I can't breathe.
An invisible hand rests on my shoulders
Bearing down with a weight beyond my ken
And keeps my head under water.
At the bottom of a waterfall's pool I sit
Caught in the embrace of the great cataract.
This bed was made of my own choosing
Flinging myself with abandon off the cliff's edge
To enjoy the moments of breathless exhilaration
The beautiful abandon in the weightless fall.
The entry, difficult, but not impossible:
Reaching hands parting the ice-cold waters
So the body can slice through
Like a hot knife into butter.
The first moments, not unbearable:
Tumbled down to the bottom by the churning waters
But bolstered by two lungs bursting with life-giving air.
As time slowly ticks on, second by agonizing second
Pinned by the embrace of the waterfall and losing oxygen
The need to breathe arises.
Pressure builds within the body, as if to compete
With the weight of the waterfall
Growing greater with each passing moment
Threatening to force the breath
The body so desperately desires
As conscious and subconscious lock in furious battle
Over control of the lungs.
The conscious fights on,
Aware that I am still trapped at the bottom.
One voice alone can cut through the turgid waters
A lifeline to cling to and use
To drag myself up, hand over hand
Fighting against the pressure until my head breaks the surface
And I can draw a few gasping breaths
Before the line is severed
And I am pummeled to the bottom once more.
The waiting game resumes
Each time unsure of survival
And each time mustering the will to hold on
Until that precious lifeline appears
Hoping for the day
The line will knife through the water one final time
Anchored securely, no longer doomed to separation
And I can climb forth
Leaving the waterfall's pool
Far behind.

I want to be the one who rocks you to sleep
And feel your warmth as you curl up next to me
I want your face to be the last thing that I see
I want to be your everything

I want to be the one to hold you tight
And keep you safe and warm all through the night
Hiding from the world until it's light
I want to be your everything

I want your safe place to be in my arms
The place where you go to hide from all harm
I want to be the one to hold your hand
The one who's lucky to call himself your man

And when you wake, I want my smile to be
The very first thing that you see
You're the best thing that's ever happened to me
So I want to be your everything

Yes, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me
So darling, won't you be my everything?

I am master of words.
I command, and they march forth
To do my bidding.
When the battle drums sound,
They arm themselves with slender swords,
Delicate and deadly,
Designed to slip through every hole
In an opponent's defenses
And leave wicked wounds.
When they come to the bargaining table,
They don their smoothest silver
And enter into the intricate steps
Of a dance that leads them in circles,
Drawing slowly closer
To their true purpose.
When they must be kept at bay
They find themselves facing walls
Tall and strong
Behind which they can find no exit.
I am master of words,
Until I fall into those endless chasms
Set in twin blue-green seas
Framed by milk.
The swift and deadly swords
Become sticks in the hands of children.
The dancers stumble and stutter
Over once-graceful steps.
Walls crumble, and every errant thought
Now seizes on the rich supply
And flings the words forth,
A hairsbreadth out of reach
Of my grasping hands,
Now just too slow to ****** them back.
With a single glance, the tables turn
In a heartbeat
And the words
Become master of me.

Don't move.
The air is rich with magic.
The words that so recently dropped from the poet's lips
Now hold you transfixed, as if they were
The words to a spell of binding
Freezing you to your seat and reminding you
That the pen is still mightier than the sword.
You sit, unwilling to stir, because you know all too well
That the minute you move, you'll break the spell
And the shell constructed from the lines of verse
Will shatter like someone touched the magic with a curse
And the world will come rushing back in.
A single rustle is all it takes for the world to reawaken
And the spell to break. But as the mystic moment fades away,
You pray that some of the magic will stay
And cling to you like stray cobwebs,
Trailing the beauty of the words that were spoken
So that others might be touched by the magic that awoke
In the few moments you took to step away from the world.
But whether or not the magic leaves a trail for others,
It will not fail to nestle itself inside your head
And every night you spend tossing sleepless in bed
The words will be turning over and over--
They will dissociate and scramble and regenerate
Until at last they precipitate into a new brand of magic.
Then the day will come when you, too, will stand
In that sacred space before a crowd of eager young faces--
Or perhaps just sit and spend some time with a single friend--
And you will hold in your hand a paper
Filled with the dots, lines, and squiggles
That are the visual representation
Of this creation of yours, this poetic summation
Of the beauty that has invaded your soul
And forced its way out again.
As you draw your first breath, you begin weaving the net
That will set the stage for you to upset their status quo
And transport them to a place from which you know
They will return wanting more.
Then you will speak the words
And pass the magic on.

What secrets hide behind that sunny smile?
Your sparkling eyes
Hold more than just innocence
What else lies beneath those infinite pools?
Little flashes of light from deep within
Reveal a maze of sandbars
And the wrecks of proud ships
The only remnants of many brave attempts
To navigate waters
Far more dangerous than they appear
I have seen beneath the sugar coating
And glimpsed the steel it covers
And now curiosity drives me on
I take the helm
And enter the maze

When the smile falters
Be sure to have a mask ready
To hide behind
To show to the world
And keep it there
Until you are smiling again
However long it takes
No matter how much it hurts
Because if it slips
The world will see
The broken wreck
That is
You

Little problem, tiny flame.
Thoughts running wild
Around and around
Stir the little flame
Into a fiery maelstrom.
Let the cool breath of reason
Set thoughts to rest!
How quickly the flame returns
To its proper size.