Never will you know my pain
all the things i was supposed to gain

my heart could never sway
through my time away
know Ive realized what ive lost
we crossed some lines
and drawn the line
know I am home and still alone
hoping for that day
for my pain to go away
is it best to go away?

So siplme and sewet
yet so nescesray  
our letters juxtaposed
to make words non-imaginary

we read and define
strive to find the line
--------------------------------------
Where words stop being words
a literary crime

Our slang, out of control
tongues tangled, terrible truth
Txt spk bcmes natrl
It feels so uncouth

but what’s important is the form
of communication we seek
face to face, heart to heart,
a poem so meek
as to lighten the soul
and give hope to the lost
a poem is best
to.....

A flick of a wrist, floating harmony
Fingers dance, twist and sway
Pluck and strum
The chords shape so heartily and wholey
The air reverberates and shivers the spine
But surrounds you, a warm embrace of song
You feel so fine
As the grandeur grows and grows,
Rythm picks up tempo swaps and shifts fast slow fast faster
The minor mirrors your mind, that soft depressing tone
Another strum springs alive,
Your fingers pick up pace
Pluck, pluck, pluck pluck PLUCK

SNAP!!... twang, ping.
oh
You were playing with my heart-string
The music dies,
And so do i.

The poetry's dried up
Like a drop of water in the sahara
Any inspiration now evaporates
A thirst for words
Like cracked lips
Peel and sore

The rain came, washed down onto paper
Sorrows and sadness, splash
Drowning a page in rythm and wonder
The pitter patter beat
Giving life,
Where there wasn't before,
Saplings took to the ground
To soar ever higher into majestic beings

But now the acrid earth thirsts
Heels clack with rock under foot
The hacking of lungs as
Dust perfumes the air and
A ***** smell of burning lingers
Catching tightly at the back of your throat
Scorched ground gives way
To a seeming never-ending drought
Of words.

clutching at pebbles
thrown hard into sky as birds
bitter yolk of unceasing raindrop
ideals personified, then scattered in leaf
a coarse blending of the soul and what is
scream of forgotten swing alone in sunshine
a fear internalized, an unquenched song of watery despair and silence
pacing, pacing, toward and away from a melody that is
as intangible as balloons whispering to decaying stars
fading into nothingness, brief respite, void of sound, emptiness most
profoundly pierced with kaleidoscopic shards of senses and memory;
with music of blueberries, gleefully dropped
into tinny pails overflowing from wistfulness
with touch of unblossomed rosebuds admired,
unyielding like crabapples moist in calloused palms
with smell of tree, unrepentant and unchanging,
yet gnarled and longing, indistinct, uncertain
with taste of wind, speckled purity of truth elusive,
of realization categorized, of wispy but unrelenting passion
with the image of a hope
etched, recessed, scorned, repressed, grasped, suspended in song
the maybe’s and the why’s
the can’t’s and the shouldn’t’s
the have-to’s and the why’s
then slowly fingers defiantly uncurl from stone, in motion unrefined
and quietly, fervently; quietly, fervently, I begin to sing...
a mottled snapshot of my mind.