The second hand a rapier
The hour hand, a longsword
And the minutes are my claymore
Armored with the twelve as I push forward
The face is the shield
The gears inside by my command spin or yield
My arsenal is time itself, ticking as I walk
Slaying all of my fears with each sound of a tock
The seconds are my soldiers, loyal and true
The hours are my guardians, great, but few
The moments are precious, hold them dear
Time is the ultimate force, weild it to control eternity
Take control of your destiny
Reinforceing dreams considerably
There is a person and future for which I weild tick and tock
And I have the aid and power of an ever revolving clock

Another day of anguished waiting
My earthly life, now put on hold
Another day, that I am hating
Of my death, I have been told

My life is now an hour glass
My days, those grains of sand
Veiled by tears, I watch them pass    
As I am funneled, to my end

I cannot slow or stop the flow
Each grain, thus bleeds my heart
All earthly things, I should let go
But I'm yet, not ready to depart
  
My sorrow strikes like lightning
Piercing bolts of what’s to come
My doubts and fears keep heightening
Until deaths hand does me succumb

In this world, I’m just a speck
My life, sifting into death
As that last grain, slips past the neck
I’ll take my final breathe

I wonder if, I’ll fly on wings
Or be prodded by a scythe
Will my remorse, then save my soul
When I am forced, to leave this life
BOEMS BY JA 498

There is a reason I can't keep my hands off you.
Mostly because you feel so supple to my touch.
But there is more to it.
See I express my self physically.
Use my hands to accentuate my speach.
So for me to touch you is more than you think.
It is my ultimate expression of love.
My hands lazily trotting the atlas of your form.
Is a million words that don't exist.
Before we had words, we had gestures.
Love is impossible to articulate with words.
So I will let my hands do the talking.
And I do hope you understand,
Why words don't flow from me to you.
Love is a feeling not a word.
And it's meant to be felt.
Do you feel it? Because I mean it.
So much that I can't even insult the feeling,
By using paltry words.
No word is worth what you mean to me.
No words.

I lay upon the tranquility
beneath the stars
Wondering at the wonder
that made us who we are
The water's are black
but warm around me
I float like the ripples
of the surrounding sea .
There is a silence
that I long to know well
Somehow it's alluded me
All I can say is oh well
Eventually I wash up
onto the shore
I crawl up
like my ancestors before
I sit on the dunes
the sands of my time
That once were great moutains
made out of granite and lime
But before all of this was
Before even the wetness of sea
Even before there were
the great mountains that be
Farther back than
than any memories
I wonder where is the point
from where did I depart
to make my journey's home
to find a new start

A poem about coffee
How cheap
How over used
A poet speaking on coffee
Is like a politician making a promise

But this is where we live
Our inner self brought out by consuming
Coffee, *****, drugs, love....

Pick your poison and get writing.