in the coming months the frost will pass
leaving green blades visible and new formed dirt paths
daisies and orchids will rise beneath heaven's light
but you, the wallflower, will wilt like its still winter, crippled in dismal fright
the fear of remaining alone
the fear of not knowing when you will become like the proud flowers that stand vibrant and grown
but as spring turns to summer and the clouds disappear
the wind will pick up, and send another wallflower's pedals through the air
so poor wallflower, do not fret
your roots have the strength of 1000 roses
the kind of beauty that could be carved into statuette  
you will survive when there is no rain
because you understand loneliness and unprecedented pain
so stay calm, oh wavering friend
water will still seep through your timid veins
and your brilliance will shine, even if its tangled in your inhibited chains

Set fire to my heart,
So my mind can see clearly.

Its ashes be so sparse,
That my judgement isn't cloudy.

Don't let embers fly off like fireflies,
Lest they spark my mind wrongly.

And lastly, please bury its ashes far away,
As its loss, too painful a memory.

We danced toward
each other's wounds

with gentle step
and touched inside

and now the bleeding
has resumed

and all this blood
is hard to hide.

Everyone's got their own to nurse
Every moment, every day
They lament in the verses of their curse
Daily... More would be incited to join the fray

They want to be seen and heard
They want to be consoled
From the petty absurd
To death's design enrolled

Counting on ready ears
And arms open wide
For me to wipe my tears
And be by their side

But I too, am living my own
I too, bleed my pen dry
I too, feel the misfit of my bones
I too, have my recurrent days to ply

I guess that's just being human
Expecting solace through words of grievance
We try so feebly to share the weight of burden
In the hopes that we'd plot our existence

I understand that the urge is great
So much so that we tend to forget
Others too, have had enough on their own plate
On which we pile our leftovers without regret

I am still here but.. It's time for some quiet
Be all I could be with minimal words said
For right now it's not working, this illusion of an outlet
Because I still see demons when I lay in bed

People can't do much with something so brittle
One could stay afloat if he learns to shout
I wish I could be more to everyone but I know so little...
Of what I feel so much about...

Suffering from keeping feelings bottled up inside.
Suffering from pride.
Suffering from drinking bottles and using them as guides.
Suffering from lies.

Suffering from failure, I've used one too many tries..
Suffering from cries.

A nomad in disguise..

Walking along the common folk hoping the tears dry.
On the edge of a steep cliff ..just hoping my fears fly..

hoping they spread wings, and glide over the plains..
pass thru all the Midwest and land somewhere in Maine..
Like....
Why doesn't my destiny manifest?.
I'm done living as an observer and analyst..

I often wondered why the dreams of mine seemed far..
Finally learning memories are more important than dreams are..

& thats word to the wise,
Though the wise will dispute my claim..
But you see, dreams come and go some never are seen again...

Yet memories, are stored, in the storage room of your mind,
Where you can see, your feelings played out though the brain is blind,
where you can nurture, and torture your own self at will,
where you know exactly where your skeletons are hidden and still....

Would you rather lose memories or dreams?
Perhaps i suffer from this dilemma, or so it seems...



Why not keep both? Asked Alexis one day...

A month later, the Fates music decided to play..
...
without warning, her life& dreams taken away..
now all i got is memories,
memories to suffer and pray.


-afj

For all the goodness this screen provides;
for its instant gratification;
for the evolved digital relay of self-published creativity;
for the immediate responses and comments
from half a world away.
For its space saving mastery.
I long to hold all your words, verses and rhymes intimately
within glossy or plain protective coat of hard card
Your spine dunked in the cup of palm
headcap to tail resting in crux of arm
or nestled like a lover upon lap.
I could take you to bed.
I want to thumb through your pages
Pages once mashed and pulped and pressed to dry.
I long to feel the weight of words physically
to smell the freshness along each hinge crease,
and caress the texture.
To return to those most fond
charactered with dogear
underlined with ballpoint
and pencilled margin notes.
Even the mild smudge of finger tip dirt
when I simply could not wait to picking you up before washing.
If only this screen was a page
One of millions ever changing
I could hold all your work close
and fall asleep with your words
waiting in rest beside me
always
beside
me....