I ventured on a journey all alone
Self powered also self empowered
Lonely I was but I did not bemoan
Miles washed down the drain as I showered

Met interesting folks on my bike trip
Stayed with a couple, helped me feel at home
Crashed with earthy folks, who were ultra hip
Greeted with support wherever I roamed

Climbed mountains ascending fifteen degrees
Some stretched up for miles into the blue sky
And descents that caused wobbles in my knees
As valleys and streams vanished from my eyes

Sure, I missed my wife and my kids' cute smiles
Yet, this was an adventure for legs and soul
They both grew stronger with each pedaled mile
My head was spinning as my tires rolled

Crossed my sylvan state, an empowered state
Something I just knew I wanted to do
When I made it, I had to celebrate
New Jersey was my state of soul anew

Don't suicide.
Don't die.
Death is way overrated.
You don't rest peacefully
Rolling in the deep,
Or sit on clouds
Admiring the view
Below.
You're dead.
It's not a compromise
From our daily woes;
It's not respite
From our daily blows.
It's death.
And if you think
For one eternal second
You'll hover, ghost-like,
At your memorial,
And hear stories
About how great you are,
Were,
Or see your enemies cry,
Forget it.
You didn't get even
With anybody.
I suspect, if it's possible,
You wouldn't be interested
In us anymore,
Anyway.
You got dead.
Forever and ever.

Under rolling clouds
of purest white
stretching over bright
blue skies,
my feet carry me
as if winged
through the lush
green hills of this world
you've shown me.

Your cries carry me
through the deepest
chasms,
and though
I grow weary,
I must carry on.

Time grows short,
fortunes pass unseen.
I yearn only
to gaze upon
your face
once more.

And yet I dread
the words
I know must come.
Past these demons
of darkest nightmares
and through this
dungeon of the
blackest heart.

Through all this hell,
I come to
my hollow reward.
An empty room,
bearing only an echo.
Your princess
is in another castle.

An angel
wrapped in gauze.
Lying still
on coarse,
unmoved sheets.

Soft,
tender skin
pulled tight
over blood
and bone
by taut stitches
pierced through
the wreckage.
My angel.

Surrounded
by colour,
bright flowers
that fill the room
with a sweet odour
as they die.
I tell myself
that I can't
smell her too.

The sun
streaming in
through the window
is too hot,
but she shivers.
Now and then.
Her eyes,
so bright
when she looks
at me.

I touch her hair,
and whisper
in her ear.

An angel
wrapped in gauze
prays to a god
she's never seen.

I hold her hand,
long after she's let go.