Want is not of the most natural, always
And in line with the intended almost never found
Beneath the trees or above the sky
You'd be more in lost finding
Searching words for books
For in losing this you will surely find

Quiet lips
I want to kiss
More than any girl right now
I miss
The silent whispers in the trees
The quiet hour on the back of the moon
And my ears full of you
Miss nothingness
How your quiet lips find only words
And thoughts within
To manifest
How I miss you now like I’ve missed my room
And the space within
To acquiesce

Perspective is perspective based
As it takes no magnifying glass to find
That there are hidden worlds all around you to be found
Long lasting and prior existing
With Windows tall, and short, and high
If you'd only take the time to see them
And open your eyes
There's no telling what world next you'll be wandering through
Just to leave behind

(Of Me)

I have my eyes
My tested heart
And know not where else to find what flies
Beneath such Carnelian skies as these

An Easterling I’ve been all my life
Lost within memory until such days arrived

So I asked my God the other day
What should keep me here
Ought to make me say?

And I prayed he’d open up my eyes, be seen
My ears intent on what could be
No more than the simple rustling leaves

And then like an opal
There nestled within the rolling green  
Your words spoke in whispers like the hemlock trees

(To You)

And now, say not a word at present, please
My distant friend
If you are joyful and in sated bliss without me

Full of heart and with brimming mind
Contented with this newfound sky

But again, if you ever you find yourself free
Ever at ease
Devoid of attachment, soul, or being
Your essence adrift like the sun each morning
Before your first cold step into the dawn anew, then please

Don’t wait for the newborn leaves to color
Don’t search for the old lines in rearrangement to be  
Don’t wait for a second without such a thought
Since the one still waiting, is me

Be it regardless in passing
I wish you more than just well
More than a sunset sound to be quelled

Would you please be as well
And I will also

(Me)

I've since discovered — that the hardest part of seeing (with such unique perspective) is to see — what the person or pleasure actually is, and not what you think it is, was, meant, or could quite possibly be.

Until the sunlight bounced its last light
Off
Another gleaming face
And we
Looking up amidst the lenses
Memories bright as burning eyes
Puddling in skies
Above you see
And when the moon winked at us
Knowingly
We knew that it was alright to love

Are thoughts all the happier
When they think they're thought?
Or tucked away in a book pressed flat
And stored away for another day?
I think not
At least speaking for myself and for my own thoughts
They are quite demanding, unfolding
And unwilling to thought of as naught

Sit
Remove all cares
---------------------
Cut free the ties
Of prior strings
The jagged becoming of nothing
Which you were
---------------------
Becoming more
Of everything
Of all that is right
And just of being
Straight and narrow
Clean and keen
In this nothing chair
---------------------
Sit
Breathe again
The breath of escape
And cut my hair

This rain has met its match in me
Such short ends becoming nothing

Bursting I am lonely at all
Not a heartthrob

But tall as Pine and less of Willow

It’s just a breeze

I ache when you’re not here

Words are worth
Infinitely more
When they’re etched in your own currency
(time well spent)

You are the radience inside my heart
The warmth within my December hue
The fire above my hearth
Is you
As you're always burning, not the answer
But the voice which softens in the dark
The winds which whisper in the snow laden park
And speaks of secret ivory keyswere alive
Theses always were
Is you

tomorrow, Lord knows what I may become
but today I am all vibrance and fur
all electric fuzz and fire and fountains
stroke daringly, me, and see for yourself
the life

Death came to dinner
One day refusing to sit
As he was hungry
For more than the common man
He wanted time itself, this

Everyone believes in something

That they are the one
That they are someone
That they are nobody

Everyone believes in something

When you write
Write for no one
Or for someone
Never in between

If you could just see me when I'm alone
You might just fall in love me
The only problem is
That I don't let anyone see ME
When I'm alone

Don't hate the snow
Or the cold of life
  A breath is still your choice to breathe
And if you wanted to (so badly)
Noone is stopping you (but you)
  Maybe you should leave

Feelings like rain
fall regularly
flood haphazardly
and last sparingly

(on this human floor)

I could euphorically find and dive into a pleasure yet know by this good man, goodnight. But I won't.  

I could buy myself tastefully, everything I could ever want in this life, and be perfectly lost for but a second. I know.

I could kindle an old flame, stoking it bright, though all that would do is just burn us both.

I could go out, be seen, eat my fill or hide. And in pretending so know that no one else does.

I could try every old well-known thing under the sky and be unimpressed. I think.

Because the only thing that turns "I" away and doesn't circle back to "Me" is belief. Just belief.

Long strides
His flashing coattails on the countryside
Winding like a sight but for a desperate moment
No less in his footprints often found

But as a pumping heart with a walking pulse  
And a wondering mind no more contrived
He knows not yet instead
He decides

You are not just the hero within the pages of your own story. You are the vessel of intuition. The growing understanding of self-undiscovered, be it in the conscious or unconscious arena. Competing with all under the sun. You live not to forget or yourself become the great shining deeds by which you may never achieve relics. But to bear witness to the self and its finite attempts to grow steadily alongside the tree of life. And in standing therein, rooted, smile at your own death. Knowing a more practical end awaits you moving.

A yawn is not that
But an invitation to,
With sleepy eyes, wish

I suspect that I also am your old drug as well
It's just that you're clean
And ever cleaner than me
I suspect that's what commitment does to people
It keeps them clean
As clean as can be

How often do the clouds get looked at
For who they are
As compared to what you think you see?
In them and these?
If you would be so kind
As to opt into please
Would you commit this
Our memory
To memory
What do
You see
?

I fell from the sky
Ages ago
And that is why I like the rain
Because it reminds
And disguises that I, am not home again
Because when it rains
I can smell the clouds
I can even pretend
That I’m living in the sky again

A strong person
Although possibly repetitious
Is never the same
As the person they were
Before they became
Their current self
Because strength is change
And change is strength
In the arms of regular growth and application