Trying so hard to stay afloat on my boat.
Holding a kite on my left,
trying to keep it from flying away to the
infuriated storm.
Holding an anchor on my right,
trying to keep it from pulling me down,
filling my lungs with water,
drowning me.

you asked her to stay
but in return you heard a howl
you looked up and there she was
eternally fleeting
perpetually out of grasp
for you were an anchor and she was a kite
she wouldnt stay but she always came back
for she is the wind
and you the earth.

These, my friends, are the beautiful days -
where the dawns consume our mournings,
and the haze which engulfs everything that blooms
                     beyond this narrow scope of presence,
we will remember never fazed us, facing uncertainty that looms
                      among our marrow; hopeful tense,
and we will know, sometime, right
               now we can't yet grasp for want of knowing
where these paths go, to climb, which height
               or which ocean this is we're rowing

We will look back to these moments of obscurity
Filled by pigment as black, today's just gray until maturity,
Until fate took imperfect cracks to fill what's unsure into purity
We will look back and will be proud of who we were in our obscurity.

It made me
Sick.

The kind of sick
That books describe
As green,
Ghostly skinned
With red rust noses.

Sick to my stomach
Like when you wake up
At 2:00 AM
And realize that
Something
Is
Not
Right
Before you sprint
Down the hall
To the bathroom
And ***** pizza bagels into the
Pristine marble sink.

It made me sick like
When it gets so bad that
Blowing your nose hurts
Because the extra soft Kleenex
Have scratched your skin raw
Over
And
Over
Again.

It made me sick
When I realized
That it wasn't you that I loved
But the feeling of being loved.

There once was a man
Whose livelihood was rubber.
He worked long and hard; and wore a tan,
He was a plantation tapper.

One night he packed,
In haste after a long day of toil.
Quickly had his belongings all sacked
Under light from a lantern that reeked of kerosene oil.

He was ready, flame from the lantern he did ****.
Overhead, the midnight moon brightly shone.
Bound his sack to the rack above the rear wheel,
Mounted his bicycle and soon he was gone.

The dirt trail leading back,
Undulating with gravel all strewn.
Almost treacherous this forgotten track
He only relied on light from the moon.

The air was cool just like any other,
But something was different about this night.
Squinting ahead he spotted a figure.
Flagging him down was a lady in white...