Waves lapping at her ankles
Tidal footprints vanishing
As a seagull laughs above
Down on her sun kissed cheeks
That greet the ocean air
It cannot be
The tide that moves the ocean

And yet
There she was.

At first
She was
But a whisper in my heart
A singular beat
A fleeting moment
That grew monumentally
And
Surely now
Without her
I'd experience death

Controversially different in every single way
And these things that used to be merely extensions
Are moreover intertwined
Into what now is only so called life
So now really are we living or was it
At some point what we saw as life just
Simply changed or perhaps taken away
Yet we stay
Set in motion
Not even realizing what has came
And what is yet to come
Predisposed
To being perplexed
Preoccupied with insecurities
Addicted
To just the feeling of motivation
Being sickened by acting on it
Diseased by overnight success and lies about happiness

So
I do not wonder why
Some people have just simply
Turned around

Even the wealthiest man may become a whisper for it is not the measure of wealth that creates legends but the wealth of measures one takes to make a difference.

I have come to realize
This perpetuated feeling
Is neither unhappiness nor lack of joy
But a feeling of my own creation
That of boredom
Seeking out the next thing to fascinate
Only to yet again become bored
You see
I don’t really think sadness is a lack of happiness
It is a lack of fulfillment
It is the fact
That time and time again
Generation after generation
We teach happiness through gratification
Society has taught us to stop thinking
To stop feeling happiness without the minutia
The results are a stratification of people
And a difference now in
Humans
And Human Beings

They talk about love like an atlas
Places visited
Things done
Like love is a line between new places
And they often forget
About everything in-between
Destinations, fascinating and beautiful
But really how did you get there
What about all the wrong turns
And nowhere towns
Clear travels and gravel roads
See
Love isn’t an atlas
It is the rumble of the tires
A window rolled down
A road trip breeze
So forget about where
And ditch the map

This mind is troubled and hard to find
Muddled by drug and drink
Caught in some manic depressive state
Switching gears
No one to talk to about these demons inside
I know it’s just me talking to myself
But the voice I hear is unfamiliar
It has to be someone else
Trapped in my head
You see because I refuse to believe
That something’s really wrong with me

Love isn’t a good morning text
Or some other slanted
Minuscule gesture
It is a presence looming
Craving to capture you
Envelope you in your entirety
But here we are waiting on a rose
Or a gift
A letter
Perhaps if that’s what love has become
Then I will hope I find something better

Life is but a single moment
A flicker
Each a glimmer of imperfection
Because in that moment
We share the moments of others
And our imperfections conjoin
To create tragedies and love stories
So that
Even in death
Those moments echo on

Once upon a time I was young
Or that's how the story should go
But truth be told I've never felt that old
Others tell stories of youth
In wonder
Speaking about the glory years
And I hear about the past
And how they lived
While I'm still living it
And wonder
If the best stories never told
Are by those that decided
I won't die while still living
Because the best part of everything
Is simply
All the beginnings

Do I cross your mind
From time to time
Is it some stupid joke I told
Or a smell in the wind
For me
It's a dream keeping me up at night
As real and constant as your laugh
Although I feel thoughts of you with a pang of guilt
Wondering how I Should actually feel
We fall so easily for new faces
But it is more
It's brushing past one another
And deep silent looks
Sharing stories like childhood books
This seems almost too cliche
Maybe it doesn't exist
Except in dreams

So we live life
Live it with theses...
With these things...
These things...
So inaptly named
All the time
Wondering
Confused about things
Like why these photographs
Really aren't frozen memories
And looking back
On love and such
Realizing
It was so much more...
Much more than...
More than...
Words
Used to name things in the end

Greatness
Spoken of in silence
Hushed kindness

Turmoil
Yelled through gritted teeth
Bombastic trivialties

What did you hear that
No? It’s just the voices in my head again
They tend to act drunk and slightly belligerent
So excuse what I’m saying
I’m getting at something that they contemplated
If time is of the essence then we’re bound by intrinsic nature
A clock might have hands but the feeling couldn’t be stranger
Of the time slipping by even though my watch went dead
Did I finally **** time or was all it in my head
So we redefine what we think of these seconds
Measuring life merely bound by cosmic predispositions
So wait let me prepare a transition
About human nature and constructs of life
Does it all mean what comes from our head is true all the time
And what can be thought can exist in multi-dimensions
Are these words all made up
Or is that too odd to mention

Nine AM
Morning coffee multiplies
Erratic thoughts in this sleep deprived head
So please excuse what is about to be
Quite the stream of unconsciousness
While looking out this window at autumn leaves
Thinking of how it is not just the seasons that change
Or is it they stay the same
Just stuck on repeat
I suppose it really is all in all equal
And there is a little of every season in one another
That’s why there are Indian summers
But it’s more than that
Really
It is the embodiment of the idea
That change is merely temporary
Just as the caffeine now waking me
Will inevitably deteriorate back into
A tired sleepless state

Will words ever explain this perpetual breakdown
A cyclic pattern of relentless wondering
How is it once an earlier bird
Suddenly a night owl
Pessimism tangentially transitioned
To something a little less like rhetoric
This spiraling lifestyle suddenly a little less sickening

Does this seem acceptable

To be and not to be
And it seems this mind lately
Is gathering its ideals from some new unfathomable philosophy
Still no excuse for such obscurity in ones life

Surely

Broken bottle friends, some call it social alcoholism
Everyone’s famous, for the night at least
The value of signatures
Listed above names on bar receipts
Drug dealers playing in the street, what some might call shamanism
All it really is, just an eclectic collectivism
That leads to remarkable nights that aren’t remembered
Realizations that problems are just and our lives dredge on
Invincible for the night
Or perhaps
Just brave enough to embrace ones true self

What is life without something bigger
Are we at the top of the food chain
Or just larger than life
Or to obsessed with it
These mentalities are exasperating

Philosophically speaking

We’ve barely scratched the surface
Of what is called humanity

Honestly

People walk past and come around
So you think I’d never be lonely
But I’m stuck behind this glass

It’s easy to seem like its okay inside
You’d think it was obvious
From the other side

Now I’m painting these invisible walls
With the pain inside
Hoping things will change
If they can’t see inside

But I’m paralyzed, not by fear
Or anger
Or my rattled mind

Indifference has crept in
But people still don’t see
It haunting me
Through these glass halls

And I’m trying my best
But the paint
Just isn’t sticking

Now these glass walls
They’re just spattered messes
And invisible dead ends

And they see transparency
But I’m trapped
Behind these glass walls

Dreams
Reoccurring or
One night stands
Cause a pondering mind
To recompense
Not because
That was done
But only
If dreamed of
Only once

And the dreams
Are just that

My mind, Far from
A clear crystal lake
More like
A murky stream
Or muddled drink

Thoughts come,
Rippling away
Or perhaps
They were the pebbles
Causing the wake

The true trouble,
Discernment

Grieve
Oh grieve
Sweet Remedy
And be carried
Off
Into the breeze
Be bound
Spell bound
My
Oh so Captivating
Sweet Remedy
That empty feeling
Is just
So let yourself
Be Illuminated
Sweet Remedy
And when
You're out on a limb
Remember
It's always on a swing
*Sweet Remedy

War
Is Like
Water and Whiskey

Changing men
Every shot
Altering consciousness

The more
Shots one takes
The stronger the drink

War
Take a shot
Whiskey
Take another

And I wander
How many
People in bars
Are still
Waging war
In their minds

Poets do not work everyday
They write continually
But
To a poet
Antagonizing over paper
And word is life
And the words never cease!
Poets take obscurity
And slam it into reality
Like a ****
Simply
Growing out of the sidewalk
Is not just a ****
But a metaphor
It is almost maddening!
A love hate relationship
As cliche as they come
But poets carry on
And find hilarity in madness
And truth
When there is not much else

The wind is whispering
Much like the ideas
In between these lines of poetry
And there is no such thing as sleep
As the Sandman steals dreams
Leaving a crumb trail of thoughts
Throughout ones head
Opening up space
To figure out how things
Should be interpreted

Presence
It is always about presence
But everyone
Is a little absent
Of mind
A little absent
From time
To time

Once I was absent
In high school
Fiction lit
The teacher
Said I wasn’t present

Really I was
But I still got wrote up

I didn’t protest
Because his perception
Was absent
And I didn’t care much
Who thought I was
Present

I’ve been reduced
To watching limbs dangle
From trees
Outside these windows
And the dogs
They chase each others tails
We’re not that different either
Approachable
Loyal
Yet ignorant
But I feel
More sorry
For the man behind a desk
Doing relentless work
For supervisors
Really just
Shoveling excrement

I guess I envy the dog
At least they enjoy
Chasing each others tails

Perfection
Is the mirror image
Of a soul
The same
But opposite

That reflection
Is who you are
And
Who you are
Meant to be

Drinking my morning coffee
Well
Closer to afternoon
As last night bled over
Into the day
And out the window
The neighbors argue
Over trash in the yard

Not the kids playing
I’m not that cynical
But literal trash

And a thought
Comes to mind
As this coffee
And neurons
Collide
Of an argument
Over who lost
A lighter

Now I’m remembering
It was my pocket
With the hole

As was the trash
In the yard

Glasses
Across the table
Staring
They stare back
judgmentally
I might add
And pardon the pun
It is
A spectacle
To behold
A staring contest
Between me
And my glasses

Have I repented
To the point of fault
Am I blind
To my own goodness
Do I not
Want to let myself succeed
Perhaps all this time
It has been myself
Who consistently disagrees
With my own ideas

I must be resistant
To my own existence

It is called a crush
Because there is weight
Behind their essence
And it is suffocating
To be in their presence

“No man ever steps in the same river twice
For it's not the same river
And he's not the same man”
Heraclitus was right
Change does endure
But alas
The water may change but
The river will not cease to be a river
And
A man’s mind may be changed but
Man will not cease being human

I don't love anyone
But I am
Passionate toward others
I am infatuated or enamored
Maybe I experience
A yearning for others
Perhaps I am devoted
Enchanted
Or hold others
In high regard
Or maybe I am
A little cowboy
Hankering for you
Or perhaps I am
A little Disney
Enchanted by you
Or it could be I am
A little short of will power
And you are my weakness
Maybe its my birthday
And you could be my cake
You could say
You are my delight
But I am never in love
Because really
Why should I only use
A four letter word
To tell others how I feel

To think
Timing is everything
And sweet heart
By the time you read this
It probably
Won’t mean a thing
But there comes a time
Where everyone must admit
That they have grown attached
This is not emotional
It is just a matter of fact
That you made a choice
While I stood still

Let’s get lost
But only for the moment
Let’s disappear
But only into the future
Let’s be
But only with each other

The Devil asked me
Sell your soul
For the love of your life
And I laughed as I replied
*Maybe if I had it
But she already stole it

Time
Subtly counting the seconds
Hopelessly loosing oneself
In utter endless distractions
Only to realize
The count was lost
And the time has passed
Left breathless
Again one begins
Subtly counting the seconds
Focused on the task at hand
To only become lost again
And realize
The moment has passed
And it is time
To call the watch repairman

I've been attending my funeral
In this new reoccurring dream
It seems even my subconscious
Is growing tired
Of this Low self esteem
And the man behind the gun
Is just the man in the mirror
I've even started praying to god
That  this muddled vision of my future
Might become a little clearer
Because this gift I've been given
Is like a malnourished seed
All this time waiting for flowers or trees
But left there at my headstone
Just a pile of weeds

Small and quaint
But felt like a mansion
For so long I never knew
Just how much they gave away
Comfortable places to sleep
And food filled plates
How little they had
But still the richest in my eyes
Several generations sleeping on floors
Tracking in mud
Now of course
I leave my shoes at the door
The rooms are still filled now
Even in their age
And the food is still delicious
And the rooms still warm
Who knew such a small place
Could hold such a big part of my heart
It has never just been my grandparents home
It has been their bed and breakfast
And there is always a vacant room

Therein the hearth lies warmth
The warmth of a long old fire
That burns with such fragrance and love
Warming generations
And some say
It's just an old wood stove
Cast iron
Two double hinged doors
One covered with tin
Glass busted and gone long ago
The other door
Ornate stained glass
Blazoned with family memories
Even in the summer a gathering place
And some say
It's just an old wood stove
What care given to stoke the flame
Just to keep the family warm
Day and night it never dimmed
And everyone still gathers around it
Countless years burned by one family
And some would still say
*It's just an old wood stove

These ideas
Like singularities
Infinitely dense
Violently
Collapsing in
And
The Mind
Is just another Universe
Dominated by
Chaotic
Contraction and expansion
Another thought is born
While another ends
And the gravity
Of some minds
Captivate
Others celestial bodies

Listening
To the ever so quite
Transitioning
Of ideas
Slipping into blissful
Ignorance
And the echoing  
Of this parasitic
Interdependence
And everything is
Just another wavelength
Stretching its existence
To the edge of outer space

Dreams have become
Literally
Quite lyrically
Lately
Drifting away
On a bed of melodies
Listening to the songs
Of past memories
Bringing around
An air of clarity
And it seems
The subconscious bleeds
Figuratively
Over into reality
As I find myself awake
Singing songs I've never heard

She left
In the middle of a clear night
Saying
You have better chance
Of counting all the stars in the sky
Then me ever coming back
So I guess
I'll be counting stars
The rest of my life
Hoping if I count long enough
She might really come back

In  
      sight
                 Exists
                        Significance
Insightful
          ­       Significant
                                   Existence
Signifies
                Existential
                                  In­sight

*Insignificant Existence

Seeing is further from believing
Them my face from the stars
And though quite literally
It is just my brain interpreting
What I am supposedly seeing
I believe in disbelief
As the trail from
The flickering shooting star
Slowly burns out
To die
But only in my eyes

Lately
I've tried
To gain some clarity
In my life
I even stopped writing
But odd strings of sentences
Still haunt me
And sleepless nights
Seem to be filled with
Endless thoughts
Of nonsense
Even dreams are
Jumbled puzzles
Of misdirection
And I just smile madly through it all