I am living in the ruins
of a
broken heart

A halo of transfigured light.
     spanned the hills and autumn gold
of scores of aspen groves
     basking in the morning sun.

But what is this thing we call a rainbow?
     For all our science talk of vapor,
refraction and angle of the sun
     we surrender still in willing captivity
to its beauty, mystery and myth.

Rainbows beguile by their fleeting rarity
      as ephemeral as life itself -
temporal blessings suspended in time
      unintended and undeserved,
spectral bridges between here and there -
       between what is and what should be.

Loneliness is a feeling
That encompasses my very being.

Nobody really cares
It doesn't matter if I'm here or there.

Don't worry your family
"You're in school, you're fine"

But this isn't okay.
I don't want to feel this way day after day.

Connect with a friend, reach out for support
But silence has blocked me, built a secure fort.

I'm tired of being hopelessly alone.

I don't believe that any body on this site is aware of my recent diagnosis of Huntington Disease and I wanted to get the chance to let  all of you guys know and even though it has been a while since I have written anything new I still wanted to share it with you guys. I will let you guys know more as things progress but if you have any questions to ask about it just shoot me a message in this post and I will try to answer them as honestly as possible. I have come to enjoy your poetry and I have appreciated any positive comments you have left on my poetry too so I at least wanted to give you guys the heads up about it and where I am at with it.

There are some nights when
sleep plays coy,
aloof and disdainful.
And all the wiles
that I employ to win
its service to my side
are useless as wounded pride,
and much more painful.

Praise to the emptiness that blanks out existence. Existence:
This place made from our love for that emptiness!

Yet somehow comes emptiness,
this existence goes.

Praise to that happening, over and over!
For years I pulled my own existence out of emptiness.

Then one swoop, one swing of the arm,
that work is over.

Free of who I was, free of presence, free of dangerous fear, hope,
free of mountainous wanting.

The here-and-now mountain is a tiny piece of a piece of straw
blown off into emptiness.

These words I'm saying so much begin to lose meaning:
Existence, emptiness, mountain, straw:

Words and what they try to say swept
out the window, down the slant of the roof.