i feel like the walking dead
rotten thoughts calling often
no stopping the stalking dread
crossing over from my coffin

bury me deeper

just a corpse, looking back
maggots feasting on the placid
no stopping the pulling black
passing over from my casket

(20 minute poetry)

Everything is possible

That first step is probably the hardest one.

The deeper you've been
makes the light seem
more inviting
and biting the bullet to
take that first step is exciting in a dreadful
sort of way.

Everything can possibly be
I look in the mirror and see
it's the truth.

When the lights go out and the wind whistles
when your head's so full of thistles and thorns
It's hard to believe
you can move on and leave it behind you.

and it
is what never finds you if you don't let it
back
in

everything is everywhere
that
you want it to be

I look in the mirror
locked into me
and see
it's the truth.

(20 minute poetry)

An ocean inside and we all ride the waves.

In the flow of it we grow a bit
we sink then we swim a bit
sink or swim
this ocean resides
in us all.

The rise and the fall.

The breakers that take us
far beyond any boundary
found in you
found in me

an ocean inside
where we glide on those dreams
where all is as it seems,

not forgetting the storms or the gales
when we hang into the wind and onto the coat tails of those gone before

and the ocean touches a shore
where it pours out its heart
this is the start of it
we sink and then swim
a bit
and then
swim a bit more.

I'm tired of the past,
the decisions I made,
tenfold I've expressed
displeasure of every action,
but every fraction of pleading
is never enough to rid
minds of tattered bedsheets,
or the hues that make up
the painting I've been
trying to erase,
but these colours dont run,
and there's ink coloured umbrage
in these veins and it flows
at piqued destinations,
sitting behind eyes
that see to well,
today, I know will
eventually become the past,
but I've been trying to
drag the pigment
of yesterday into something
tomorrow won't look back on,
and tow a sodden eraser
over wet ink,
I can promise that
I've changed and
no where in the book
written by regret
does it say
that anyone will believe me,
and I'm beginning
to accept that,
everyday I have to stare
at intangible scars left
by blades tipped
with foretimes
and the ringing of
these wind chimes are becoming
white and I'm getting tired,
it's putting me to sleep
and I've given up on
counting sheep because
the breeze of attempting to
forget my past is soothing enough,
these colours dont run,
and I wonder if tomorrow
I'll wake up in colorant sheets.

There was a dream. A dream of a
long road that led to
a rock. Beside the rock was a
snake and the pigeon
were meeting there,
the hummingbird
and crocodile were
resting before the grass,
and darkness was behind
us.

The hills were flat
and the deserts was covered in roses.
The land was filled with animals of
every kind in perfect unity surrounded
by a lights of beauty and wonder filled all
along the rivers and trees, calming the
world with grace and glory and awe.

My mother were there and father,
my friends some which at a time
were my enemies, and my people
gathered waiting for me.
I was home. I was home.

The eternal honey from the rock,
poured upon our feast,
love and light overwhelmed
the atmosphere.

In turn, fear's face was crushed,
tears and pain was a forgotten memory,
illness and disorder was alien, and the colors
of seven thousand rainbows danced in the air.

The surface of music sounded so perfect,
flowers sung around our yards and
rivers of waters between our mansions that we lived in,
and perfect praise was upon our lips.

We were robed in glory and our hearts magnified
the living Lord, our thoughts were pure,
and our bodies were perfectly whole.
My house was filled with glory and perfect love,
perfect love. I was home.

Then I saw fire which echoed
the sound of the world before the room
where the Lord stood, and there was chaos
in the land before where He heard the Earth's cries.

The movement, and passion of the Lord's
tears filled this one room, and brought me
in such distress, what room was this?

I heard people's homes were torn apart by rage and
hatred, men were slaughtered and women
ravaged, echoes of countless babies
tore through the Lord's heart.
The sound of curses stung his eyes,
and rebellion ripped his veins,
we heard the devil's laughter,
and people worshiping evil.
The Lord wept.

I shouted, "Lord what can we do, we must
do something, is there something we can do?"

He said nothing.

And the river of blood in his eyes, filled
with such compassion and heavy warmth,
almost like honey.

He held my hand, and then finally
replied, "I sent my only son to save the world,
for how I love them, so that
no one may fall but have an everlasting life . "

And then suddenly I woke up with
His tears in my eyes.

Filled with perfect love, I arose
from my bed. I ran outside
picked up a rock
headed toward that road.

I've used up the speed I used to need
Running hard at walls
All I got was blood and snot
And a boot in the *****
But it's not over
Nothing's done
Oh no
The fight goes on

I've had knock backs from throwbacks
And been ridiculed by imbeciles
Half wits have had their say too
But I will never give in
The fight goes on
On and on
Until I change their minds

                                         By Phil Roberts

It is the bitterness of failure that makes success' sweetness.

You can find The Biology Of Strangeness  and my other books at my Amazon Author’s Page: www.amazon.com/author/mikeessig. You can get print or ebook. Read for free with Amazon Prime.

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Here is a chance to feed a poet’s starving cat. Not as much fun as sleeping with the poet, but more important.

Off to Minnesota to my God Son’s wedding. See you on Thursday. :) Mike

with one foot on yesterday and the other on tomorrow I'm ******* all over the day