How do you measure
What can't be seen
The heart of a man
The in of between
The conscience that follows
When something's done wrong
How do you measure
The depth of a poem

How do you measure
The day you must face
If it's taken for granted
If it's given in grace
Or measure a seed
That has yet to show growth
How do you measure
What you do not know

How do you measure
The hour before late
The width of a shoulder
Where a tear is laid
The inkling of an idea
The moment it's made
How do you measure
Love before it's given away

How do you measure
The chill of the wind
The guilt of the pleasure
That comes from within
The sliver of light
Before the sun has it's say
How do you measure
The end of the day

I miss writing,
Writing the happy poems,
the ones before my mind left me.

The ones about fantasy,
about the me I desired to become.

All those have left this brain of mine,
The reality forbids I cross this threshold.
I know the truth in all, crushing the dreams I once had.

I am no longer confused, just curious.
I know not what I should.

I have lost myself,
and can never be found.
*To this realm I am eternally bound.

I can't be your first love
The one who's name waits on your tongue
To lash out and remind me
I am small within her shadow

I can't be your first love
With mocha skin
Red wine dripped lips
And the touch that may still creep into your dreams

I can't be the first love
You waited months to kiss
In a firework glow
(I wanted you more, God only knows)

I can't be the first love
Who captured you
With artemis' grace
And her goddess confidence
(Rather, I'm the stumbling deer in your headlights)

I can't be the one
Who coiled around you
Demanded princess treatments
No, I never fit right on a pedestal

I can't be her
Though I've wished I could
When the way you say her name
Holds more than just nostalgia

Now I know she's got the front row seats
Serial effect on her side
But don't put me in the nosebleeds
Cause the previews always come
Before the main event
Yes, I can't be your first love
But I'd love to be second

won't you stay for toast and jelly
the day has just rose
like cream all over the hills
and vales are beckoning

with songs and daylilies
opening and the winks
of oranges tang sweet still

oh
the flowers just awoke
most of the village
is asleep
and will never notice

the beauty of
the sunrise of ten minutes more
enjoying
small nuances
of golden stars
setting

replaced by
the bright snowy clouds with an
angled sun glowing