I listened to the sounds of a nights life as it was on truest display.
On yet another dead end night.
No deadlines, no friends to annoy, no voices to echo shattered thoughts together.  

Long since had the audience grown cold and I simply deaf to their presence nothing drowns an ego worse than the reality's of a distant storm.

I listened like a ghost story.
A child's fears matched only by the amazement of what never could be and the night kept rhythm with my soul as emptiness washed the troubles aside for now .

Sometimes nothing.
Holds you closer than any lover shall.

We are lost to our thoughts and me just lost for the sake of being gone.
I enjoy my distance now the wolves can call but no longer do I feel the burden to run .

Nothing is as peaceful as knowing the hand doesn't have to yearn for the pen.
Simply let the thoughts go as they linger in seconds my hours were never wasted .
For what never was could never be lost.

Time tells me I'm done .
And the night simply speaks to me in gentle whisper of darkness .
Be bound not by shackles for now you are free .

Sunday afternoons
When I'm finally alone
With myself again
And I can breathe
Like a normal human being,
When I take Edgar Allan Poe
Off the shelf
And sink into his words again.
Sunday afternoons
When I stop to watch a film,
A cheesy romantic comedy
About two beautiful kids
And no one will tell me
Not to laugh so loud
Or ask me why I'm crying
Such big, heavy tears.
Sunday afternoons
When I catch up:
Tweeze my brows,
Paint my nails,
Take a bath,
Maybe sing a song or two
Like I used to when I was still young
And he called me beautiful.
Sunday afternoons
When I sit on the couch,
Stare at the ceiling,
And dream of Adam
In the perfect quietness of the house,
Knowing that any minute
You'll be back,
Angry and penniless
With the smell of beer on your clothes
And not a dollar to your name.

He wakes every morning 
To stare into the mirror 
And wonder when his face 
Turned like elephant skin;
For all his mind recalls
Is a memory of a laughing girl
Who pulled the ribbons from her hair,
Until one day she stole his sheers
To carpet the floor 
With black raven wings,
All because she longed to drink
From the basket of life,
But in his animal-instinct weakness
He cut the cord
From the source 
To her lips.

you and i were always just one second window glance away and i avert my eyes too fast and you always pretend you didn't see me. later on you'll tell your friends like I will tell mine that we saw each other, then they'll ask what we talked about and we'll always laugh it off with a wave of a hand we didn't share when our eyes met. At night, we'll toss and we'll turn and that one second glance will play like a broken record inside our heads, stopping us from sleeping, weighing down our stomachs as the heaviness of regret and disappointment settle in. "I wish I was braver," you sigh to yourself. "I wish I said Hi," I whispered against the sheet. Then we'll try to sleep but we won't until the clock blares 4am. We'll wake up groggy, unsettled, wishing that simple, unimportant one second window glance wasn't just a fleeting moment neither of us anticipated would gnaw us inside out. But it does and it's there and the eyes of the other will continue to be engraved inside our memory, sadly, as only a memory.

The moon is now bright and full
showering silver romance,
to the leaves of tree so dull.

A cricket humming his chants
deep in meditation behind
the dark unknown shrub's branch.

Somewhere in a nest, a hatchling can't sleep
letting out feeble hunger cries
her mother did not fetch enough to feed.

While on my walk, I see those eyes
hiding behind a trunk, peeping
I assure it safety, I know may be lying

Night is the time for them to be,
struggling to enjoy independence and security
this unending night leading them to the unknown
what will remain I wonder at the crack of dawn.

""""'@,,,,,,,,


branches slough the
skin from the moon to be borne
aloft like leaves... gone


haiku
soulsurvivor
(c) 7/30/2015