I reject you

Oh modern soulless

Hallow chest of a shell

Plundered socially left

And more negatively right

The swipe I say

Is a curse at best

On the men of this

No longer protruding

Less West

Aspiring
     To hope for you less
     To pray for you more
And…
     To take your name off the page that hangs
     Politely behind my former door
Aspiring is the word once more

I know I'm missing the sun
       Because all I can see
     Are the inside of these familiar windows
  No less alive
But much less bright

The night won’t look the same
        It hasn’t since
You up and walked the stars into another man’s cave
        Where your flames embrace
        A future warm without
        The same old sky of me
So cold

The deer, for one
Know better than to fraternize with humans
And their mechanistic ways
With coffee and love and oil to burn
Les their own natural pattern be disturbed
And lost
In our perceptive order and ignorance
Of the ways of the turning world
Beneath our very feet
They'd better not
Learn

Less than sun and more than sky
Which holds above the clouds untamed
More wild and freely kept than these
The rugged lylac enthused hillsides
Just beyond my reach
Which as a child ever passed me by
And nowso you are more to me
And will ever be such
Most wild and free beside
Me

In the stillness after all the distractions
Fade into the fading air

The hope of you
It dawns on me
Is it there to last
And in the darkness
Soften this once lonesome stare

All evenings end where the morning begins
And I am there

With a gentle voice
            Like blankets
         Fall

    Midst stars from flowing ceilings
  Glow
      With residing smile

          Into blackness of fear
     Unbeknownst no more
              Know

   What is joy
         To be a joyful sunset
     In the day of your child's life

We work to craft and build our being
So that being us is not a bore
A chore or miserable existence
Where we do not at least have
The smallest hope of being free

Set

Uniqueness
Oneness
Fullness soon

Is lost
Alone
Yet here with you

With memories
Skies
Call out
In all

Like birds
Begin
To fly
And then

With a sudden
Swift
And motion of night

It falls
And falls
To its own ignite

Ask not
How can I not be (today)
Ask what instead you need to create
Before it's too late (in this dying day)

The wishful dream of
Someone to be near is what
I answer when asked

I've been so quiet and tired
so cold and concerned
with somethingness
that all I want is warmth
and a nonexistence for a little bit

Just as birds envy trees for how they never seem to leave
And trees envy birds for how they move around

Deep waters envy shallows, and the shallows envy the dark abyss

And the stars, the stars, they envy us
Because we get up from our burning existence
And breathe after every time we fall down

Happiness is the obnoxious cousin of Joy. And her not coming around often is a blessing, not a curse.

I no longer have an old hearth to fire
An old flame to blow out
Let alone coal to kindle

I let all of those old memories go
Out and cold long ago
With my youthful desire

I've made way for you, future
So that I could burn anew

I wait
And wait anew

I told my heartbeat not to beat
To hold its breath in quietness
And keep its chest in evenness
I told my heartbeat not to beat
And yet it has betrayed me still
By not being even but in a mess

[at seeing you]

Humans look at books and see
A thousand opportunities
Pages to turn and how they could be seen
By the other eyes
Naturally

no amount of making
  or feigned revisions of life unlived
    can recall a sighted sky over the ocean
      or pull down a sunrise behind the mountains

      better to try and catch the stars which aren’t stars
    chase sleight of hand or tongue of minds unfold
  let alone myself alone in this
I am tired of being cold

Presence is a funny thing -

How I am and not aware of me, my being once been and what'll always be.

As an idealist, present is never enough for me.

Be it a wish of is, my being once been and what'll always be.

Whenever I answer before it turns quarter to three. It's not me.

But at night I am the moon, my being once been and what'll always be.

- In full, you see. Every night I am free.

Just a quick glance
A purple hue the wine a press
Dulcet and sweet
As it takes just an instant to confirm what she sees
That he is lost in waters
Deep in eyes shut
And unaware of all others in this lovers time

she would look at me like I had stars in my eyes
though I know not why, what I love is what I know
you see I love rustic hills, forgotten and still
i love breathing nothingness in, out the quiet, and the ease
i love freshly cut grass and forest meadows never meant to be tamed
i love the snapping fish most talkative and the slim bodies of waters beneath grasping trees
i love he quiet sky above the 3 a.m. streets
and the flickering candlelight whispering things
and above all of these things I hope not to love, is me
though that choice is a which I do heartily admire
and give it still my most willingness forward
if you'll see and let me also see
please do

I'm dying at this opportunity
trying not to think, as I
my old self would
with anxiousness and wonderous worry
at these days to hurry
so that this history might
rewrite itself
and this time, this time
might not pass us by

You are a head turn in a crowded station
A mere reflection in a city bus passing by
You with your life embued and color renewed
Like New York after the fall of a subtle June
You are ever growing effortlessly grown
Like bridges and high wires in the sunlit sky
You are stretching and cleverly reaching
Whispering quietly with easy by traffic side
Peacekeeping being of elvish beating
And your heart the very least of things
By which I would wish you too described

No words do the essence of your summer justice
All around and within song
Blessed is the man who sees such beauty each morning
And where it secretly resides

Though my rooftop knows
I am homeless still
Ever wandering in mind
Alone

My expectations
High as clouds
For self who I cannot possibly leave
Alone

I am annoyed by me

Saying I'm tired
Is an insult to sleep
Just as ignoring our what hasn't been said
Is a insult to me

Without (faith)

There is no sky to fall .
No earth to stand .
No breath to breathe .

Without (faith)
My self .
Isn't me .

No fear calls my name
quite like the opportunity of you
does.

And in remembering this, and in the failures that
let the truest of minds remain
alive.

For in the most quiet of conveniences found
there is only the one thing which I truly
distain.

And that being is of no importance or remembrance worthy, compared to the one who now calls my
name.

I am a sand sifter
A mountain top metal detector with quiet shoes
A fly caster
Comet thrower
And spitter of flames in deoxygenated rooms

I am time once sighted
Tree tops withering in the slow sun growth
And a mere stone’s throw away from diving into the waters called home

I am the feeling of being betwixt despair and hope
As if all true sand sifting shifters know
We just go, and by nights’ allure continually comb

And a comber kicks nothing without a rake

Makers will make
And create the most marvelous things
For their loved ones to enjoy
And for their own purposes purposed
To be found

But I do not make
Out of brick and stone
Out of mortar or meat or performance to the world of known

No

The worlds I create are within others
And through the stories of which
In their memories they
Will never be, or find themselves, alone

I build people
Not places

I can be a wave crashing upon your shore
But when the coastline shakes
And aches its back both towards and in, with force
That shakes me, moves my world