I feel the cold inside my fingers
Trying to turn them into Steel
Like notches on an arrowhead
My joints will not yield
To the bending ways of the steering wheel

Metal and plastic, ice and ore
Barrel beneath my soaking shoes
And I the driver of this Ford
Try desperately to warm
Be it not to you

The grass, fearing lots,
Packed up and headed southwest
Having snowy thoughts

Cold as moonless sun
Close as stars
Far off as city streets
Swept apart by the combing of the beach

Mere steps away
From the sandy sea
Is the salty churning stairwell down
Into the depths

But there no answers are to be found
Just like here
Only sounds
Are the words to me

Cold candy
Pop rocks bursting in the morning hail

My mouth a mess and mind untested
Tired and still

The morning reaches out to me
But nothing gets better at this time of day

I wish my words could carry me
Like I carry a them, away

As the sky looks back to return my surprise
With almost longing and lingering eyes
I am enchanted now by what I see
Just beyond the clouds within the sky  
Not a nebula of precarious height
But a collective unit (almost) organized
How they absolutely are and alive
How the creator created them all to burn
In such a particular direction and light
Would you repaint the picture that is my life?
To better reflect the collectedness
And the calmness found in this cold night

A slight draw
With jawbones peaked

Another day revealed

Revealed to be cold
And cold with cold
On this mountaintop

Yet no wind remains
To appeal to me

I will not yield

This place is not my home
It's just the first place that I chose
A quiet corner of the world
A noisy hall of brick and stone

My quiet comfort is in you
A window seat, a quiet room
A place to eat beside a fire
The distant sound of passing shoes

You are both safe and insecure
Much like the students here before
I am a mark upon your wall
I am a figure behind your door

Within assignments I am tied
Within this desk I find my mind
And though my memories will fade
I hope these words surpass the time

-SS

One with the earth
Some days so much
That I cannot help but smile
At our collective being

And then other days away
I would rather be
As I'm not one of you
I see

No coloring known
Is such as described by man
Ever seen alive

Rain has not the weight of snow
In freeing me from this human coil
It whispers quick
Its children come and go
And I am left with puddles everywhere
To fade in suncast alone
Heavy on the longing
Light on the being true
When all I want is a day to do nothing at all
That or another glance of you

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
?

God is good.
He uses all things for good.
I trust in him when things are good.
And I will trust in him when things are not so good.
It's a good thing to know that he is good.
Or else I would be good and stuck.
A good-for-nothing vagabond or a good for little son in law.
Yet I am good because God is good.
And though I'm not always so good he's so good to me.
It feels soooo good that God is good.
Makes me feel good so many times.
It's so true, that God is good all the time and all the time God is good.
So good for you and good for me.
Even good for God in his complexities.
He is far too good and gracious to be.
And he's far too good for the likes of me.

Like a beautiful window in a summer home that's now closed to you. And the only memory that remains is the last day before before this new autumn view. Unseen is the growing day of this memory between me and you.

I thought about me, long before I became me. And though I am here, I believe, this is where I was meant to be.

You are not bound by your genetics, only inclined by them. You can change, your degrees, to a degree.

I find.

We are all inclined

I know you're running
Never still
Because I can see your feet
From this distance beneath
I know you're running
Even still

I Am Comprised
Not of stars
Or of seas
Or of trees
But of leaves
Because I fade
And will Fall
To these
Winter winds

The hope comes around
Like the twilight gleaming
And flickers in eyes unbeknownst to each other’s being

Beautiful silence
Beautiful sound
Stop thinking you can be saved by this
Another noise in the city
Another quiet little town

You can't be saved by your own hand

That's why he reaches out

When you find it
Put your finger on it
And press it down on the table before you
All you want is it, over and over again
For that present moment of non-suffering
To continue on
And to never end

I love the warmth of heart as a home run is hit in the July heat.
The simmer on the weathering skin by the Carolina beach.
The grilling asphalt beneath the feet of the inquisitive kid.

But above all of this, both prestated and said.

I love the old worn wintery ways, the weathery, the cold and gray.
Where the days are as short as the ticks of a clock.
And the words turn slower somehow in due time.
Like the mirror's edge, I end and yet, know that I age a little less in the wintertime.

The most addictive substance
Known to man
Is no man at all
Nor a compound unleashed

But a woman found
And with whom quietly you can
Atop corner seats and within window cafes
Speak

As if no air had ever passed between

For old times sake
Old minds sake
Rewind and scratch the sidewalk
With a wingtip gliding by fake
With old kitten lips pressed to the reed
And the quiet patter of kickdrum feet
Would you play it one more time for me?
With the chattering of Ivory teeth nearby
Would you let the Cool Jazz river run deep?

Perhaps I am mistaken
Perhaps you are not as you seem in the light of day
Glimmering like the Pyrite on the infinite cliff
On the edges of which you keep me, ever at bay
Because after all of the crystal
And shale has been stripped away
And the quartz, the granite, the limestone pale
Have fallen to the earth beneath
To be crushed underneath the walking waves
Perhaps then I will see you shine on a barren day
And my eyes will be better for the sight
Even if your worth is not in gold
But as I fear it might be, in clay

Have courage
In darkness
Only death
Can take away
Your every sense

All that I want, and think that would be best to be, right now, is out in front of me. Presented here within these words, which I crafted deep from within. And to say that I in some way, am too much for you right now. That is cowardice towards what ere could be. So don't claim to know what a word really means, when you want to craft alongside a wordsmith like me.

Crash
Like hopes
Midst falling waves
Encircling the outer banks

Built
Like timberus structures
Known only to man
Which pass

Fall
Like Autumn
On a chorus of empty ears
In distant monologues

Rise
Like metaphors
In a cautious Spring
Learning to last

When the waves come crashing over you...and the saltwater fills your mouth.

When you've turned like a towel in the washer of life...and your thought is nowhere to be found.

When it seems almost hopeless to surface again. As your fall was predestined from birth.

In these moments find self in the memory of WHY...as each wave knows its place on the earth.

Handle your words with caution
Your impressions with care
Because words can impress
And compress the impressionable
Like metors on the surface of self
You may never know
The value, the worth
Or the cost of such words
On another persons earth

It is September
And this mountiantop mind
Cannot make itself up
Or make itself out of the true sight
That this warming snow exists

We are not entitled to exciting things.

Neither sunrise, nor sunset waits for any human hand.
It simply is, and you must be there to capture it, if you want, and you can.

Lest you complain, that you have been given a lesser chance than another man.

To live your life without the sleep you need, and sacrifice your hands and feet.
In pursuit of something far short of eternity.
I call that a distraction.

On your game again, you cannot help but play again.
Obsession mixed with practice, is but a single means of expressing passion.
Which may or may not be, for you, a form of extraction.

Pulling yourself from the reality of a dissatisfactory life.
Softening the blow to take, and heading down the wrong direction.
Time and time again, for goodness sake….

This life, this journey, will always be full of such mistakes.

But to let your doubts drive you away,
To let your fear of the unknown, leech the very passion of your life away,
By means of distraction.

That my friends, is a failure of action.
A surrender to the reaction of taking a check, and spending your small fraction.  
When every day, you’d grow in spirit, if you'd only renegade with your your passion.

Staggering home after half a day, while trying simply to escape, the prior day's’ inability and inaction.

But I digress. Remember this.

We are not entitled to live exciting lives of interaction.

We must first create and encourage, not inhibit,
The excitement within others,
Which motivates them towards their own action.

This my friends, is the very nature of passion.

Be not mistaken
I'm here as a creator
Your words hold no sway
Over my designer's eyes
So keep them in your own lines

You make me smile like a smart chess move
With anticipation no less intriguing
You are the stroke of ivory in the lingering key of whatever tune has been most on my mind

Your heart must be yellow as a sunflower warm
As it melts away and slowly warms
The winter of my mind turned cold

And now, amidst the houring fields
Where this sound once was young
How it is only my wish for the time to grow old