it.
Shaping,
the eyes will mold it,
into reason,
into sense;
but beauty lies within-
not in the eyes of the beholden,
as the phrase goes.
To truly see what lies around us,
we must first see beauty in ourselves.

Barren empty sidewalks
gray and unforgiving,
winding on in never-ending concrete roads;
making un-melodic thumping sounds
as my feet rhythmically step-
dance-
and twirl-
Cold and lifeless buildings,
garter-ed in girders of steel and glass;
reflecting everyone's business-
every nosy little thought,
every scathing deadly glance;
Steep towers of frozen brokers,
daggering into other's precious dreams,
and optimism-
like the person you used to be,
like the hopes you used to have.
Saber teeth tigers leer down from high ledges,
ready to pounce and **** out my resolve-
while I flutter-
whirl-
and waver-
in existence;
teetering on the edge of perception,
of failure;
There is no color in these devoid cities,
no happiness held in these forlorn faces,
no smiles to stoke a burnt-out heart;
Just me-
dancing-
twirling-
leaping-
hoping -
trying-
to make you remember yourself.

Sparkling gusts of silver wind
drive howling through the vale,
the skies are grey and somber
and the air grows foul and stale.
The barren trees stretch overhead,
guarding dark and light
against the winter nightmares,
and the dangers of the night.
The people huddle closely,
stoking fires to keep them warm,
as the snowflakes fall in silence
for a coming winter storm.
Thier frozen hands, thier tired eyes
remember ice and snow,
instead of grass and sunshine
when all things start to grow;
the laughing steps of children,
the hills that called and bade,
the dancing windy flowers
in a thousand different shades.
There in the long cold shadows,
a solemn vow is made-
that green grass will soon awaken,
and offer boughy shade.
For winter's time is ending,
the sounds of life, more than words;
when the piping call of feathers
in the branches high were heard.
Listen now, sad people;
all is not so dark-
the summer's breath's returning,
in the humble voice of larks.
So do not fear the weeks ahead,
the long, capricious cold-
for we are made a promise,
from days long dead and old.
Ice will give way to water,
and water will give us Spring;
Soon, it will be naught but mem'ries
as we celebrate new things.
So, cheer your hearts, my sisters-
soon dark will become light-
Our hearts will ease, our peace be real,
we will be alright.

There is a heart inside

this twisted beast's body

scarred

broken

and worn with ugly words

and memories-

but still here.

pitchforks and swords bar my path

lanterns light my shadow

long into the lonely night,

and the branding burns of unkind words

and fearful screams

sear tortuously into the still beating life

of this misshapen thing.

You stare,

and do not understand

how I could exist,

how I dare to draw breath

and upset your narrow-minded view of the world.

I am an abomination-

a freak-

and the mere glimpse of me

is enough to make you fear change.

you hunt me in your dreams,

and **** me in your nightmares,

determined to make this life of mine finish

before it has a chance to begin.

And still...

This heart beats,

hoping a bitter hope,

that someone,

someday,

will see through this exterior

to see the gentle soul beneath,

to love the human inside the beast.

A feeble chance still exists

to escape this cursed life

and become the man I always was.

Stand down,

you simple creature-

you judge before you know,

and care not to know the truth.

look in the mirror-

Bare your fangs

and muss your mane-

look deep in those dark eyes

full of fear

and self-loathing-

and recognize;

the beast is you.

The rising moon sheds light

on a similar soul

tarnished and pitted as much

as the hovering rock above it,

rising from the dust that shines in the warm midnight air

that pervades with a vibrant sense of life and learning.

This soul can become smooth,

refined by the furnaces that it has sat in for so long,

waiting for a touch to shape it

to fix the crooked, mishapen bits-

A thought ingintes,

burning away cobwebs and shadows

raging like wildfire through a conciousness

that sat like an empty house

ready for demolition,

returned by the burst of fire and passion

of an extinguished life rekindled.

Underneath the starlight,

hope and flames intertwine

in a glorious reckoning

of past, present and future-

Wings flap as hard as they can,

destined to lift the sagging esteem

and broken promises

off the ground into the beauteous glory of the waiting beyond.

A secret smile plays;

no one can see this-

a fireworks show meant only for me,

a flustered game of chance until now,

when I found myself

and remembered the truth-

I can be the phoenix of my own ruins.

They say that lightning strikes are one in a million.

Then how is it that every time

you hold my hand

or stare into my blushing face,

that a jolt,

of pure electricity

runs through our shared connection,

bound in tiny intricacies in our veins,

restless in our hearts,

our minds?

I would love to believe that,

that lightning only strikes at impossible odds-

but I can't,

not while I am touching you;

my own heart is a live wire and jumping into my throat

with the raw voltage

coursing through me-

terrifying,

exhilarating,

breathtaking-

and belies the science I know

will disagree with me.

It can never know

the passion of traveling at love's breakneck speed

believing in someone else,

trusting them to catch you when you burn up

or to push you up when you can't remember the light.

It could never know the terrible loss of energy

when the one you love hurts,

speared by insensitive sparks.

It could never know

life in all its tiny fractured facets,

believing that one answer is all that is needed-

that lightning is impossible to contain.

I laugh at the sheer ludicrousness though-

Me?

A human lightning strike?

ABSURD.

But you take my hand again,

promising so many good moments ahead,

so many beautiful ideas

and dreams together,

and my heart leaps-

flying and flipping in ecstasy-

and I know-

Lightning strikes are one in a million,

and I was lucky enough to be struck by yours.

thick like steel

these chains wrap in long miles of memories

around my screaming subconscious,

the sharp thorny barbs

of confusion and reflection

spearing my confidence and self esteem

til they bleed out over the cold floor-

leaving me empty inside.

I wish I trusted myself enough to stem to flow,

to stop the bleeding happiness

as it leaks out with all the other things-

but I wouldn't even know how,

that I will just sit here and watch as it floods the carpet

as my memories envelop me

replaying over and over in my head

clacking and clicking into place

like the wind on an old rickety fence-

the one that stands between me and madness.

I scrabble at the walls that cage me in,

determined to leave this wretched hell,

the one I created for myself,

so very long ago-

I WILL see the light again,

I WILL know the kiss of the sun again-

its only a matter of time til someone notices my torment

and comes to save me from myself.

I wish I could remember the times that were beautiful

the days that made me sway

like new saplings

in the capricious breezes of joy,

the moments that sang out with melodies

and harmonies

soothing the sad soul beneath;

but pain is all I can remember right now

and pain is all I reap-

and the only bright spark on the horizon

is the fluttering wings of hope-

the hope that you will save me,

because I can't save myself.

Wildflowers and dreams

grow equally

in fields and souls

waving and dancing in pairs

as the breeze swiftly blows through.

Maiden blossoms

kiss the bees lovingly

and give up their secrets,

one by one,

to the golden sun,

as I dance wildly across the dappled shadows.

You cannot catch me-

I defy you,

you mere mortal man-

I am not some trophy to win,

nor a doorstep to stoop on,

and I will never let you have me.

Yearning,

I will wait for the storms to pass

and the sheets of rain to lift,

revealing my prince-

drenched,

shivering,

cold with anticipation-

He may be rough and unrefined

he may be beaten and broken down

But I will know him when I see him-

for he will shine as bright as the flowers in my meadows

and will have a smile as refreshing

as a cool lake on a summer's day.

I will heal his cuts and bruises,

for they are nothing compared to the fact

that all you'd have me fix

is dinner.

I will bear with his temper and his bad manners

because yours are much, much worse.

I will love him as I could never love you-

you capricious fellow-

you would never stay happy

you would never say 'I love you'.

To you,

I am mere hunting spoils-

just another trapping of finery to collect.

I am ordinary to you-

But then,

that's because your beauty is only skin deep.

wringing hands

I worry

not knowing if the future comes too soon

if the past is too far away,

never certain of the outcome

never safe in my complacency.

I cannot leap without looking for answers,

cannot speak without contemplating the side effects

of a speech with too many pauses

cannot think without running through the paces

of over-reacting-

but can I live a life undecided

when I cannot even decide who I am?

I am one who is not finished,

still learning

still yearning;

I am one who knows the world,

but lives in it anyway,

blindly ignoring and accepting in tandem

the way people are,

they way the city doesn't breathe easy,

they way that no one is the same

and yet exactly alike.

I am one who creates

and destroys

sometimes in the same breath of exhaled air;

I am one who regrets

but moves forward,

who lives,

but never forgets.

I am one who is fearful of her own fate

while not believing that nothing is up for debate,

nothing is ever truly decided.

I am a organized wreck,

a beautiful mess-

I am me;

and I am fearful

that I like it that way.

You call my name

heedless of what the call will mean,

how I will see it through my eyes

how it will save a soul

that has broken and been sold

more times

and to more things

than it can count itself.

You cannot know the impact,

the ripple you will cause

in my deserted pond,

in my drying eyes-

but the innocence cannot lie,

and you are pure.

I doubt,

and I plague myself with worries-

Am I good enough?

What have I to gain?

To lose?

But you quell my racing questions

with a simple touch of redeeming beauty,

a quiet confidence in my ravaged self esteem

that defies logic,

assured that I am the one for you.

You listen to my complaints,

my excuses:

Changing was never easy,

and I never was good at trying,

but you smile,

knowing I will come down to earth soon enough.

I know I've been a devil,

and so do you-

a creature of spouting fountains of selfish vulgarity,

reaching and grasping for all that I could call mine-

refusing to be owned,

or settle for less.

You never cared about the past,

only about the present,

telling me to live one day at a time,

to live for the moment and wait until tomorrow.

But I cannot ignore the aching in my heart,

to be the woman you deserve,

the woman you need.

You call my name again,

melting the ice in my heart,

stoking the fire of determined devotion

that lay dormant for too long before you;

I cannot refuse your siren song,

your elixir of immortality-

it tugs and pulls at parts of me I thought had died,

in ways too profound and mysterious to explain.

I am yours,

for all time,

in all places, my wholesome angel.

Redeemed,

I know my place in the world,

here- at your side.

Rippling laughter

floats in my ears,

your silly smile and happy eyes

dancing in my minds eye,

echoed from my throat like bells

across a courtyard.

You lean in and kiss my lips mid-laugh,

closing them with passion and tempting ideas,

lacing your fingers in mine

as I try to wind them through your hair.

You whisper,

I love you;

your work-worn hands squeezing mine-

once,

twice

needing the tender reply from my delicate fingers

to show you that I love you too,

the words that mean the most to us

captured in a split second

of simple grazing touch.

You hold me close,

as I look into the deep fathoms

of the eyes that stoke my soul's fire,

the passionate spheres that first entranced me.

The world travels by,

time slowed to a crawl-

eyelashes blinking,

hearts racing,

hands holding-

It's just you and I here now,

all the other souls around us

mean nothing for this moment;

Hold me close,

and feel the promise

beating out in waves from my chest-

Hold me,

and feel my heart beat for you,

my love.

Shadows dance in your eyes

dark and sorrowful

as they draw me in slowly-

down,

down-

into their dusk filled portents.

down

past the shed tears

and the broken hearts

through the terrible trials

you've faced all alone

and wrong turns

on well worn paths-

down;

to the small child within

hiding in the comfortable bedsheets

staring at me with fragility,

clutching its lingering dreams to her chest

like a comforting teddy bear,

lost long ago.

Once i knew this face,

these eyes;

every morning  i rubbed the sleep from them

and stared them down smilingly in the mirror.

Now they are a stranger's;

dark, hollow-

hopeless.

When did they change,

and become part of someone I could not recognize?

When did the hopeful child I felt to be

stop dreaming

and give up on her world around her?

How do i find myself now,

in the these mirror-eyes?

Music

Like no other

alights upon my ears,

soft,

dainty,

and musical;

trumpeted like heralding angels

whispered like cherubims,

announcing your pleasure-

and mine-

at hearing you so happy;

trickling down

like deep, clear spring waters

bubbled up from underground reserves,

filtering through the muck and mud

of everyday life-

until its sinks beneath the loamy thoughts

of the surface I present.

I am unable to ignore this wonderful presence,

nor cover myself back up,

for it has laid bare my most hopeful intentions.

Ah,

what joy

like starlight

reflected on the still lake waters,

as the moon glimmers gently on the oars

and bow of the small boat on the surface,

with the entire heavens

as our companions,

you will put them all to shame;

I am envious of your carefree smile

and smooth white neck,

that glistens in the pale moonlight-

thrown back in beautiful abandon,

as rapturous as the ethereal and beautiful soul that sits beside me.

Ah,

your lips part in ecstatic joy,

making this moonlit scene more complete than before,

entrancing me and drawing my gaze

to the eyes that stop my heart

for moments at a time,

filling my soul with profound contentment;

I thought your smile was gorgeous,

and your eyes and lips exquisite-

but nothing,

not even the stars tonight,

could compare to your laughter.

This urge consumes me-

made necessary by circumstance

and misfortune,

made real by the real fear that follows me

down all of the streets,

around the corners I hide behind.

It is not a thing I desire,

not a thing I want to experience,

or face in a dark alley-way;

yet it is always there,

the travelers road-

waiting, listening

for signs of weakness.

It is the touch of madness in my mind,

the dark pits beneath my sleepless eyes-

the deep loathed wisdom in my bleeding heart

that speaks to me in the depths of night,

waking me from my already tainted sleep.

What it says are things I already know of-

no surprises or lies are contained inside its insidious whispering.

Sometimes,

I fall ill and devoid of courage,

and the travelers road appears,

with seemingly all the answers,

the only option.

Sometimes,

I resist,

straining against my own scared irrationality,

succeeding-

but just barely.

This is not the way I would have picked to go,

nor the scenery that I wished to see;

a tornado would have made a prettier mess

than the life I have laid to waste.

In the end,

there is no escaping my fate,

no fixing the past;

but perhaps I can linger longer this time,

and erase this traveler's mark.

You see me-
struggling beneath these crushing thoughts,
wriggling out from underneath the weight
of confusion
and regret.
You can practically hear
the sounds of my heart breaking;
splintering into tiny pieces,
shredding into strips of damaged trust
and broken beams of innocence-
but you can't do a thing.
You know that you can never repair the damage
or ever make things right;
You know you suppress your guilt
and hide it among sweet roses,
that you let grow in hopes to make amends.
So you must sit back,
and watch,
as the people around you crumble
like buildings,
hollowed out,
and ready to fall at your feet-
scheduled to be demolished.
I am waiting for the day
when your pride will evaporate,
and your strength will dwindle-
and your eyes will reflect a deep sadness
that no well or lake could dare imitate-
maybe then you will say you are sorry;
maybe then I will be whole again.
Til then,
I will struggle as you watch-
laboring to bring my heart to understanding,
and my mind to compassion,
waking up in the middle of the night
screaming-
lost in these floundering dreams.