Your will is nothing
When I'm yet young and living
My own will-be done

Ensnaring eyes no more be seen
But the memory of you
This power over me
Since the first I see
In dreams

The snow how it flies
The raindrops which weep and cry
The sunlight rays keep
And the breeze which tries to speak
All have this in common

(Those things which tell us were alive)

Remember the time I stopped by your town
Just to sit myself down and think about you?

Where you were
What you meant
What you thought
And if you knew or wanted to know

Of me and where I was
My thoughts or what for me
(rang out eternal and true)

No, in retrospect
I remember the time I went to your town
I remember it now and yet you never knew

Life, the earth
Like traffic lights
Yurn, regardless of you
Your direction of self

And based on perception
We all stop
We all go
And get *******

If I knew, I'd know
And if I did, it would've already been - done

A stretched of highway in my forehead
A road to travel
I will, must
Be it conscious or in sleepness
I too shall go
I will
I must

Don't tell me you were just a dream
That the skies you showed me were not bright
As dawn could eventually be.

And in growing day don't for a moment say
That our eyes were not brightened
By the sight of each other.

That our time was not spent wisely in
These discussions spanned
By the making of flowers grow again.

We power the world
We spin the tides
With just the understanding behind our different colored eyes.

Don't tell me you were just a dream
Now that my mind is certainly open wide
Like moons over the mountains high.

The ache is a wish — would you let me stay
Just to wallow in this mirrored time
For a little bit longer by each others side?

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

I want to burn every day
Like the sunlight in August until the end
When the October sky says no more to time
And the earth stands still as I know it in holding will

Until that day arrives
I want this burning in my life

From a window I saw an Oriole bright
When my eyes were young
And my prospects light

On a breeze of fancy fluttered her wings
And with a flicker of power
She flew away

And I hadn't though about her wings
Or how on the wind she would glide and sway
Until today, until today

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

Like the dark cold which seeps
Through the base edges of the windowsill
Quietly and without self control
Or even the willingness to be instilled

So you seep through me like winters thaw
My bones alive with heat

And here with just the brushing glance where I thought I was safe
You seep

You're either in the path of the demon
Facing down the fear forthcoming
That or away you're running
And I am done with that
As a being forthcoming
About who I want
In this caution  
Of none
I will
Be

Ghostly shadows are consumed in little bites by winter's snow. Sparking alive in moonlight gleam, without so much as a firey wave. But moreso gentle with watery winds which blow.

No place to hide beneath root and stem. No aching hand without feelings felt, in the heart of it all where such steadiness flows.

Without single eyelash out of place, it remains in time and simple sight, the center of this most orbital glow.

And globe.

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

There is a difference when
  A man writes to write
  When he is looking to be
  Or not

When he is drawn out slowly
  Or even enticed
  By similar thought

The difference wherein
  Be it seen or not
  Is available still in the smiling thee

In the unbiased quiet of wishing
  Of wells

And in the sky of an almost knowing singular hope
  Beneath wings of birds once free indeed
  Once driven from the land of having
  Or wandering into lost passages tall

Therewith burning fiery glowing alone
  You should know
  That he does speak his own tone

And if he gives you these
  Such seas and oceans of well known
  Then be pleased

For it is you who he then loves alone
  Most ardent and true
  In an earthy word song definitively long
  And in the thought of throng, it is you alight

For there is a difference when
  A man writes to write
  And when he doesn't, he is wrong

There are days when breathing is not a thought.
And others where breathing is all I wish to be.
Present.
Me.

This tall ivory tower itself
Would will itself to fall
If it understood and heard
The winds of all thoughts
Rushing here around

We were meant to be stone
Meant to be (in our oneness thoughts)
Alone

Two heart-strong lovers
Unknown to one another
Except really
In the realm of self within
And the sharing of begin

Why is it so hard for me?
To imagine what I can be
To hope upon another day
But also stumbling pointlessly
My soul dissipating like wisps of smoke
Enchanted clouds alive elope
Maybe is this something of a joke



(Written by two friends and myself, just one line at a time)

to hold your image (in my mind)
is more difficult than I could know,
or you, could even begin to search,
[let alone find]

to hold a hand (once not your own)
no self can lend a moments peace
when searching for a hold in stone
[a fragile piece]

a gift is not always to keep

mhmm...

There are those who swim
Through stone and oak
And cannot speak a word to crowds
Nor care to feel what urchins lost
Or seek to speak what cannot be found

I am, I'm not
They are, they is

But the difference in being is none of this
The difference is just what is
And is

Less is such a human word

A cloud is your salvation shown
People a drug
....
In the focus of your selfless self
What wonderful distraction, who?

In looking sees just above the trees
That all is white, and gray, and blue
...
Just out of reach and occasionally seen
There is no peace, even when alone

With occasional rain and blotted sun
Such light and bouncing white renewed
...
It's a constant reminder of what is above
And what beneath you cannot do

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