Father, they don't have names,
Mother, is it their soul that I take,
is it mine, sister,
am I truly their brother.

what family have we,
us of the sorts with no further resort but to break,
I dance because I shake,
I bleed into a lake while beauty is my only sake.

How can it be, how can I seem, why can I dream,
but the stars are like birds afar, whose wings I just barely cannot make, their song, it seems fake.

On fire, skipping across the lake,
awaiting a painting that finally takes,
the moments into bliss,
the reading away from the fakes,
who dares, who calls my name,
who can tell me everything isn't the same,

all the words, coming like herds,
answering nothing, despite everything,
I heard, I break, I snake through the grounds
begging for the moments,
begging the torments, nag another day, let me escape,
I'm just a man, I yell, I scream, I bleed.

Grains of sand, slipping through my fingertips, because I'm alive and refuse to quit. There's songs, ampersands, sounds fueling my environment with waves and I'm not fighting them. Going inside reverberating through the halls in my skull, calling out my name like someone used to call it. Asking the shadows which one of them will help me solve it, this disaster lying in wait, telling me everything will be great, I stop to think, I stagnate

is answered by whom,
is it the shadows,
are they those that detest,
who protest as a test,
to strengthen themselves by showing a weakness,
are they the low lights sitting in meekness,
arguing about what bleak really is.

Do they say a thing at all, are they patiently waiting,
or are they hurling themselves as in a mad ball,
of lunatics and deprived fashions,
depraved for the sake of not being old fashioned,
carrying a sash with no idea of war,
teeth that gnash for the sake of relaxing.

Why, for what purpose?

are questions presented such as this,
is there any that suggest,
or do they just listen?
glisten in the corners like a dissipating mist and
carry on until nothing is all that remains to enlist.

Dead corpses, serving no purpose,
that can't be fed upon by the land,
and offer the eyes nothing to despise,
something like flowers, roses, converted to rind,
lacking aroma of any kind, angry that they were of such a kind.

The folks are acquitted,
Each and every one,
Checked out, without, perhaps not even listening.

The records for the souls
Willing ears unaware of the tolls

The weapons with reasons innumberable,
To break that delicate hold.
Every man grasps until his grip becomes old

Displaced memories filled with rage,
Happiness converted into covetry,
Longing for when you were bold.
Begging to undo what rhythms unfold

Mold, grow,
Be what you set out to be,
With this tree that's already grown.

On your back, looking up,
In bliss, or with your being torn.

Down the middle, and at every side
begging from the skies where only the devils preside.

Call his name, he has your name written on his line,
I tell you my brothers, what's been sold isn't our time.

Wake up, we aren't slumbering,
we are just fine.

I stand up strong, look in the mirror
Say grandma will be wrong soon,

Drive and work, keep a smile
try to not be the reason a frown ensues,

Supplicate to myself,
wonder and dream about what can be,

Call to not get an answer,
but she will is what I hope,

Tell my mother what's wrong and hopefully right
ask she will see decades more of nights,

Sit down and write, because it feels right
feel cold but indifferent of what's left,

Dreary thinking of the prospect that nothing changes
even with my best,

See my father hasn't opened years of messages,
I lament

Be strong because that's all that's left,
Smile because people deserve the best,

All for you, and them, dancing in my chest.

This woman wanted my babies,
and she would have made them beautiful,
Her forms and shapes I'd never seen,
and I'd kiss and trace her without cease,
She loved me, but I knew it wouldn't be,
now I'm alone and wondering.

Her eyes, her mouth, her skin, her insides,
a perfect heart, a fiery mind,
But I did not want to keep,
she was fine just falling asleep,
But I did not want to keep.

Jane, you were honest, and our love is slain,
I sang songs you wanted to keep playing,
eyes and breath were enough,
but I wanted to keep playing.

I've thrown you away, and you reciprocated,
but what could we have created,
If i held my words for breath abated,

My star, my singer, my sweetest touch,
I am sorry.