The days are longer with out
you, even when the sky is
blue, I only see grey.

I walk in your footsteps,
I remember every step you
took, and I walk them every day.

I never open the bedroom
window, as your scent still
floats around in the air, when
I sleep its like your next to
me even though you are not there.

I look after you, make sure its
tidy where you rest. I miss you
my love but i know your not
gone in some way you'll always
be here with me even though
your not there..

Two siblings walk, hand in hand,
Shoulder to shoulder,
their footsteps paving grass and stone
in wary gilding.
And when other footfalls trace their steps,
the feet will slip,
And the trail will have gone.

The siblings work in synchronization.
Unique independence,
Contrasting, and Dissimilar
both harmonizing in nature;
They tie knots in eyelashes,
Weave fine chain with obsidian,
and break nails with simple deeds.

I, with hands of hardened base,
and fingertips that stroke Saguaro spines-
Will reach for straw figures
with blank, witless features,
And cold tin men,
with ice coated *******-

And a sharp-edged shadow will bark at my heels.

When the dewdrops fall
on the rocky hard surface
of your grandparents face
as they find out what you're made of
drugs and ***, *** and drugs
is all you've been doing
to survive through the pain
of endless torture, aren't we all the same?
We look for the highs, we search for the lows
trying to determine what is our worth?
When the dewdrops fall
on your weathered parents faces
the stress that you've caused
make their hair gray in places
but they still adore you
through and through
until the end of time.

I didn't want to remember
but never tried to forget
and I almost didn't leave
yet I wouldn't go back
I wish I hadn't chosen
but wouldn't change a thing
I'm constantly humming a tune
yet without a song to sing
Feeling so claustrophobic
but afraid to venture outside
I'm sitting here hopefully
yet dwelling on goodbyes
I refuse to release more tears
but my eyes are brimming still
as I linger in warm thoughts
always confused about how I feel

I only write from the heart.
The characters in my words
   and the words in my thoughts
    are nestled there.
     This is not
       where I intend to store them
         they accumulate over time
           consistently they gather there,
  
                   words,

                 ready to form phrases
                describing events

               that touch me

             I am stirred
            so deeply at times
           that my insides 'feel' and 'pull'
          It can stop me in my tracks,

         that feeling

      almost like a physical pain

        So my thoughts are written
          from there

            that place

              not my mind

                interlaced and intermingled ..

                  with a soul ..

                    that fills me.

In the seat with the split window,
black cold metal blocked the road ahead,
the sliver of window from the seat infront of me
clouded and beaded with cold rain.
I'm only aware of what's passing me now --
what I've already passed.
None of it feels real, though.
The trees and roadside ditches seem to jump
like an old film
like thousands of pictures flashing in sequence.
The rain streaks making the scene flow not quite right.
A few seats behind me painted nails trace an empty smile
on the condensation.
Thousamds of raindrops rolled behind
two blank eyes and one hollow smile.
Yet,
the image never beaded and melted away,
even as she started to cry.
I watched the wind pet small waves
onto window puddles,
and flinched as pothole vibrations cut it apart.
As we lerch forward --
perhaps for a red light --
the puddle would run to an unseen place,
a place I could not see yet.

Not black or white
but something in between

Not happy or sad
a neutral human being

Not light or dark
a neutral day and time

Not rich or poor
but I have my money fine

Not one side or the other
I'm just the middle man

Not a diamond in the rough
just another grain of sand

~SB

Time, an absolute, yet relative.

During hardship, forlorn, moments:
it is slow, tick by tick… a lackadaisical jester.
As if tomorrow will never come,
as if hours felt like days,
as if you wish to immediately die.

The pain is unbearable, the torment treacherous.
Excruciating agony, with anticipation of therapy.
Permeating through the skin, right into the bones.
Every blood valves suffocating, each vessel about to burst.
Your train of thoughts, muddled in convulsion.
Pollution, Persuasion, Permission.
The three overlaps, the three intervenes, and the three clash.
Like loud bangs and rambunctious cymbals.
CLANG CLANG CLANG.
“Make it stop!”
Your thoughts deter your peace,
and your sickness prevents your happiness.
The insecurities and hate abolishes your well-being,
all you wanted to do was breathe.

We almost forgot that we had the right to breathe,
that oxygen was given as a gift to release.
Inhaling and exhaling should be a blessing,
and every minute should not be this stifling.

Sometimes we forget that time is against us,
and we are the enemies of ourselves.
Don’t continue living if you are actually dead,
but do things that make you alive so that when you die,
you will have no regrets.

Time is absolute, but you can also make it relative.

When the night falls
The crystal clear diamond of the sky
Rises far over the horizon
Of the deep blue deserted sea.

The North Star who shows us the way.
As the brightest of all the stars
He glows silent on the gigantic firmament.

The eternal light of the North Star
Touches our old gray souls
Gives us the power of the
Ancient long-forgotten gods.

Far away there is still so much.
Be our vigil and take us home.