Summer glow softens to autumn gold
And leaves become brittle to the changes
Of winters white blanket of cold

Head and heart compete with choices almost made
As love struggles to argue with valid reason
Neither prepared to give in to risks, evenly weighed

Winter chill covers the summer warm
Choice is made, and logic sends an artic shiver
Into a burning heart, love is silenced under the icy chloroform

Almost touched the never ending of us, nearly begun
But love is a rainbow arch that needs its mirror
My head saw, what my heart denied, there was no reflection

If words were pastels colors
And my pen a painters brush
I'd write for you
A masterpiece
On my canvas
Stark and white

A canopy
In shades of blue
High clouds
In wisps of white
No threat of rain
Do they hold
Nor filter out the sun


Then the background...
An Ocean vast
far as eye can see
It offers no colors of its own
But steals from sky above

Next some sail boats
in the wind.
Some near,
some far from shore
With bright and playful
Bellowed sails
Just like a child's toy

Adding depth
To canvas' still
I'd paint some waves
in rhyme
Reaching forth
with frothy brows
Curling towards
The beckoning shore

A gull or two,
or five or more
Black streaks
on unseen breeze
No details needed
To Them defined
Painted free in flight are they

While others aves
when tide is low
Search for shells or *****
A feast
Are painted not as streaks
Of black
But in details to be seen

But still my painting's
Though sublime, and grand
As you might read it's lines
There's something lacking
For your minds eye
That would add
A personal touch

Ah, it's you
On sand of white
Your dress catching  
breezes soft
A woven hat to block
sun's rays
Being held
by your right hand

Arms, legs
And feet so tan
Beach chair
Umbrella furled
Glistening lotion
Though applied
Goes Unnoticeable to reader's eyes

So now that my palette 's
Job is done
brushstrokes of ink had dried
I stand back eyes closed
Take a breath
And sigh a sigh of why
Why we write in words and pose
Instead of paint and brush
It's because our minds
And thoughts are more
Then a canvas can ever hold

lately,
my heart
has been louder
even in echo than my head and
i am here
trying to navigate the oceans between
too much and not
enough.

looking ever-closer to where i think
the peaks of mountains
can be measured between fingertips;
measured between dividers;
backed by a steady needle’s weight.

a sea claimed Bering
through a marshy coastline
lit only by oil and torch -
where buoyancy can balance
treacherous watery routes and  
rough, shaky hands can trace the  
pulling of sails through knots
towards the exhaling light of an imminent shore.

though i am unsure of the differences between finger-lengths,
am i holding back
because i cannot accurately predict
the pulls of the moon;
the swells of tides;
the seasons of rough storms?

perhaps even the spark of embers against my heaving backbone -
and what of the humming gears of sentience
in my chest?

am i holding back because
what i lay in permanence always meets
a spray of waves?
the crash of undercurrents against the breath leaving
your lips? -

currents that unapologetically meet
the rise of the earth and the
curve of your back
forcing the Weems
to stretch for topography that maybe even my knees cannot lock against.

go down with the ship,
i will swallow the grasp reflex that builds
in my throat and in my palms.

a million times over i will meet the breaking of every tensile structure in my body
if it means catching your swell.

and like the greek merchant’s ship cast deep into the dead sea’s belly,
i will be overcome with every ounce of your pressure
even if every time
i am fated to lose the rise and fall of my lungs to salt water;
to a watery grave;
to knit sheets and a sailor’s prayer;
a promise of ever-lasting life.

to be alone
in the darkest of bright days
to sit in lost
of sight of any fun
to be by yourself
and cry in the rain
whispering
"silence is vain"
it hurts
it eats you away
until your nothing
but just a memory
"silence is vain"
you repeat
day after day
till noting seems
to sit still
alone
in the darkest
of the very brightest days
dont you see her
in the corner
whispering
"silence is vain"

i dread the day you learn
for the first time that
you can't just love all
the darkness in me away

and no matter how much
you care i will still toss
and turn at night and scars
might still appear on my skin

i dread the day you realize
that you can't cure me
and sometimes all you can do
is stand next to me and
hold my hand through fog
pouring out of my ears so black
and thick we can't even see
each other's faces

i dread the days i can't
get out of bed
the days you want to
take me out and all
i can manage is a prettified
shell of myself

i dread the day you learn
that sometimes no matter
how hard i try i still can't
pull myself together

the day you learn that
there isn't an answer
you can give that will
save me from my fears

you aren't the first person
who has tried to love the
darkness inside away
my family and friends
have given it their all
but someday you too will learn
that if love could
cure mental illness
the world would be
a much better place

waves tickled
her pale, cracked feet.
the salt filled air
felt so largely sweet.

the wind breezed against
the skin of her burning back.
as the sun took a closing toll,
the winds slowly slacked.

the pumpkin glow rayed
on her ***** blonde hair.
it lightly glazed
on her soft skin so fair.

the porcelain moon
glistened on the waves so brisk.
onto her warm, ivory skin
lay the soft, moist mist.