Just know
It’s OK
If your heart’s a thousand colors
Because my eyes have a thousand of their own

When I look into the sea
The dead of night midst new September
Staring back at me, I find
That I'm not scared
No, I'm terrified

Since I discovered this place
Since I took up that old mask again
To hide my boyish face

At least for an hour or two each week
I feel at home
Almost not alone
In a place where I may not belong

Like a crown of red
Six Emeralds in the sky
Rubies really
Burning each with its own pair of eyes

I mention this
Both because it is and will be
And one day someone else will see
Be it not in the same exact way

Which is fine

But thankfully at least they will see
Or so I hope
That is if, they permit me to show

As an old oak tree
Empties its arms in the fall of Autumn
So I must also empty my heart
In the springtime of this youthful you

After writing like this for many years
As a poet-try
You cannot help but grow a good bit
Like a poet-tree

Still your head
Steady it
Give yourself some time to react

Clear your eyes
And take a breath
Before you plunge back underneath
And immerse yourself
Within the mess

Envision how it has to be
And plan it out
Picture the objectivity

Would you see the future you’ll create
Just in front of you
A moment before it has to be

And then be fast
Like a lightning bolt
Let your hands and eyes simply react

And meet the ball most suddenly
To elicit the lightning
And make it crack

Picture this an you will be
All at once
Lightning fast

She tasted like the atmosphere
Deep, dark, and blue as the moon
Distant as the fading star in the northern most hemisphere
And yet each time I tasted her
I was reminded that there was no oxygen to be had in her

Shining bright
On my shoulder blades tonight
Until tomorrow is today
Would you let me stay
Wherever there is such a light

Tonight I get to do what I was meant to do
To be who I was meant to be
And although every eyeball in every line of sight may be fixated on me
For an hour or so
That doesn’t change the fact that I
Was meant to step out this stage and to bend like a bow
As I did in the days of old
Such talent is still stretched within me
That I should perform, and that I should play, most doggedly
Until the finely threaded twine within my mind begins to unwind
And I am straight as an arrow hence
Laying on the table before, how I once had said
That I hope I can return once more for that again
But not for this I said
Not for this

With hair falling before quiet ears
And mind bent steadily on pages of ink
Resting softly above the earth
Her chest rises and falls
In steady unison
Her pulse patters faintly like little feet
And with quiet eyes, she looks up suddenly at me
And winks

The mountains and the valleys, the rivers and streams of my childhood call out to me and tell me to return to them and swim again, down below the underneath.

My father loved the meadows. Loves the wildness and the wilderness and the winters growth which is yet to be seen, in both the deer and the withering trees.

And part of me remembers still. Because part of him will always be me.

Everytime I write, I write to prove something to myself. To reassure me and my kind that not all of thoughts are meant to stay inside of this head, this house, this old heart of mine.

Which is not to say that my thoughts could not be better expressed in some other way. As a matter of fact in the past they have. Which is why for years they did decline and always prefered to stay inside, to enjoy the corridors of a more well known mind.

And yet every day somehow I pull my thoughts and have them placed here now. Having warned them many years ago, that one day they would have to be more... Sociable, and honest with the world about where they would like to go.

Because if you only keep your thoughts to yourself, how can those around you be expected to help? As you press and press for something else, and somehow try and prove to yourself, that you can flip your own mind inside out and share about all that you create anew.  

It is the head within the house of my heart which knows these sentiments to be true.

Who knows where the heart of a man resides?
In the mountains?
In the sea?
In an empty chest like cavity?
Be it hers or mine?
Because who knows where the heart of a man resides?

With eyes to weep beneath the night
Neath trees which ought to've lasted ere
How sad it was for me to leave
Before such fullborn youthful tree
I'd turn myself once more, I could
And cry her name fullborn aloud
To catch my breath, and see her all
Before my Gondolin did fall

A beautiful notion isn't it?
Ironic even
The thought of waiting here like this
As if the act is somehow blessed with ease
When all around you is in motion
And you are as unstirring as the trees
Rooted deep within the mind
Looking at the other side
And seeing the blissful, beautiful ignorance
How often I wish it could be mine
That I had no such standards as this
And that I could swallow such a feeble line
Just like a fish
Nibbling on a willow wisp
In an ocean seemingly full of fish

Believe me…

I respect such idealism as this
Because I live with it
But to “just wait” and stay like this
At present holds little hope for me
Both to and from this someone else
There is no transfer, or passage of peace

Because these few years feel like an eternity

And so the term…
“The right one?”
Makes want to say...
“Oh please.”

Remeber when we were young?
When we thought we could light the world on fire with our tongues?
When we could lose ourselves in one another and we didn't care?
About anything...
So young
So dumb

Forget not
That at the lowest part of the humble path
Resides the divot
Which concurs and divides
Not passing feet
But yearns to keep the honest truth
Which is bestowed upon the earth
By means of rain
Teeming with life and oxygen
How it tries to keep itself within
Both without fail, and with inevitability
Because the water will certainly soak or sway
But the divot itself will forever stay
Embedded in the earthly clay
Beneath our walking feet
So forget not to tread lightly, ever so
On this, the placid soil underneath

Lay me out like tiles on a floor
Thrown down as if my order didn't matter
When really I am, the plan is me
A succinctly styled corridor
A path to walk down beneath the feet

Be like the wind

You are the wind

You don't bend or break

No procedures are in place for you

Run up against it, flow around

Not out of strength

But out of the hush

Out of the whistle

Out of sound

The wind is nothing

The wind is everything

More than anything that could ever be built

Because the wind will always be

Around

In every lung and every city

Whipping through the whistlers town

One day words will buy me a steak dinner.
Instead of me buying them another glass of wine.

Listen to the sky
To her daughter as they run
And play mold the earth
With waters and stirring clay
Do her rivers run alive

There will always be stupid people wherever you go.
And you'll always have to deal with them within whatever you do.
Stupid people are unavoidable,
They're like the tides, ***** dishes, or the flu.
But when you finally get to do something that you actually want to do.
It won't matter quite as much whatever the stupid people do.
They may be obnoxious or annoying,
But that shouldn't matter to you.
Because you're doing what you're doing,
As compared to something you weren't meant to do.
You see stupid people are everywhere,
And they shouldn't influence you.
Just let the stupid people go,
So that you don't become stupid too.

I love the Stars
Cold and distant burning warm on approaching day
Darker than the lover's heart once torn apart until the newfound comes
And ways present themselves

And in falling
Streaks across the sky proclaiming love of our atmosphere
With a tale of residue tagging along and just behind it's former way of life

And in our eyes seeing
A sparkle alive in this familiar, love found, way

A star entering loves atmosphere
Is what I see in the dawn of this new day

Think of what you want the most
To share with another human being
And if you can’t envision your lover there
Simply being
It will never be so

Expect not yourself
To see the world
For the way it truly is
At least at first

Because the world is full of so many things
And people who are ever changing

And the truth behind it all is this

*That one day all of these and we
Will be returned to the earth
Returned to the dirt
Or ashes depending upon the preference

I want to want her like a glass of wine
With an endless taste, and a deep draft
Waiting for me at the end of each day

Bitter and sweet like the summer tea  
With a hint of dandelions, and her hair brushed gently away   

Although this is me...you need not see, or want her in a similar way
But it's best if you could acquire the taste.

Because when you hold an endless glass
You can sit and sip your life away
Without care or concern for those moments past

Slowly like a semisweet
A Merlot or Chardonnay

How I want to want her like a glass of win
So that I can drink her in
And be drunk on her at the end of each day

Wherever they are
Would you let these thoughts and dreams profound
Settle to the base of your stomach

Like that stray grains of coffee grounds
Not filtered through the thinness of society
But strained through the fibers of the heart

Ever flowing from the the mind
Until the truth is boiled down
And at the bottom of the cup found

Just let me sit neath the wild blue yonder
Brooding like coffee on a quiet thought
With eyes full of horizons
I’m found in the lost

Nothing makes my heart sink
Faster to the bottom of this chest called ocean
Than a clueless defiance
A disregard for the most basic
The most respectful quiet

Rare metal doesn't substantiate
The substance within
Just as the height of a skyscraper is not the sky
But instead
Be just as you say you are
And am

When all my battles are won and done
I will not fear the fight that was
So why worry about the swing of the sword
Before the sun of that day is even in my eyes
Why worry indeed

When did I let this vocation of mine?
Which I've worked so hard for
Become the main reason and meaning of me?

When exactly did it happen
That my passion slipped and fell to the ground
Like the seasons passing on an endless tree?

I said I wouldn't forget once I had
I said many things of myself back then
Be it most confident or most arrogantly

A vow is a vow to those who uphold
But what are the words to the man within?
Who forgets himself in his own externalties

Though storms may come let songs remain
Despite the cites firm embrace

Take photographs to pass the time
As I do wait and part the glass which separates

The scraping skies and flying wings
Both above and below the shallow sea

Let us walk beside the crashing waves
Just you and I, to smell the air and sense the breeze

That we might once again be free

So many poets attack with words,
With the intent to hit you on the first line.
Like a clunky sword or strand of steel,
Which couldn't so much as break through twine.

To which I would say,
That you must first name and know yourself,
Or at least your opponent,
Before you try and sway or slay them with a single line.

Such poetry would mean to me,
Little more than a stick,
In a sword fight with a gigantic tree.

Try not to aim for the heart immediately,
But approach the chest,
And hum your bladed words through the air most rhythmically.
Until an opening you do see for such an acute verse as me.

Deliver then a heavy blow,
A fatal strike.
Which will leave the readers lying in the streets,
Bleeding out of relief and not out of agony and disbelief.

I'm so full right now so very warm
Like a coffee cup overflowing with ideas
I cannot wait to be off this road
I cannot wait to be onward with this journey
To create again and to let my words flow
Outward and into the microphone
How I cannot help but overflow
When the questions stored up inside my mind
May be answered so I might finally know
That is why I actually wish to overflow
So that in time I might just know

Life is grain broken
Barley thrashed and pulled apart at the seams of bread and beer

Grapeless wine
On tender loving vines in a budding vineyard still

Intent on being our sustenance from the start
Such things are born at the hands of man but by the will of Gods kind heart

There are certain people who are going places
Who are doing things even when they are standing still
Such people posses a tremendous will
To succeed and grow, to change and know
And then there are others, who are just standing still

When the newness wears off
And the distraction is no longer distracting enough
Where will you go?
In order to be reminded
That you are not alone?

One day I awoke
And in the mirror looked
Seeing not just myself
But you as well
And with a smile we
Went about our days
As two halves can only be
Themselves

Setting sun
Waning light
Pull the string on this bursting chest

Jump until it's perfectly timed
And fly
For just a moment in hanging past

I want you back?
I openly laugh
I’d like to have you at all
Because *that would be the end of *that

I am thunder
Silver fire
Felt like a hot tin roof beneath young feet
And scolding
Smoking like the copper wire
Paper on a guillotine
Slicing through an echo chamber
I am the terror of a plastic souls desire

That is
Until only bane of self remains
And all once again are made the same

I'm Convinced
That after the last fence post ends
Just over the edge

That around the corner beyond the meadow
Is the end

And beyond that
Is rain

Endless and resting
Forever to be parted from the sky

Until the new life comes
And I am refreshed

It is then
And within

Would you explore with me?
Until our own end?

Like a purple gem
Found deep within the Earths dark layers
Smooth as sandstone beneath rivers running
Warm as blackened pavement beneath summers sun

So this drink is to me
Most teasing of every sense and self
Which is why this cup cannot be
Most tasteful or worth

She made for me
The Best Raspberry Mocha On Earth