With every glance and every sight
I lose the words due to fright
Filled with fear and trepidation
Her glow is different
an abberation

A heart alone
A soul unique
A moment together is all I seek

Grievous is the sight of a wilted rose
Fallen pedals lay at root’s feet
A graveyard of beauty faded,
headstones upon rows and rows.
Waning memories sprawled across Earth’s canvas
An army of life left to bear the weight.

No soul can escape the cycle we see
Paper doves fold into themselves,
left to sit flat and bare.

Yet before the loss settles,
Angels dive from the heavens
and hitch a ride on momentary whirlwinds
Conjured up by hearts of days gone.

On single saved breaths,
they whisper words of reassurance
With lips pressed to ear
So that their message will resonate
with booming notes of song,
reflective of their gravity.

Alluding to a plane of existence beyond the cycle
An existence not to be seen but felt
and known in absoluteness.

For tomorrow and the day next,
I forecast hoards of gray clouds,
intent on conquest of light.

But they can only hope to cover heaven’s beams for a time
For light is everlasting,
As echoes of love ones passed scatter
across the sky in loving luminescence.

Driven by an undying connection,
Souls of the departed lock arms
to hug and shield.

The more I know
the less I speak
For silent is the mountain
of wisdom’s peak.

Hair of black satin
Skin of white ivory
Where I do I begin to describe
The angel that might be

Eyes beyond piercing
A gaze that comforts yet shines
Her presence unearthly endearing
Words in a sentence could never define

I have a watch.
Movado with Roman dial, gold plating and a coffee-brown alligator grain leather band.

I have a pen.
Ballpoint with black ink, thin handle and a rosewood finish.

I have a notebook.
Moleskin with a leather bind, black cover and classically lined.

These things never change themselves.
Yet,
still they find a way to change me.

A sight so dreary
feet tremble, yet still he stands tall
Though his limbs be weary
they stand still, to resist the fall.

His vision clear
ever so attentive
Their vision clouded
ever so contentive

His actions move quickly
His actions are rash
Ignorant of feeling
they're gone in a dash

A man spends his life traversing a circle
Is he well traveled?
Or is he just worn?

Tears flow from my eyes
But matter cannot be created
Matter cannot be destroyed

If my tears hit my pillow
Are my tears for forever?
If my pillow is bound for certain demise

Will my tears seep into the ground
Will my tears nurture life
Will my tears end in beauty
despite being born in sorrowful strife

A lighthouse guard near a bumbling town
For with a vision so clear
he does look down

Each night,
my memories of you fade.
I miss the pain
because I miss the love
And I’d rather feel the pain
than to lose my thoughts of you.

A man,
a mirror,
and a light.

The perceptions of this man,
go beyond sight.

A projection of the mirror
is itself,
an image distorted.

A twisting of what is real.
An image contorted.

It is hard
when moral code
tells truth to abide,
on grounds of goodness.

To be good
is to be above average
on that scale

To be hard
is to be above average
on that scale

So I surmise
to be above average is a blessing

And the greatest blessings,
hold the greatest weights.

I always wish for what I have,
but do I always have what I wish for?

Does the tree feel pain with every leaf lost?
Does it hurt when the weight of snow cause branches to break off?
Does the ocean cringe with each crash of its waves?
Does it feel sorrow
for its depth an eternal grave
Does the mountain wound as water strips, flays and maims?
Does it cry as the wind reaves its pieces away?

Without you,
the night’s sky is black.
The stars are absent
and the moon hides itself away.
The sun ducks behind the cover of clouds,
and the clouds don’t grant me the comfort of their rain.

Tired shoulders and buckling knees
Loneliness grows and confidence flees

A struggle to find ample words
A soul unkempt and thoughts unheard

Each road appears too far a length
Yet he summons still, the fight & strength

For every hurdle he comes to face
His fire grows, his fuel his faith

A lonely traveler
A heart unwanted
A mind misunderstood

A road never taken
A stride too long
A pair of eyes fail to see the good

An action mistaken
A sentence not heard
A man in the know,
fails to do as he should

A grievance shouted
A feeling depleted
A man who'd follow the path,
if only he could

Through the darkness
there burns a light
It's flame swaying steadily
with focused slight
Darkness encompassing
a troublesome plight
Still the flame stands tall
with tenacious fight
The flame will continue to burn
It's heart forever
to illuminate the night

I close my eyes to thoughts of you
Every minute I dream
spent on thinking what to say,
what to do

Yet every time we meet
I forget it all.
My clarity takes flight
and my judgment is stalled

Absent of logical thought
only feeling remains
A combination of fear, of bliss, of sadness, of love

Faith and trust in the final destination
Pain in the path

You are the Sun
You are the heat
You are the Spring
in flower’s bloom

You are the trees
You are the leaves
You are the wind
a comforting breeze

You are the sky
You are the clouds
You are the grass
that stands so proud

You are the rain
You are the thunder
You are the lightning
that strikes deep down and deep under

You are the sea
You are the waves
You are the shore
that stands so brave

You are the moon
the light of night
You are the stars
that guide my sight

Floating aimlessly
a bottle amongst the tide
No course set
no direction in mind

Each wave its own experience
Each wave deeper than appearance

Wherever it lands will become its home
A place to rest its heart
A place to call its own

A terrific sadness entrenched deep within
Day turns to night
and loneliness begins

A fervent longing to be wished on, wanted and loved
A soul well traveled,
tainted and tarnished by mud

A nomadic heart been callously pounded,
plagued with terrible curse
Failures of the past deem him to be of no worth

When will this pain bring forth an end
Scarred memories to fade
A tired mind to slowly mend

Motivation in the moment
Sincere for a second but not in the next
though not done in conscious effort
A heart full of love tainted by semblance of hate
A strong moral compass and tremendous guilt
when direction strays
Is the desire to do good an intrinsic impetus  
Or is it done out of perception?

His day ends
His eyes begin to close
This a near certainty
This he does know

His eyes open
and for a brief moment they might forget
For peaceful sleep interrupted
by times of regret

What must he do to quell the unrest and pain
From acts of self he must refrain
His heart luminescent yet no-one sees the glow
They cannot see it as it is
but through his work it will show

If you feel alone
and everyone has felt alone
How alone could you be?

I used to think I knew
what normal was.
Then normal wasn't normal,
which isn’t normal.

Now I think I don't know where is left,
where is right.
Now I don't think I know where is up,
where is down.

There is a fine line
between faithful confidence
and hopeful grandiosity

Those who walk that line
are categorized in finality

On the result
of the side of which they first fall.

Even
if it was the wind.

The folly of men
Will forever be
man’s greatest strength

Within each storm lies tranquil eye
beckoning faithful path.

Many pulled into its wretches in dreams past

Offering their truths
only to then blur their meaning through finely-woven veils.

Showing the world whole
yet refusing to show its threads.

Standstilled moments in time allow for wishful minds to press face against window,
but long enough only
to see the destination.

For those who wish to take the path,
the eye echoes its message through faint  pulses.
In words seemingly without sound
which can only be surmised as clear on a higher plane.

The fundamentals needed to construct,
spoken in hushed tongue
and to be received through sight.

Only through understanding the function of all parts may the purpose make itself visible

To know the message is to live the message.
To commit to the path motivated by nothing other than blind faith.

Each step a pull into increasing whirlwinds of chaos
The ability to remind oneself of the faith that is blind

Bridging eyelid to eyelid as if laying pillows to final rest,
continuing on…

Stepping past the most intense waves
only to find nothing there.

To realize that that is the message.

To acknowledge the knowledge of one’s ability to maintain balance in an imbalanced world

To continue to step into the unknown,
motivated by faint echoes of those before

And for your journey to take their place as others will yours in days to come.

I used to have some
but now I have none

The more I try to do good
the more that has gone

I'm no longer loved
I'm no longer trusted

Like an axe to David
My statue is busted

Blinded by noise
And deafened by sight
The comings and goings of his day
build foundation on strifeful plight
Yet morning always comes
and still he continues to wake despite
His sorrows a part of him
but who he is whole
is a man of fight.

A silent end
To a silent day
Yet still, I go to bed
And so does come
thoughts and dreams astray

So I drink enough
to dull an active mind
For the day next has always come
And morning has always been far more kind

The sun sneaks to my window
and tip-toes past my blinds

And once again
to the call of light
I do arise

I wash my face with water  
but still,
I cannot scrub away the dirt beneath my eyes

And for a time, I might forget
as the night has always come.
So I lay my head down once more again
knowing the sun’s rays will be there
in the morning
to wake me up.

Feeling lost in a sober plane.
Feeling found in a drunken ether.

I wake up to find myself,
further away
from where I was the day before.

I cover arterial wounds of the heart and mind with bandaids.
I seek out suppression,
not solution.

There is a fire within me.
It is painful,
but fire
leaves the potential
for the growth of something more.
Though the promise of what could be,
does not make the feeling
any less painful.

I pour water on the fire.
But it is a grease fire,
so it grows with each dump of the bucket.

A residue made up from all my wrongs,
and all the times I’ve chosen not to act
in accordance of my morals.
What I know to be the right path
but chose the wrong path instead
because it was easier.

When I first poured water on the flames,
I thought it would help.
But the flames grew.
I knew then,
that water would do more harm than good.

Yet,
I continue my attempts to put it out,
but still with water
because there is a spigot
at my feet.

I wonder why I feel lost.
But I know I feel lost.

Am I lost,
because I am far from where I started?
Am I right to feel lost,
if my moral compass
has always been in working order?
If I’ve made the decision to take another path
time and time again,
even though I trust my moral compass
to be right in its direction?

Is me feeling lost,
meant to be?
Deemed as necessary
from something or someone
I do not understand?

Is me feeling lost,
meant to be,
so that I will discover
a home of the soul?
A home furnished with inner peace,
exterior painted with love
for all the passersby
to feel.