The world is often smaller
Than the maps we hold in our hands

Though vision made concrete
Is the true fruit of anyone’s plans

Maybe that marks the difference
Between apathy and awe
How grandiose our vision
Before digesting what we saw

Imaginations fueled
Scraped knees
Building kingdoms in our minds
Woodland forts out of reeds

Don’t let anticipation
Spoil the ground beneath your feet
Nor adventure in action
Outweigh the visions that you seek

This world is often larger
Offering what could never be foreseen

Etch your maps, clutch them tight!
Though pay heed to the road before you

And all the spaces in between

Hope.

It is our duty.

Pray then, with me.

That those influential,
The decision makers,
The great leaders,
Public figures and speakers,
Intellectuals and all
Whom the spotlight warms,
Deserved or no,
Wake one day without hope.

Just one day is all I ask
Enough to in the following bask

They are infinitely small.

May despair shrink all
To their proper size.
Let the greatness of Earth,
Heaven and all of the Other
Overtake all and smother
Pride.

Let hopelessness all ignorance divide.

One day
To see themselves in those they detest.
One day without purpose
To give evil and folly a rest

Deconstruct their great wants
Oh, Defeatist.
Replace in our hearts
Love with completeness.

Lend an ear to these words.

Just one despondant day
To end all of the ploys.
Allow us to join the animals in the woods
With their small, eternal joys.

Sweet Escape
Escape this weight
Composed of all days
Plotting to steal your fate

Capture Life
Retake your time
You will dictate when
You’re punished for this crime

Ended Scene
Destroy and cease!
Hoping that from ash
Will spring an endless peace

Only Way
Only it’s not!
There always is hope
A Path you never thought

You never thought.

I can only watch you
Execute your own orders
As claw marks invade
The rope burn’s borders

The Noose wasn’t supposed to feel like this

Repeat that

Find your twisted comfort

But it grows
Strength is waning

Yes, Hope
Yes, Grace
Yes, Forgiveness

Of the greatest magnitude.

But there is a point
Where certain concessions must be made

Infection can progress
In the eye of your mind
To the sharpest edge of choice

Die, or to be saved become blind

To gather the peace
That swirls through the
Cedars in the yard

To put it in
With where I would
Store my record collection
If I were to have one

If the world still turned slow

To combine that bark stained whisper
With the notes that find my ears
When I can’t find my mind

To give you the music
That animates my thoughts
And the stillness that animates their origin

To acknowledge my weakness
For your smile and its sweetness
To gather and gift my secrets
To hope that it pleases
To sort through the meaningless
To make you laugh till your chest wheezes.

To walk further along if these blessings don’t meet us.

To keep pushing forward
With all I have left
To keep my soul’s doors unlocked
With no fear of theft
To accept you may listen to my music
And wish you were deaf
To prepare to gather up the chunks of silence
After you break it over my chest

To trust that chaos
Is not the rebellion
Of the cedars’ breath

I'm good.

I’m in a good place.
Friends the next room over,
a few streets down.
Living a life with
those I love all around.

Listening to their grace,
imagining you in this space.
I could almost burn.

I know you didn’t choose your face,
though it makes this a difficult race.
Your kisses I can’t unlearn.

Bring the flood.
The hours, days, months, years,
the unquantifiable tears.
Squeezing in self-discourse when I can,
logic and hope crammed between fears.

Another dud.
A grand plan disguised
as a firecracker, prized,
one promising an explosion,
lightning bolts etched on the sides.

Though there was never a detonation.
You cut the fuse short
or maybe I never lit it.
Maybe I’m like Rogue,
absorbed that firework’s nature
and can’t quit it

My veins are gunpowder.
My heart the wick.
Thoughts of you the flame
and I’m praying they don’t stick.

My mind is racing with water
in an old fashioned wood bucket,
assembly line style carrying reason.
Though my worst fears I can hardly stomach.

I’m working my synapses as fast as they’ll churn,
but like every western movie ever filmed

the water gets here too late.

I stand watching myself burn.

Lightning can’t strike
the same place twice
I came back, both times greeted
with the same empty feeling, a hollow nice
to meet you, I’m not from here though
I can show you around. And just so you’re
aware I don’t mean my soul, I’ve
learned not to bring others
out over such thin ice
melts in your drink, the sun
working on what your appetite
can’t finish, conversation
and laughter filling your stomach
instead, using up as much of the
term ‘literally’ as they can.

An empty echo is all
I hear of the storm once near
me is where you have chosen
to be, and the proximity is
refreshing, genuine. I know
because I can’t identify the source
of my affection, buried too
deep beneath hope and fear
is still present. Though I look
at it as a gift, reassurance that
I’m still aware of your ability
to snap my neck, a vulnerability
that has made everything so clear
everything out of this god
**** house! I saw the way he slid
off your blouse, our memories
and moments followed both of your
sweat and stink down the drain

my brain of all of these thoughts.
You were not the calm but
a continuation of the sleet and rain
is all I hear now each night,
soft breath and hair replaced
by an acute understanding of
the weather outside my window,
with no heartbeat to fall asleep
to, no vessel to my attention contain
my rage! This is a new page!

Lightning did strike twice.
Though the next storm
I’m sure I can persuade.