Because on the darkest nights
I see faint rays of the purest light,
And among the fatal deceptions
lost in exalted sorrows,
       I know that there is still poetry.
When the words are welled
Inside a throat like a fire
Waking from its slumber,
Rain the embers to paper,
      The words like a familiar pain,
      Speak as the darkness speaks,
      Take in the honest friend,
      Let them take you to tranquillity.
Because when I am at my blackest,
The poem understands me,
It speaks to me,
Cries with me,
I give my darkest to its white surface,
       A cave serrated by light,
      The words will speak in the night,
      They will light the way
      To new dawns,
And you are never alone
If you have read these words,
Because through them,
We become as one.

Sleep took its flight
I embraced the light
Memories of the day
Sway gently in the moonlight
Ghosts of the past
Waltz into the present
And together
They mock the future
Who lies patiently
In a mist of uncertainty
On my rumpled pillow
My eyelids pinch mercilessly
As the long night
Fades into daylight

My life is a dream,
so when I dream
it's a dream within a dream.

I see my angel
soft feathered wings
and a bright white smile.

I like to imagine
that its the face of God
visiting me in my only solace.

But each night, when I smile back
the dream shatters
and I waken to my living nightmare.

I am a liar
I told her I loved her
so as not to start a fire
but now that she's heard it
I must say it again
if I said "I love you" 7 times
I have lied 7 times
I don't even know how many lies I've told
even though the context of every one is the same:
I love you
this made a new truth in me
a truth I tell myself as often as I tell her a lie:
I hate myself
now that feels much better
the twisted honesty of it restores me
so that I look for a reason to say it again
I love you
I am a liar
I hate myself

They say words
can cut you
with wounds deeper
than a knife could
But how is it that
your silence
is what cuts me
through my veins
and kills me softly
inside

A simple gesture
Touched my heart
Now I wonder
If being apart
Means I'm not for you
And you are not for me

But I hope and I pray
One day
You'll be by my side
Through high and low tides
To love undyingly.

He is dead, and
He used to come and knock at my door
With his shoes undone
His face lit up with a van Gogh grin.
Young artist in the world
Contracting his vision from the noisy space
Of busy, night-lit, city streets,
But he is dead, and
These streets I walk are of a meaner face
Now he is gone.

Gone beneath the brown and barrowed earth
Heaped over him,
Gone beneath the life I've piled
On top of passing life to stop
His sometimes violent memory,
The vivid recollection of moments that
Won't come again,
That haunt the chapels of an aging mind
Which can't escape or span,
Which cannot bridge the water's deep
Disturbing flow.

Yes, you are gone my friend
The choreography of life is lost
Though life rolls on,
No eyes with which to see the world
No voice to fill the world with song,
The sunbeam burst through the sudden shower
Which lights along this city street,
Moves nothing now, moves inland,
Far away from this
Unconscious world.