Lunacy scrapes
The shores
Riding the
Evening tides

I dream of sleep
with eyes wide open;
it’s always dark
in the morning.

Touching disparity
beneath reckless thoughts;
lines and dots
unconnected.

Everything
looks and tastes identical;
I am starving to death.

Twenty Ticks and eleven tocks into a man’s day, the seventh of seven days for him ponder the last seven decades of his life. He studies the recollections kept logged within his cerebral diary, appraising the significance. Always learning, continuously evaluating and never mastering.

A journey seeking purpose, finding love, gaining rejection, surviving war, cherishing losses, and receiving forgiveness. Laying down upon his experiences, watching day fade slowly towards night. He receives a gentle kiss from the lips of Serenity as his soul is nestled in the ***** of Peace.

The seventh day provides a man rest and his days are now complete.

Remain still and…

Touch the wooden horse;
feel the ambiguous notions
of a celebration and a curse.

…take a moment to…

Look upon its predictions;
images of misfortune and pain
in the constellations.

… breathe and…

Seek a wish within a spell cast
on this new moon, to banish
the memories of the past.

…be at ease.

The crisp chill of a late November evening;
leaves falling on the aging soil as I watch
the sun descend six feet below the horizon.
I stare beyond the astral plane hoping to see her;
my imaginations become infractions against decency.
Our secrets remain in these old pockets despite the demons
standing beside me. The taste of ginger lingers on my lips;
my hand bleeds from the tight grip on a rose that bears her name.
I miss the smell of her skin and the glimmer in her eyes;
I long to see her smile.

Nothing is as it seems;

illusions glimmer

within the afternoon light.  

Daydreams,

rolling cascades of fiction

beneath a tired brow.  

Waiting…

wondering…

heartbeats of folly

to fill the emptiness.

Smiling now the mask

hiding this naked pain; the

brightness of feigned joy

illuminates this distinction

of a fool.

Another night spent tossing-and-turning; hot and cold sensations keeping pace with the quiet commotion. Not sure what I am wrestling with; my mood is fine but there is a feeling of twisted darkness within.  I am aware of the turmoil this season brings; seeing the pieces of animosity gathering as a pile of dust around me. I promised to end the plight of expectations, this lie brought contentment and unconscious abrasion; the attempt to write my way into the light seems futile.

Gray skies poised for rain yet, not a drop falls.

Another year is subsiding;
I have lost track of time.  
The smell of despair fills the room.

Sleep is nothing but an illusion,
thoughts of "what is" and "what was"
scribbling on the walls.
So many once promised love; there was one
who offered something much deeper.

A beautiful connection,
deeply rooted beneath the surface of affection.  
The word "love" was never spoken;
the sentiment felt beyond measure.

It was my situation that opened my eyes
to reality; the fantasy of hope
angered my soul.

It was my hand that closed the shades
removing the light from view; finding
no comfort in the darkness.

Everyday, since that moment, I have
thought about you; the anonymous vocabulary
sent in a bottle, from time to time.

The occasional glance from the shadows,
watching you from the distance; wishing
you could be with me.

I remember the first time
*** sold broken promises,
signed with dreams and
sealed with kisses.

Feeling special
was all we wanted;
removing loneliness
from the room. The first time
we consummated our affection
in that single dorm room.

I said "I love you,"
She reciprocated by
sleeping with someone else.
Happiness conceived
in my bed of imaginations
disappeared
like shadows in the dark

We are so afraid to live without;
conditioned to live within.

Position unrecognized on the
plain of existence.

We are beaten by the words of men;
overwhelmed by the confrontation.

Vernacular misled innocence
into the pit of fallen souls.

We are afraid of death;
we are afraid of life.

Stricken by the truth
deceived by the lies.

The waning moon.

Winter breathing frost upon my pillow,
the pain all too familiar, heart beating…shallow.
Lying here, listening to the taps of frozen rain.
Dreams of hope, giving me optimism…feigned.

The morning sun.

I caught of glimpse of my reflection
more like a shadow standing in my direction;
Unrecognizable to me, the weary look of affection.

This day spawned within the night;
dawn becomes the dusk as I remain
in the light.

Time remembers what we have forgotten; those moments feigned a dream, our reality misbegotten.  We said “I love you” when we should have said” I’m lonely without you.”  My god, what were we thinking, impulses of our youth to pledge our demise wearing trinkets. The dos and do nots hanging beneath the expectations; emotions lodged within our throats, choking the communication.  The catastrophes unforeseen, at times expected; the burden to heavy, the pain and fire misdirected. We carry a desire to change; we find it difficult to give up our troubled ways.

The chill of a foreboding moment,
He feels the night
Casting shades of fear
Within a tearful mind.
Cadence of history
Bringing an end
To his serenity;
A quiet calamity chained
Within his heart.
His spirit despising
The chime of midnight.

They awoke on tissue paper
misbegotten feelings exposed
on the fine linen, the taste
of the sun had lost its flavor

Forgotten were the reasons
to remember the beginning;
they failed to connect
the words to their meanings.

The situation so egregious;
Time became too expensive,
It was just a moment
for their convenience.

I love this moment,
sitting deeply obscure
While the obtuse populace
plan their fate.

I get to think of her.

Thinking about her toes,
hidden within those little socks.

Dreaming about a rendezvous
to someplace warm; stripping down to our
bare essentials.  

Naked along the trinity, pure forms
pressed against each other; feeling
the skin of consciousness shedding
to reveal our smiles.

The silver moonlight
it’s after midnight.

Hmmm…

Touching her curly hair
The secrets we often share

Shhh…

Conversations now faded
Moments of love quickly dissipated.

Watching a moth burn
Within the candle’s  flame.

Devils laughing at the fool
Believing in the fairy tale.

An open window reveals
a chilling breeze; yep,
it's cold outside.

The air chaps
lips and hands;
rough to touch.

The familiar
smell of precipitation
precedes a tear drop.

The downpour smears
a salty message;
notions of ill intent
dripping from the paper

Reflecting as I watch
the changing tides along
the shores of black sand.

I wish we didn’t exist
within the emptiness;
sleeping next to
painful memories
exasperating the void
we so desperately
want to fill.

Seeing the sunrise
in your eyes; the morning
glory in your heart.

I whispered your name
in my dreams hoping
the benevolence of time
grants me a moment
to share with you
the desires my soul
laid bare.

Celestial bliss is where
you have taken me.

No more tears,
no more storms;
my contentment
my elation, I
wait for you
to be next to me.

I love you.

Standing along the seashore
holding an urn containing
the ashes of mistakes and regret.

The foamy water crests
beneath my feet as I say farewell
to these cremated memoirs.

Pouring their ashes
into the wind to drift
along the seas.

Making a vow
never to return
this place again.

Sunlight dying on the
cold horizon; lingering adoration
within sentimental messages
from this blonde ambition.

Those wretched words
caressing my skin.

The bottle of
Tennessee Honey
on the dusty shelf.
The bitter
sweet memories
she left me,
kept on display.

Twenty ticks and eleven tocks into a man’s day, the fourth of seven days for him to grieve the injustice shackled upon humanity. He grips war by the handle and strikes with irresistible force upon the once immovable object of hate. He finds himself guilty of hostilities for the sake of peace. He is offered no trial for his crimes of war.

He seeks admonishment for his guilt and is left with a confession upon his heart. His apologies fall silently into the void neither heard nor acknowledged. A single dove’s feather falls upon him carrying a single drop of spilled blood.

He tattoos on his skin a mark of shame.

The fourth of seven days is now complete.

This beautiful doppelgänger
from a twisted era, arrived
beneath the harvest moon.

Pheromones of fond memories mingling
with the taste of bad dreams;
the breath of life deceiving
death for a minute.

Choosing to stay within
the confines of infatuation;
feasting on imaginations,
savoring the taste of possibilities.

Mortal flesh wounded, again;
those scars from yesterday
reopened by the blistering
kisses of misrepresentation

Tonight, he arrives hoping to find
Her waiting; the rooms are empty,
The windows covered.

For so long, he left the lights on
Believing she would return to take up
Residence in this place now abandoned.

Every night he recalled those moments;
The eve of a new season bringing silence.
Feelings of solace lost in the fading twilight.

For so long, he avoided the darkness
Hoping her absence was a momentary lapse
In time; realizing that his faith is misplaced.

Tonight, he concedes; removing the images
From the walls, placing a kiss upon
The lips of a dream.

It feels like I died long ago;
Waking to an unwanted revival.
Drenched from a flaming baptism,
Soaked in anguish.

Observing opportunities masquerading as
Angelic delights; the brood
Masking deception with discretion.

My spirit feels the curse rising from the ground;
My body collapses beneath the heavy rain.

Those desires to change the world
Deemed a misdemeanor; my sweet dreams
Cast upon the smoldering coals,
A wasted sacrifice of embers,
Ashes, and vapors.

Twenty ticks and eleven tocks into a man’s day, the third of seven days for him to propose an opportunity towards commitment that he recognizes and she fails to understand. Her past she could not deny. He offered sacred vows upon a bed of enchantment. Her present she could not agree. He offered his life in exchange for her honor.

She left with words unspoken.

Misty skies dim the sunlight and darken his eyes. His heart now absent from his body. His grief pours like torrential rain. He trails his fingers along the silhouette her absence provided.

Today becomes ordinary containing a choice to reconsider.

The third of seven days is now complete.

Come inside
So that we may share
This moment

We can speak
About the superficial
To test the unwritten premise

We can explore
The deeper levels
Within our evening contemplation

We can say nothing
Letting our spirits interject
Beneath the sheets

Refusing to sleep
So we may remember
In the morning

She was a daughter of the Caribbean, a newborn star; she was the image of paradise before the fall. We met in the hallowed season, death haunted our days.  Her mind vexed by the turmoil; her spirit reaching for closure within the downpour of tears.  She touched me in ways unimaginable; this beautiful soul wishing I could see past her youth.  A grown woman wanting to spend her days with an old man.  I will never know what she saw in me; all I can remember is the joy of her hello and the absence of her goodbye.

Broken pieces
of my shattered soul
gathered in my
shaking hands.

Another long
winter…
breathing in
toxins;
cold air
filling my lungs.

Retreating behind
enclosed walls…
frightened;
suffocating vulnerability.

Touching the unknown,
feeling
its misinterpretation;
listening
to the silence…
waiting.

My thoughts, planted
within our future;
this vision of fulfillment
taking away the pain of absence.

Your silhouette wrapped
in the sheets of a warm goodnight;
the hope of tomorrow resting
upon my chest.

My imaginations
once sustained me;
paling in comparison
to your soul next to mine.

As you sleep,
I am listening to the desires
within your dreams.

The breaths of your emotions,
in harmony, with the early
morning rain.

My heart beats with joy;
this great delight when
you will say to me,
"Good morning."

Moments written
Upon tattered pages
Absorbing the last
Drops of ink
Her melancholy spirit
Seeing
The threads of tomorrow
Unravel
Along the edges
Hearing the words
From those
She loved whispering
“Close your eyes”
Refusing to wait
For twilight
Deciding to watch
The sun
Disappear within
The fading skies

Quiet hour,
laying nestled
beneath imaginations.
Her head resting
upon his memories,
the faint scent of
affection still lingers.
Recalling each frame
that formed their moments,
feeling the sensations
that guided their journey;
touching the pages of adoration
that once told, their story.

His heart embraces
Her longing affections
Creating an unspoken narrative
Upon a silent night

Their body language sets
The mood describing
A moment held within
Eternity with slumber
avoided beneath the sheets

Tender cuddle connected
By yearning lips as their
Souls feel time traverse
Along the moonlight with
Heavy anticipation

Midnight whispers carry
A sensual tale between
Two lovers sharing
Romantic anecdotes that
Eclipse fairy tales and
Fantasies granting a
Night of inhibition
Within the bliss
Of their bedtime story

The Spring equinox
cresting on the
horizon...

Hearts and doves
abandoned by the
poet...

He was tempted
to contact her
refraining for fear
of his echo...

The night is
becoming shorter...

So many things
they can do
that will remain
forever undone...

No whispers
Just silence...

So many things
they can say
that will remain
forever unspoken...

Eyes closing
bodies falling
into slumber.

The white light
no longer burns brightly;
its adoring heat subsiding with
the evening breeze.

Tales whispered beneath
the setting sun;
sentiments basking in deja vu.

The stars revealing truths
we refused to see.
Reflections of eclectic pieces
torn from serenity.

A haunting chill
along these nerves;
the pale sky exposes
misty memories
touching the forgotten horizon.

Twenty ticks and eleven tocks into a man’s day, the fifth of seven days for him to see the flames of those he loved extinguished becoming vapors in the wind. The unexpected storm carries away the souls of so many he loved, knew and connected. Standing at the sites of engraved eulogies, he grieves; not just for the loss but also for the opportunities missed.

Loneliness conceived from the womb of absence.

Life itself now a dying breed.

He grieves until the end of the falling rain.

The fifth of seven days is now complete.

Nocturnal twists;
stifled breathing.
Demons drowning
in fountain ink.

Salt air
Clearing away obscurity
Revealing a lost love
Waiting on jagged stones
Dulled by her patience

Her endless adoration
Flowing like ocean waves
Crashing against my soul
Wanting winds draw me towards her
Closing the gap created by time

Fresh sand
Beneath our feet
Erase our broken footprints
From long ago

Our spirits intertwine
Within a forgotten embrace
Drawing the heavens
Into sunset

a pound of peanut butter
layered on a wheat thin

something to pass the time
cause the internet is down

another pound of peanut butter
tastes better right off the spoon

He draws open the shades
Of night letting in the light
Of day reveals a vacant space
In the corner of his soul

Loneliness flees at the
Touch of her hand upon
His shoulder

Overwhelmed by
Her beauty as it radiates
From within her spirit

Her mesmerizing intellect creates
Irrational behavior against
His intelligence slipping within
The breadth of euphoria

He contemplates a
Vast vocabulary to express
His overflowing emotions
None of which he deems
Sufficient

His throat parched unable
To utter his deepest sentiments
He reaches for her hand and
Places it upon his heart
Etching the word “forever”

listening to the wind
pushing rain against the glass;
voices crying out to me from
the darkness of my past.

thinking about the time
my heart lost its conviction;
when I was wishing for a cure
to this lonely affliction.

her arrival was unexpected
love at first sight;
she was the dream
that kept me up at night.

our kisses were mingled
with the taste of illusions;
our flesh dripping sweat
from the heat of confusion.

moments of passion led
to a place of discontent;
the fairy tale ended on
the bed of resentment.

our perceptions were lies
extinguishing the light;
her voice became silent
as she disappeared into the night.

The melody of your voice
hard to hear in the distance
the sound quiets gradually
vanishing into the blowing wind

The image of your body
becomes lost with time
as dusk turns to moonlight
creating faint shadows

The scent of your love
fades like the mist
leaving a dew of tears
on the surface of my skin

My mind is
Processing
The world in a very
Surreal kind of way

Maybe it’s
The smell of
Forgotten rain

The sight of
Dirt washed roads

Maybe it’s
That overcast
Feeling

Brought on
By Monday

He draws open the shades
Of night letting in the light
Of day reveals a vacant space
In the corner of his soul

Loneliness flees at the
Touch of her hand upon
His shoulder

Overwhelmed by
Her beauty as it radiates
From within her spirit

Her mesmerizing intellect creates
Irrational behavior against
His intelligence slipping within
The breadth of euphoria

He contemplates a
Vast vocabulary to express
His overflowing emotions
None of which he deems
Sufficient

His throat parched unable
To utter his deepest sentiments
He reaches for her hand and
Places it upon his heart
Etching the word “forever”

Youthful exuberance shattered;
Glittering shards of glass
Beneath a pool of dying wishes
Flowing into the hollows.

Reading the wall’s inscriptions,
Yearning for felicity promised
At the vista’s edge.

Aspirations discarded;
Craving simplicity of bread…
Expectations deserted
In the wake of sudden exodus.

Shattered against
The sky
Scattered across
The clouds
Beating tears
Along the pavement

Twisted dimensions
settling upon
the straight and narrow;
deities and mortals
devising agendas
neither understood
nor abandoned.

Truths and lies hanging
from a moon sliver
feigning cosmic hope
wrestling with the ideals
of sleepless fanatics;
lullabies of the insomniacs
seeking answers.

Sometimes I sit and stare; delving deeply towards the point of destined fixation.  I stop at the edge, waiting for the moment to hollow out; imagining the embrace of silence.  

Sometimes I feel the pull of refuge, leading me by the hand to the subterranean level.  A finger, placed upon my lips, to prevent the waves of random thoughts from contaminating the cure; breathing…the pressures slowly release beneath the fathoms.