The naive traveler,
Staying fast upon the well-known trail,
Assumingly forged by others,
Heard, as he tried not to listen,
Rustling among the brush,
Disquieted, he scurried,
Never peering into the deep shadows,
Afraid of what he might find or might find him,
With eyes opened wide and centered upon the track,
He moved with all caution and haste,
Avoiding all the trips and snares that could allow him to stumble,
Dark was this jungle,
And moving about him,
the shadows and calls of the coming night,
He quickened his pace,
Fearing behind him,
Something gaining upon and moving ahead,
An ambush,
He knew if he would run,
The formidable gauntlet,
Would have little time to prepare for him,
Howling and leaping,
He'd overcome,
But the gauntlet was never set,
The sounds off the trail was his own creation,
His own fear,
He continued to run,
And he still does.

So he dreams and dreams and dreams of her,
And is awakened by the light,
In his heart he loves her so,
But only in the night,
The dawn of day reveals to him,
Out of reach and out of sight!
He awaits each evenings sunset,
To drift into her shore,
And once again be held by her,
Embraced and wanting more,
The tide begins to draw him in,
The surf begins to rise,
His only hope of having her,
Is when he's closed his eyes.

I tried too hard,
I suspect,
I gave attention where none was asked for,
I pleaded her beauty and soul,
though none was wanted,
She had other directions to travel,
Asking each and everyone their opinions,
ignoring them all.
She ran after him,
Held him tight a few times,
conflict settled in her mind,
less comfortable than mistakes,
choices gave way to unreason,
he disappeared,
Shes still follows,
Waiting for the day he returns,
Which he never will,
Still she dreams,
and dreams and dreams,
of him.

Closely attending,
Unclouded attention to subtle changes,
Different today,
I must notice,
Or be left out of,
Something which has changed,
Amost imperceptible,
As it should be,
Admired from up close,
Held and embraced,
I drag my fingers through your hair,
And wrap my arms around you,
Holding tightly,
Your lips I kiss,
Pulling this body of mine,
Into you,
My skin,
Touching and teasing your outward soul,
Investigating offers,
Reaching deeply,
Into you,
Following blindly,
Your direction and subtle gestures,
To the finality of end.

A mariner on the ocean of the eternal,
Looking above the bow,
A panoramic view of the presentation of self,
Nautical boundaries and jurisdictions,
Inhabiting and found,
Consciousness of all,
Abound.

I wish to embrace,
my children's faces,
with these eyes,
burning into memory,
their joyous smiles,
before the fading light,
is finally extinguished,
the dancing stars,
which are their own eyes,
remembered,
held closely,
envisioned,
but for the betrayal,
of time,
giving way to darkness,
and shrouds,
shadows they become,
but for the light of imagination,
and memories,
unforgettable images,
be still,
this disquieted soul,
allow the beautiful to extend,
words are as worlds,
a new place from which soulful expression,
is easily rendered,
imparting magnificence,
to beckoning followers,
and newly found friends.

I want to write about her,
But she lives in other dimensions,
Beyond what I perceive,
She soars high above this plane,
Searching for prey to feed upon,
Occasionally,
She swoops down,
When voracious hunger demands,
To find sustenance in bewildered and beleaguered and lost lambs,
Bleating going unheard and unrecognized cries,
She carries them aloft,
Like the lammergeir,
Dropping their bones,
On the rocks below,
To crack and expose the marrow,
Of which she sustains herself,
A devil indeed from above,
Yet for her flight,
I am envious,
And willingly give into night.

Oh no!
I have just been diagnosed,
With a case of Extreme Stupidity,
My doctor says its probably terminal,
But with advanced methods and invasive procedures,
My chances of survival,
Are, at best, hopeless,
With proper treatment,
And a well-balanced diet,
I should be able to overcome the side-effects of the medication and therapies afforded by the state-run institutions,
And return to a 'normal and happy stupidless life'
There is no family history of this disorder,
But ten-out-of-twelve succumb to it,
So he says,
As I try and do the math,
The manifestation of this illness becomes clear,
Ten of twelve is equal to...umm...let's see...if there were one hundred...divided by...umm...okay wait...say we had twelve...or no ten...hold on...let's round this up to the nearest number...what is thirteen..dividing it by eleven...when chances are...2:1...is that what he said? Oh ****! I am terminal...minus 1.

I've heard mention,
of a choir of angels,
A myriad of angels,
acappella,
Sounding like a thunderous orchestra,
Singing unto the Almighty,
This concept I can understand,
An All-powerful creator,
Would require an amazing soundtrack,
Background vocals of creation,
Filling Him with whelming tears and pride,
Perhaps choking-back tears,
As word became light,
And heaven and earth were created.
I suppose again too,
Like any King,
He would have other court appointees,
A muse perhaps,
To inspire His creations,
A scribe to record His every breath, sigh and description,
At last a jester,
To amuse Him between acts,
A folly,
A clown.
I still exist,
Here, In the mortal realm,
To continue to make the Architect of the Universe,
Laugh His ******* *** off,
As I dance and perform silly tricks,
To amuse and distract Him,
from the serious business,
Of being God.

Climbing the stairs,
Til the water reaches me,
To the attic I retreat,
Til the water reaches me,
clinging tightly to prized possessions,
Til the water reaches me,
unheeded warnings,
Til the water reaches me,
following the surge,
Til the water reaches me,
listening but not hearing,
Til the water reaches me,
Holding tight until the end,
Til the water reaches me,
gulping loud slurps,
When the water reaches me.

At first glimpse,
I shudder,
there is something in your face,
I almost recognize,
It's different now,
More articulate,
your eyes have become hollow and vacant,
Without spirit,
Haunting and hopeless,
no longer being seen as bestowed by a diety,
lifeless,
No longer illuminating a disheartened world,
Seeing too many unfavorable aspects of life,
drawn,
the light which once poured,
nightfall surrounds,
not of ignorance,
but from experience,
the secrecy of these shadows,
the rendered soul,
cause me to visit the unwelcomeness,
that I have known,
twilight touches my face,
as I step away from the mirror,
promising never to return.

I've been falling,
for over a year and a half,
falling very fast,
two weeks ago,
I finally hit the ground,
with a resounding splat,
I never realized,
I could lose my sense of direction,
because falling is usually down,
but I was falling in,
deeper and deeper,
each day,
losing myself along the way,
my head is no longer,
in the clouds,
my feet,
are firmly planted,
the landing hurt like hell,
but it feels good to be standing.

Hospitalized all,
No one showed.

Left unpainted,
The sky is a bland reminder,
That the sun sets,
Left unheard,
The ocean is a bland reminder,
That waves crash,
Without the susuration of the leaves,
Ah...**** the trees!
Left unspoken,
The heart is a bland reminder,
That love exist.

Inspiration swayed,
Then swerved,
To a forgotten and unoticed corner of the room,
Quietly resting in a dusty and darkened shadow,
Brooding woefully,
Turning in on itself,
It waited,
Hunched and starving,
Ready to pounce,
At the first thing that moved,
Tearing at the flesh of ideas,
Ripping apart the drawn conclusions,
Sinking its teeth deep within the illusions,
Holding tightly,
Until the last breath was drawn,
And then moving,
Moving on

The film begins,
No wait...the filming begins,
When a child grabs ahold of a new toy,
A camera that doesn't lie,
But sometimes the images are blurred,
Out of focus,
Not always sharp and crisp,
The way a well-known and famous director would do,
There are rules understood,
Yet, unknown to him,
The child points the camera in all directions,
Perspectives never seen,
Unaware of the well-defined dynamics,
Of film-mastery,
Pointing aimlessly at times, to the sky, the ground or inconspicuous leaves lying on the freshly cut grass,
Actors left out of scene, dialogue goes missing, interpretations left to doubt,
The master, taking offense,
Buries the child director,
In condemnation,
Without offers of help,
'...if you can't do this child, find some other way, to express yourself and your ideas,
'cause you're giving us a bad name, to all who came before you, through struggle and through strife, please little child, put down your lens, so we can do it right'. Scolded and hurt and shattered, The child did surrend, and giving up, his lens of glass, to such a bitter end.

Courage, such courage,
To behold in ones mind,
This fate undeniable,
And to continue,
Courage,
Such elusive courage.

A wishing well,
Old pennies thrown in,
New,
Brilliant,
Shining,
They shall be yours again.

Tattered and torn,
Beaten and worn,
Death is the only healing place.

Tonight I saw Orion rise,
And chase the Pleiades across the sky,
The North star shone,
To give direction,
Vega offered introspection,
Ursa Major,
Too much to bear,
Gems of creation,
Everywhere,
Regulas rages in blazes of blue,
So beautiful now,
With the waxing moon,
The only star,
That will not shine,
Is the one,
I thought was mine,
But now you're in,
Anothers sky,
Why can't it be mine?

Still is your heart,
Silent,
Between the beats,
Silent,
Feelings of love,
Silent,
Like your mind,
Silent,
As it retreats,
Silent,
Like the breath you hold,
Silent,
As you await my kiss,
Silent,
As your questions loom,
Silent,
As you press your fingers against my lips,
Silent.
Answers don't come,
Silence.

All of us write,
late into night,
Simple rhymes becomes prose,
As night draws to a close,
Connotation becomes denotation,
Expressed or implied,
Painting pictures with words,
Of a world much denied,
Of heartfelt regret,
Or anger or pain,
We elude to the simple,
And write about rain,
To illuminate others,
Of that which we see,
Another perspective,
Of what may be,
We invite opinion,
Of comparitive worth,
The definition of judgements,
Are all that we need,
So bleeding and ugly,
Take care to impart,
A wonderful meaning,
To a forlorn heart.

'...He went like one that hath been stunned...'.

Hurtling along and away,
Approaching the center of the galaxy,
The event horizon becomes visible,
Slowly pulling me inside,
Time and space distorted,
Wave-forms collapsing in on themselves,
Stretching and bending frequencies,
Unrealities become fluid,
then begin collapsing and twisting,
Beyond recognizable form,
Into infinite and immense matter,
Like twist and tears in the fabric of space,
Falling toward nothingness,
That dreaded singularity,
A moment away,
A million moments away,
As time ceases to exist,
And crushing gravity,
Displacing understanding,
Dispelled notions,
Horrific,
And peaceful,
Become the same.

I eat my sandwich,
Cause I'm hungry.

Sometimes it occurs to me,
Okay...every morning it does,
To be honest,
As gentle light filters slowly into my room,
And breaks along the window sill,
And scatters across the empty floor,
Reflecting on empty socks,
And what I wore the night before,
Shadows created become ominous shrouds,
Reminding and inviting me,
To return to the unconscious world I was so rudely thrown from,
Kicked out of,
No more peace for me,
No more sleep,
I toss and turn,
Hoping to find that serene place,
Where inviting and invisible wishes remain,
Please another minute or two,  
of unreality, so I plead,
don't make me wake,
It's quieter here,
It's warm and so comforting,
And then the stupid alarm goes off!
Really? It's monday already?

I've seen this one thousand times,
But I watch it anyway,
Hoping to gain something new,
But I know I won't,
Still I watch,
With eyes open,
And open mind,
Yet nothing is new,
It's like you,
Same shades and colors that you choose,
I get bored and angry,
Not because of me,
but because of you,
And it scares me to hell,
Not because of you,
But the rituals you do.

Killing time,
Is a term I dislike,
Slaughtering seconds,
For sheer delight,
nothing to ponder,
Or question,
Debate,
Just minutes passing,
It doesn't relate,
Life is too short,
To allow time to pass,
Through fingers uncaring,
Of its limited mass,
If infinity were ours,
Then hours we'd waste,
Sometimes with focus,
And sometimes in haste,
But moments are precious,
Rare like some stones,
Regret for our waste,
Will rest with our bones.

Imagination is looked upon,
As a child with a crayon,
Starry-eyed,
All miracles and magic possible,
Drawing kittens on ships,
Birds near clouds,
With crayons all things are attainable,
Suggestions become real,
A new world ask of us,
'Whats up next?,

Morning sun,
Blinding me as I head east,
Though I squint,
Too early for shades,
Just way too **** cold,
And dark.
The desert paint alight with purple and subdued hues of mystery and roads belonging to no one and leading no-place,
I could exit here and be lost forever,
I wish for that sometimes,
Coz lonesome mood brings me down,
travel expects destinations,
Following broken paths is for the young,
For them reaching a place where meaning should whisper a bit in the ear,
Is more about the return than the journey,
Getting back to that place where they started is the goal,
I haven't that desire anymore,
Disappearing is a dream,
Unfulfilled,
Like saying goodbye to that early morning light.
Following still and quiet voices,
And choirs of mind.

A bright unsteady light,
The fuel without consequence,
Enthusiasm and fondness abound,
Presented as drama,
Affection, love and devotions,
Make apparent burning hillsides,
And conflagration exposed,
Consumed by fire,
All is not lost,
There is power in this,
In passion,
In desire,
Containment isn't always best,
Sometimes adding kindle,
Is required.

Down,
Deflated,
Morose,
Sullen,
Life without you,
Seems outright stupid.

She said to me,
If that's the way I wanted it,
Then that's the way it should be,
It's not the way I want,
There is no way I would ever want,
To lose a friend is hard,
To lose a good friend even harder,
To lose the best friend ever,
Is without a doubt harder,
Than anything I've done before,
Tears don't tell the story,
Heart again being torn to shreds,
She was the one who pasted all the parts together again,
And now she leaves?
Without tears,
Just walked away,
As if nothing means nothing no more,
An easy goodbye,
Like all was nothing all along,
Just a pretend love,
Illusory, and made up,
Pretend.

The form and nature,
Of a person,
Or something associated with them,
A very peculiar notion,
Distinguished from other beings,
With kind feelings and mild dispositions,
Sympathy and benevolence,
Politeness as well,
Learning and concerned,
Reflections and opinions,
Meditations of oneself,
Principles and considerations,
Engrossed in truth,
We trifle,
Without knowledge of meaning,
In an all too abrupt life.

Having stems and branches,
Like thoughts and philosophy,
Growing and taking root,
Harboring life of all sorts,
Insect and bird,
Marsupial and primate,
So many others to name,
We climb them as children,
Play-houses with signs,
That say 'keep girls out',
Poets speak of them,
With admiration and awe,
We chop them down,
For fire and heat and cooking our fare,
We build houses from them instead of within,
We sit on their stumps,
And invoke memories of days we climbed,
And the poets write beautifully about them,
Upon their skins.

Translucent,
Clearly visible,
That which lies within,
Malleable when heated to extreme,
By passion or regret,
Accepting the arrangements,
And shape and form,
Of that which afflicts and guides it,
Made ornate with,
Precious events and horrific realities,
It slowly becomes opaque,
No longer allowing light to pass,
Reflecting instead,
What was inside,
Now dead,
Hardened and brittle,
So easily shattered,
Shards and fragments,
like razors,
make unwanted openings,
To a great depth,
Into the soul,
Of the one who possesses such a frail and perishable,
Glass heart.

Brought to me by you,
Was the word 'love',
Brought to you by me was 'Love is not enough',
You approached me with 'respect',
Then 'adoration',
Then a lot of other words.
Then gestures.
Then things I don't even wanna think about,
All to make my weakened mind and heart,
Yours,

If Michaelangelo,
Were alive today,
He would sculpt your svelte and lithe figure,
Into the finest Italian marble,
Marble that would last for ten thousand years,
So all men, from this day forward,
Would have the opportunity,
To perceive and envision,
That which only,
He and God could create.
She laughed at me,
Again.

So many guideposts,
Unseen.
Unrecognized.
Like faces on a bus, kinda blended into a background,
Where being a face-in-the-crowd,
Was a good thing,
Anonymous really,
Just someone else,
Not me.
Me, being an identity,
A separate and identifiable entity,
I cannot blend in,
I am known.

I draw on a place,
That is within me,
twisting and turning,
Vast crevices abound,
An emptiness exist here,
Like deep caverns,
echoing aloneness,
I search for meaning inside me,
I search for meaning outside as well,
Purpose, I suppose, is what I make of it,
Hell too.

I've lost my life,
To drug and drink,
It doesn't matter,
I like to think,
Everything I thought I'd keep,
Is forever out of reach.

Allow me to sing,
While I play your heartstrings,
Let me bask in the light of your eyes,
Allow me to soar in the wind of your whispers,
Let me rest in the shade of your life,
Again melt my heart with the warmth of your smile,
So precious the honor,
To stand by your side,
Forever and always,
I want to be near you,
If fate should betray us,
Be still my poor heart.

Visions and dreams sit empty.
Without ambition and drive,
Imagination only lingers.
Hovering just slightly above truth,
Whatever that means to you.
I give in and up,
I can't figure it out.
Love doesn't always say yes,
Often it says no.
It always says maybe.

Life is a dare that I accept...but I lose.

Memories,
With long shadows,  
Cast by the light of age,
Exchange truth,
For a more comfortable delusion.