A high opinion of ones self
Once held
Is of no concern
So long as truth is present
So long as justice is found
As it is better to hold understanding
Than to drop all standards
Due to the frivolities of others
In pursuit of the socially sound
State of being
Which so many profess to be profound
It is not
As I am

The day it's easy
To convey such depth
Is the invested day
Vested far beyond this
And is fiercely won

I hate the morning
Love the shadow eyes
So much
That I often forget to
To see the light of day
How bright it is
To feel
Amazed

What started as an echo wave
Reverberating across my moonlit lake
In hues of white and shining starlight gray
Has grown and flown, rippling like nether wings
As you've yet to be shown, yet shone another day

For you were eyes wide at the slightest path
Feet found friendly in the walking matter
And in the wake of Halley’s hue, unchanged
As if nothing out of reach were something real
Just as ripples of your sound, were, surreal and the same

As my own, but with a quake across my darkened veil
Darts a newfound thought in me
Of water, you see didn't see, did you?
That beneath the surface of this calm, I churn
Because of you and your distinct social sounds anew

I'm just saying
Your love song destroyed my universe
With it's crashing, falling, call, and crescendo growing tall
Into waters awake beneath the colors of sky
You are all that which matters to me this Fall

To this ripple, a memory
Goodbye

Truly exceptional people who do truly exceptional things, had the option to be ordinary every day. They just chose to pursue what they could never explain, but will always dream.

Real friends know who you are. And they don't take offense at you being you. They just account for it. See title.

The night sky lays out on its trampoline bed
With all it's stars and nebula friends
Looking down into eyes
Streaming looks pouring out
In admiration it is thus
How the night sky wishes upon us
That it had such strong feelings felt

The sky envies my friends
It told me so

Hear my voice when you read me
For when I write you I see words
And in knowing such, share
Being delivered about a week later
By a parcel service called self aware

I knock at my own door
For more than me
My closely held tiny dancer
I knock knowingly
Allowing you to listen in and answer

Hear my voice when you read me

Coffee smooth as scotch and butter
Tea to last an hour past
And wine as vineyards stretching out
Let's drink until the cows are stars
The comets turn cold coming home
As a shipping roost will do for us
Let's drink not though we must

Here one day
Wait, perhaps the next

Waiting is a most conscious thing
Though it's not me anymore

I don't want to wait another second
Without starting this conversation

Fitfully, I'm am the frosted earth
Cold as winter lace falling songlessly
Looking up at the sun in surface, longingly

How I wish to be a bright furnace now, fiery  
Holding fast to the solemn heat abound
Hopefully, within our bed to be found

Yet I am cold

In this river I pour out
A glass of lasts
Of water within me
To return as a well
And rejuvenate self
I must rise again in this earth
In order to be
I must go
I must sleep

A wonderful wave
Was that one
With focused crash and seady swell
Collar crest to ride and grasp
With raven hair and wavering curl
Her earthy eyes
A perfect tide for anyone born of waves
But as for my shores
I couldn't stand the neutrality of the sea
For the rest of my years
And just waved goodbye

The body never truly falls
Be it completely forward or back on itself
Because the body is so much bigger than just the one
Made up of ones nonetheless

When one man stumbles
Though it may reflect in small and personal pools of running water beneath
His falter is not of the body, the whole
For we are as one, and made up of ones
And when one man stumbles in his walk
Another man will always be there
To step up and catch his fall

For as he was in full, once one
Now we are in full, many as one

With him our unity never truly falls

Whispering into an envelope
It is sealed and slipped under your door
A small gift of song
An imperfect thing
Quiet and unassuming between ears
A sound which I’ve had and heard a thousand times before
And more and more
As it becomes
And in becoming yours

Your face was far more pleasing than
The dream of seeing almost surreal
So I slept away and slept away
To see you again
But for the life of me now
In this warm awkward hour afterwards
I cannot remember where I saw your face
The first time and for real

No dream was ever happenstance

Crows cackle at the edges of my eyelids
They goad me into wanting sleep
But my mind, my mind
Cares not for that most lesser need
Cause the sight of you to prove your existence
Means more than rest to me

Means more than the rest to me

Aimless words
   Were known to me
       In many few
During days like moons

     But you, but you
           Were a sunshine moment
    In a fleeting sky
Behind both eyes

And now our words
Would be like bees
    In pollinated thought
           And buzzing minds alive

Well traveled roads
Are not to be looked down upon
Are not always in being bad
Or even good

But they are well traveled
If you frequent them
And if your feet call for home
And out of your existence traced back there to where

Then in being and bound
There will be no shame
For it is as it would
As they should

Sighed
In revelation of
How sleeping waking is the same

Tampering like a kitten string
   Like a ball of yarn, I am, unwound
And in sinking now
   Into a bath of bygone grace
Of comings, and goings, and beings, and nothings
   As of made last night, late decisions by candles, unsound
Here in my weakness, drying, stretching out
   My tired mind unveiled to you
Go ahead with enjoyment
   My indulgence, go ahead
And have fun with me now

When the morning is an aging mist
Which catches deep inside my hollow chest
Like the sleep brought about once fast and past
Like smoke rings bellowing from a chimney stack
Ever emptying out

Until sky then holds no hands
And the earth will not coincide with any of mine
Once again, and so
I will not be found, let alone in peace reside  
So long as this morning mist persists in mind

Detachment has a name called me
I own it, and it is one of mine

The trick is not a trick at all
     Of self
           Of other
                 Of wanton desire
But in thIs and therein the I
Never be what err you cannot
And never have a reason to lie

I can see the way you'd remeber me
So clearly in my mind awake

I can see the truth before me fall
And into self and to its pieces break

Perfectly, flawlessly, lost
Still lost

Quietly, solemnly, sleeping
Still wake

Notably, publicly, making
Still waste

We are dying, arriving, and truly
Too late