I remember the first time I wished I didn’t have to live.

I remember where I was.

I was outside my house. Next to the driveway.

I was thinking about how much I hated school.

How much I hated not being able to be free.

How much I hated not being able to be outside.

I loved mother nature and I wanted simply to be and to love her.

I hated that I was trapped. I hated that I was trapped for 12 years.

I knew this number. 12. Years.

I had only been alive for 6.

Twice my lifetime I would have to be stuck at a desk performing menial tasks.

I thought I would never be able to survive this disconnection from the wonder I experienced when I sat outside.

I remember this.

Vividly.

And the thorn said to the rose,
    "Why do you resent me so and pretend I don't exist when it is I who makes you the beautiful treasure you are?"
And the rose replies,
    "It is true people love to look at me and savor my perfume but had I not you thorns perhaps someone would want to pick me up and take me with them."
    "You belong here grounded in the earth by your roots dear rose.
It is I that protects you from being picked and taken on a journey not your own", responded lovingly the thorn.

Glass pressed to your curious smile
your eyes are already drunk
empty though it seems
I still taste the wine on your lips
I know the flavor well by now
bitterness gives way to a rosy sting
and I melt into the chalice
and feel at home
as a grape pressed and aged
and allowed to breath
finally savored

Her beauty pained me greatly. Her edges, the lines of her curves cut into me like razor wire.The deepest and most vulnerable parts of me choked on tears of want. Nothing truly beautiful can ever be obtained. Indeed the very notion of attainability is utterly destroyed by the vision of what is truly beautiful. Even one's own body, the source of longing itself becomes belonging to something bigger; belongs to no one at all. Her form, her poise, her grace, her *** which shone off of her blindingly. My mind, usually engaged in white-washing the world in colors suiting my narcissistic bent is arrested, transposed. My greedy, perverse imagination simply cannot top the marvel pleasuring herself playfully before an audience innumerable. My rendering engine cannot keep up with my desire and I break down. Religion floods my heart and not worship but sacrifice overtakes me. I want to die for her image. I don't want to know her physically- too much pain would be involved- though I would starve myself indefinitely just to taste her.

And you were so happy...
I looked at you with hollow mournful eyes
I could not join you in rejoicing
I was already looking back on this that we have lost
I wish you really understood
the way I saw you
I would want you to know the way
the light on your cheek
still shines in my memory
and your smile as I held you
is the first image that comes to mind
when asked about beauty

The sunrise in summer
is cute, even quaint
The harvest moon in eclipse
is a striking novelty
The first snow fallen fresh
is pretty while pure

And the light on your cheek as I held you

         will haunt me
       as it did
     even then

Gold flecks glint behind hazy deadened eyes

Like sunbeams blocked by a brewing storm cloud

Thunder cracks

I could cry any moment

and I don’t

I could fly any moment

and I don’t

I ask why every moment

and I don’t

find any answers where there are none to be found

Blazing inferno!
Now I will carry water;
Through ice-mountain pass

A world unnoticed
Toiling armies wade through moss
Life built upon life

Reaching for the sun
Even at night growing strong
Master of patience

Just another tree
Home for all of these beings
Just another world

These windswept peaks bear no resemblance to my name.
How then am I to know who is being called home?

I look to skies of grey with wondering eyes.
I am too drunk on earths coursing rivers to sense the stars above.

A sober touch moves the pebble from here to there.
The motion of my will elevates the pebble to divinity.

Here and there and nowhere are in me and in mine.
One place is all place is home.

Forget your longing and enter my inn.
In my hospitality the wine is conversation.

Loosen your grasp on the cup and speak with me awhile.
Then, forget about awhile and remember eternity.

Sitting working on my mind a breeze drifts through my window.
I can feel your whispers on my skin. Your faint light warms my heart.
How I have forgotten to whom my thanks is due
for the chance to seek and learn what’s true.

My family they are too afraid to know why they are scared.
Unbeknownst to them our fates are wholly shared.
They cannot hear the silence cry over the blaring TV screen
and the bombs exploding outside their windows.

My only fear is sleep and my only rest is in your arms.
Lift me up so I can see where my attention is due.
I’ll stay here and I’ll stay strong, If only for you.
I’ll keep walking, holding on, If only to find what’s true.

I haven't lived a day past the day I met you. Every day since has been lived inside of that day. I've tried to tear time apart at its hinges so as to be free and my will has left me a sundered man. I left everything with you that day, as you unknowingly asked me to do. I hate everything about everything about how much you mean to me. I have lived every day since that day inside of the pain of that day. You tell me to move on. You don't know that there is no one to move on and nowhere to move to. I live inside of nowhere. I live inside of the day that never could have been otherwise and yet needed to be so. You tell me to move on...

I’m left spinning
one side pushed
the other pulled
center held still
suspended above
the ramblings of a mind
obsessed with lack

“Are you happy?”
you ask me

“Does it matter?”
I respond

I don’t feel ‘good’
though I’m not sure
if that is the object of this game

All these people chasing
their objects across their fields
and yet they have forgotten
the rules of the game

The only rule I know
is know no rule

So I’m tired and my head aches
and my heart hurts
and my gut rolls into itself
and yet I am not taken
into this place of panic
some people are so fond
of calling home

The clouds roll over my head
as I stand stalwart
against the storms that don’t exist
And I become the mountain
laughing with every crack of thunder

Yes you became the moon to me
and like the tides I am still pulled towards you
and like the tides I fall back into myself
and am not drawn out of the Ocean
I Am

With windswept hair and time-scarred skin
I stand bleeding beneath the blazing sun
I open my heart and power seeps in
Blood turns to ash as I turn to the flame
Time stands still as the ages burn away
Feathers formed from unshed tears
Shield me as night turns to day
Wounds sustained while
Bound to my plight
Seared closed by
Ancient Light

Your smile warms my morning like the Thai Lemon Ginger tea that is your favorite.

In fact, a glass of hot water in your presence would not require a tea leaf to be the most exquisite beverage I could enjoy.

Blood pours from the wound.
The hounds snarl viciously at him. There are two of them.
Standing over him as his life drains from the hole newly torn in his outer thigh. The tooth is still lodged in his leg.
It is the only reason he is still conscious. The delicate ivory dagger is all that is keeping his femoral artery from emptying itself onto the dusty pine-needle covered ground.
He realizes his peril. His impending departure from this mortal plane instilling in him a new-found appreciation for the life he is about to lose. He feels regret.
He regrets walking into the forest at night alone. He regrets leaving his home in anger and he regrets the last words he spoke to his family.

He is sure this is the end. He has finally done it.

He grows increasingly desperate as moments from his past leap to the forefront of his awareness. Even as these awful beasts circle closer his mind is filled with images unrelated to his current predicament.
But perhaps not so unrelated as it was these blunders that each led him a step closer to this fateful nights error. His attention turns back to the beasts. Each vying to be the first to indulge itself on the flesh of this foolish over-evolved hominid squirming in front of them. But the creatures are no longer what he fears. He can feel the blood draining from his wound. He feels the wetness and the growing chill.
He feels the absence of his future.

He pleads with God to give him one last chance.

One last chance to make something of the life which he has treated with such ungrateful flippancy.
One last chance to keep the spirits of his parents from breaking under the weight of losing their child.
One last chance to find the love he knew he’d never find again.
One last chance to find the courage to create some meaning for himself.
One last chance to die with some small amount of peace in his heart.

This matter of life and death

is a serious matter
not to be taken lightly
as though watching a play
from a seat in a balcony

Stand up

get on stage and take your bow
choose a character and play yourself
as far as your heart will take you
the part has been written
the casting call is posted
you are invited to play the role
you were born for