if I gave you a penny
              could I catch a kiss.

if I gave you a smile
             could I catch your lips.

If I gave you my breath
             could you hear my words.

If I gave you my heart
             could you hear its love.

If I gave you everything of me
             could you give it back..

If is to short a word to use,
          could you just look at me
saying the words *"I love you,

He knew the ache could not be recompensed
they knew it too the moment echoes fell silent
There was already not enough love
in a world grown dark as darkest past

It wasn't the color of his skin nor dialect
or the  journey of a  thousand  miles
Not the place that he'd come from
       back when ―  left behind

             nor a heart of gold,  
      that never became a home

The colour of  unwritten silence
had  eclipsed  the waning  light
On the run from who he'd become;
     ashamed for all he was,  
couldn't erase a lifetime that felt a waste ―
               trying to untie a Gordian knot

He saw his body as an entombing barbwire cage
    imprisoning  a  wellspring  of  love writhing deep therein

Immured at arms length from the outside world
    where  the soul of a teardrop  abides  within
                         its insignificance

Shielding the  inherent  maelstrom
                          from the innocent passersby
Buried thoughtfully for the greater good of all ―
for the unsatiated dream boundless love betides

Written  artifacts  exhumed  like  ***** secrets
a lifetime of stigma's stain swept under the rug;
just whispered words written from an unfinished life
few ever really looked deeply between the twisted lines
arising from the soul of just another passing stranger

The long road begets a suffocating silence
choking out,           extinguished love inhumed
Ashes  of what once had been life aglow of light
               forevermore shrouded
          like the dark side of the moon



rivers

It only seems like yesterday,
When I look at the camera and took this selfie
The waves rush up against our feet,
everything seem to be complete and carefree,
Tonight I ponder, I hold onto the memories

This is not a goodbye poem, this is a memorable piece
Accepting loneliness without judging;
Accepting failure without, feeling humiliated
I can smell the sea air;
I can taste the salt in my tears tonight

Everyone smiles in the same language
Not everyone hurts the same way

When at the peak voltage
streetlights **** the stars
and behind closed doors
rumbling slumbers
down the cries of the nocturne
awakes a world of opened windows.

Home from the last show
eyes colored with screen idols
shadows huddling over supper
talk of the length and worth
the plot intrigues and intricacies
the creator's whims and fantasies
while unbeknownst the night lengthens
tiring the shadows
that excavate the trash bin's bottom
for living through the morrow.

The filaments feel lonelier
as those last windows shut down
starlight wasted
on an enveloped town.

Looking at you, I've missed my train of thought.
Forever blue, earth in a flowerpot.

I saw you today
and my heart felt sad
sad for what could have been
what never will be

we made eye contact
and in those few seconds
there was so much I wish
I could convey

just give me a chance
just give me a chance
just give me a chance

but you looked away
and I kept walking

Turning the page
has never been
as rewarding as
it is with her.

Finally I've
started a
new chapter
that's actually
worth reading.

The kind of book
that has me eager
to learn what
happens next.

We miss many skips when jumping,
not realizing that they'd
       hung themselves on the old oak.

The playground was empty of smiles,
just mummified emotions
        buried within themselves.

Were just jumping off steps,
to the cold pavement awaiting us,
          Our tombstones of lives last jump

Lying at my feet the outstretched remains of where I was,
silhouettes fragmented beyond their holding.
Naïve in the realization that this could have been
retained any longer than this.

I kept it within this vase, never watering it hoping
it would wither, but somethings don't die.
Petals would dwindle and stagnate where they
had collected in the shallow corners of dejection.

Jagged portraits painted on the ground were fading
to nothingness. As I walked away that vase of
depleted meanings, of fading desolation now were
singular from me.
                     I was never holding it again, I'm now free.