There is over three thousand miles
of mental distance set between us,
but I am just trying to talk to you.

I am trying to flip the biblical script,
overturn the binary political ideals
and help you all throw out your doubt
about the roundness of our planet.

I am attempting to use verbal cues
and poetic clues to get you
to see human empathy trumps
ancient mythology,
and science is more of a savoir
then your made up guy on a cross
who claimed he will save you later,
but didn’t set up an appointment
or provide any real proof that he was anointed.

Despite the fact that I know you lack
any willingness to see beyond
the religion and politics you have settled on,
I am still trying to get you to see me
a man who honestly wants to believe that we
can be a better bunch of humans being
despite all the evidence to the contrary.

Our future is as bright,
as the dimming night lights,
those praying parking lot bulbs
that burnout before they
ever get the chance to blow.

Tomorrow will be
something to see,
something which I believe
will come with or without me.

As time moves on,
some may fall back
while others spring forward.
I hope they recall that
I wrote poetry with love.

I wasn’t the first person on earth
and I am certain
I won’t be the last one
left here hurting.

My heart’s hope may be
slightly decreasing
and conditionally
provided in writing.

I know I can’t save us all,
but this is just a small
anthem of rhymes to call
my loving brethren
to arms.

Goodnight,
and my affections to
all of you who
are still around
when this poem is found.

I'm often reminiscent of times,
When my grandpa used to
Take me out on his bicycle,
We were just roaming around
His tunes always left me spellbound.
But it was so pure
He was one of those people for whom
Money held no allure
He was a man of passion and music,
He was a poet
But I didn't know it
He gave, not just with his words
But also his soul,
Even when he didn't have much control.
I would always ask him for a candy
I remember once he even gave me a sip of brandy
He never said no to me asking for a toy
He often considered me his blue-eyed boy
He would stop all his work and writing
Just to play with me outside,
Whether clear skies or lightning
Now that he's no more
I miss him and the lessons he tried to instil within me
But more than that
I often miss that genuine connection
With someone who understood so much,
But still cared enough to smile and laugh along
The man with a golden touch
With him, I was happy as the day is long.
The world will be a much better place
If we all could learn to live our life
With his grace.

I have sought silent moments of wet grief
to give myself that salty brine relief,
wetted white sheets then fell asleep
to find that time had gifted me
with emotion’s soft reprieve.

I have lived and lost, paid the cost
of all that was depressing,
obsessing over what I was possessing
and what was possessing me,

and in those moments, I have learned
quite a few lessons,

like I cannot get back one spent second
pursuing goals that might not come to fruition,
materials things should not be my mission,
and if I am not enjoying the journey
then this trip is not for me.

I have also realized; I am my own light.  
Even though there is darkness if this life
the greatest victory I can achieve
is acts kindness against the inevitable black
that will swallow and take all of us back.

She is there to distract,
to stretch out relaxed
and be in fact
something that detracts
from the calming acts
of meditation.

She is not the elevation
of my being,
nor the spectacular apogee
becoming
the ****** of my life.

She is not perfect,
nor should she be,
nor is she
responsible for
completing me.

Though time may take
old lines and replace
them on her aging face
with strange wrinkles,
and body parts will sag,
and heartbeats will lag
till mortality steals
all that we are,
emotions and will.

She is not the best
or worse of anything.
She merely exists,
passing complexity
temporary curiosity
that will not sate
or devour me completely
no matter how pretty
she may be.

I need
my vitamin
b-12
musician
nutrition
to energize me
while I sit and listen.

Art is as essential,
as amminos
for growing
musical
muscles.

I need
my poetry
energy,
to keep moving
and informing
every forming
bit of my being.

If I hope to succeed
in whatever I endeavor
I pursue,
other people’s artistry
is the nourishment,
I need to do
what I want to do.

Time carves us all from the inside,
people recognize faces
but do not realize no one
is who they were the day before.
Every loss, every victory, chipping pieces off
like tiny stones quietly slipping over the edge.
Sometimes I want to wear my growth
Like a new dress.
Sometimes I want to share my scars
Like a name tag,
have you call me by my real name,
let the world love me without judgement.
No one escapes pain, so what’s the point in small talk.
We all share a bed with the shape of everything we’ve ever lost,
so I don’t want to talk about the weather.

Dream is
the loveliness
of deep thoughts
I know naught
freeing themselves
from my unconsciousness,

lips unsealing,
the cool blue
feeling of healing
affections,

nightmare forms
stretched and
elongated
feared and hated
at the same time
I know they came from
my sick mind.

Dull to exciting,
inviting strange lighting
to illuminate
that which will not wait
in the dusty cupboard
of my old mother Hubbard
soon to be empty
closets,

the closest thing
to revelations
that I have ever seen,
sadly
I am frequently forgetting,
even though I know
sometimes that is a blessing.

-
When the screams are silent
And the illusion’s louder
But in a fleeting moment
Reality finally broke in
Causing the facade of
Illusion to collapse
Without warnings.
One could find oneself
Fighting within
To confront the unacceptable
Truth , that
My life is fading away
Right before my eyes and
With few remaining hopes.
And lately as my legs collapsing
Fallen from underneath me
Like my hair during chemo
I’ve felt just how much
I have been holding
Onto fear,  despite living from
My heart, from the light.
Despite telling myself
Not to given into the dark side
Of this journey,
Despite my attempts trying
To convince my mind
My body and my soul
That I have let go of all fears
Convincing myself that I was
Like a great magician and that
I can make all illnesses disappear,
By operating from a place of light
Like the moon, my mentor.
Sometimes having to create
A psychological cage
In my head ,
To keep my thoughts
From wandering and wander
From my canvas of illusion.
Until, recently all has flushed away.
But truth remains
One would never know
Unless I unfold
The rough drawings
Of my life sketchbook,
To even notice my pain
My sufferance In
Between the lines.
Because in my head
Like a great artist
I decide what I paint
I decide what you see
I decide what I believe
I am, I am
A imperfect artist
Who has painted a self portrait
Full of light
Full of hope
So amazingly bright and surprisingly good enough
For even the world's greatest art critique
To notice my cracks on the white canvas.