What pages do you flow between
like a draft through an open door,
through mine and others’,
a perfect line on an otherwise
smudged page?

I don’t want to be left drifting again,
compared to shadows when
there’s no comparison
to you.
We speak truth in our actions,
and we have found ours
in the patterns
we behold to the other,
somewhere in the space of
the morning air and the starry night,
we place our whispered thoughts
into the universe to be heard
so that we can ease our troubled minds.
Be mine,
and I’ll be yours,
and let’s run from stepping stone
to trails covered in pine needles
where we bed for the night,
only us,
under the stars and heaven
above.

You run through my thoughts
like rain,
creeping, seeping,
soaking
me
through.

Burning pages sit heavy
on a bedside table
into the night -
their light the only,
and purposefully so.
You walk past without candor,
eyes aimed into the world
yet seen.
The light fades from the burning pages,
and you start.
What is that?
A shuffle in the room,
a twinkle in the stars.
A door slams in the distance,
echoing in the walls
surrounding.
You thumb the ashes,
how they still feel warm and silky,
and then brush your cheek.
Where have my words gone today?

Habits of delusion are not in my repertoire,
or are they?
That’s exactly what a deluded person
would think.
Sometimes my wheels spin against nothing,
open air,
and produce endless possibilities,
is that really only sometimes?
Maybe it’s all the time.
Maybe it’s so much so fast so often
that my thoughts are unreliable,
impossible to untangle,
distinguish from the next,
they just run together
anyway.
Sleep? Who needs it,
I’m on overdrive,
working, thinking,
going
gone

You appeared in another dream -
this time we said goodbye.

Are you like the wind
through open windows and
blowing leaves?
Do you pass by,
felt but not heard,
in the longing hour of the night?
Do you sing in silence
away from the reveries of your fate?
Will you settle on me
such as dust in an old room
with older books,
or will you pass by
as fleeting as a swallow
as the Winter
approaches?

Assumptionless we drift
through days, weeks, more,
brought to each other in
an arc over the bottomless
sea
where the horizon is met
with words hanging from
our lips.

Florid skies paint
the thoughts we hold
safely,
given in the midst of
rain falling along
the misty trails
where we entrust
a life to another.

For you, I will wait
without the pressure
as I pressured
before.
No expectations,
only hopes of hopes
and maybe dreams
of more.

Eyes, mind, and thoughts are weary,
laden with heavy dreams.
Family, friends, love, dog,
work, school, health, spirituality,
roommates, mortgage, Mom's failing health,
family passed, dreams, aspirations,
for me, for my family,
my future family,
mental health, staving off depression,
alcoholism, old and worn habits.
I'm tired, and it's all I can do
to keep my head up.
But I'll press on.

Take the wind into the
darkest opening within the forest.
Fall and tumble the words
and mistakes with others.
Be wrapped in vine
and entangled in the homes
of others.
Search for fruit and nourishment
on low and of high
and give what and when
able.
Take rains of seasons to let
them wash away foolhardy
steps and plant
life anew.
Forget not the being of
things creeping and small,
and let trees
of past, present,
and future giants
tower above.

Self-awareness is a virtue
like no other,
so I seek not to excuse anyone
completely,
but some have seen multitudes
of shattering pain,
been through countless nights
of sobbing and wailing and crying,
dark, scared, and alone.
Been through abuses unspeakable,
torn from families,
families torn from them,
torn into them.
Some see tragedy after tragedy after
tragedy
warp their very soul
and never reconcile it with the world.
Some experience the truly malevolent
in others or in themselves,
and are never able to bring it to peace.
Some live in perpetual hells
brought on from themselves
or inescapable circumstances.
And yet, despite all of this,
most are capable of great good
and great love in this world.
It’s a wonder there’s any good
in anyone
at all,
so how do we explain that?

Grasping air and biting dust
around in dazed minds,
I've lost what it means
to be found
and sought what it means
to be lost.
Muddy waters
block my murky sight,
what is wanted is never
given voice to that
which isn't noticed.
Fly on, carry on,
my carrion dreams,
away from me.

Open hands and dust dispersed,
fatalistic attitudes through love returned,
set adrift in open flames,
captured as none
beyond the rain.

Coming in contact
with darkest parts of the self -
how do we survive?

Do not elevate each other to Gods,
place each other on pedestals
claiming goodness only
and beautiful soul
without the means to harm.
Do we not know that
every light contains a dark?

Walled hearts befallen of tragedy
perhaps need more love than most.

Steal my words away,
in cryptic ways they have
always been yours.
And while the wave of yesterdays
fall upon me,
and I gather my courage,
you'll slip away like you do.
Let me know in what ways
I cling too strongly;
please don't leave as
everyone else has.
I cannot stand the absences
I leave in myself.
My knees have been sore lately,
begging, pleading
for my own forgiveness.
I will not (cannot) cleave
if unwelcome,
so send me away to feel
soft sand and sharp shells
while I sift myself in
oceans blue.
You'll discover stars alone
within and across and above
regardless,
so I beg of you,
if only for a little while,
stay.

How many times do I have to regress
and regret all the times
I've faltered?
Should I relive and revive all
my sins and wrongs,
create and shape my own private hell?
Is it not what I deserve?
To bury the past in shallow graves
so the rain may reveal
the skeletons of my loves past
yet never gone -
what of the dirt on my hands?
Is it not plain to see the time
I've spent digging holes within?
How long do I continue digging -
until the soil beneath my nails
turns to blood in clenched fist?
Can I keep looking to the past
to reveal the ways of my future,
or is it in this present moment I am
to seek and see answers?
What words should I etch on tombstone
to harken what it is I cannot say?
To what spirits and lords above
and gods below should I
shovel so many final resting places,
and to which of these I've dug
is mine own grave?

How many times do I have to regress
and regret all the times
I've faltered?
Should I relive and revive all
my sins and wrongs,
create and shape my own private hell?
Is it not what I deserve?
To bury the past in shallow graves
so the rain may reveal
the skeletons of my loves past
yet never gone -
what of the dirt on my hands?
Is it not plain to see the time
I've spent digging holes within?
Ask not of me what you dare not ask of yourself.

It's like I'm writing letter
after letter after word
after sentiment and sentimentality
to you.
"You"
This elusive love has not left
my bones yet
nor will it ever.
It has seeped into me,
and no matter how many things
I write and say and do,
it is here to stay.
I'll fill pages with you,
thoughts and whispers and prayers.
Maybe, sometime, parts of me will move on,
but the parts I have given to you
will always be yours.

Forgive my silence;
I know not what to say.
My heart is hardened on this matter,
and I'm ashamed of how deftly
I have, once again,
taken another apart.
You faced me,
now I cannot face you
to reveal that which I know.
I am a fool in many ways.

Dreams of you -
a person never even met.
Chased around a thrift store,
second chances abounded.
A house promised and built
at the foot of a dam,
we knew better.
What monstrous water
should drown us
in our longing,
cracks shown in words
and walls.
It's like the subconscious mind
knows all along
and produces images of
your words before they are
consciously digested.
How can you be found
in dreamscapes and a spotless mind
when you have been lost
in reality

It worries me that the world still spins
without you
and you and you and..
I never wanted you to go,
but I was never present so
how can I ask you to stay?
I've made blood promises to myself,
could you understand?
I've been shaped in ways as you have;
do the pieces I lay before you
not reveal me?
I am stretched and lonesome
of lovers past and future,
in search of a puzzled soul
as puzzled as mine.

I tried to peel back the layers of you -
layers you had not
or would not yet
face.
I wanted to get down to the root
of all the mysteries you hold within.
I wanted to see the things you hide
and the thoughts you keep safe
from the world.
I wanted to know you -
to truly know you
as a complex being across time
and space and oceans
above,
a companion in this life.

One day, when I am very old, I hope to hand off my many poetry-filled notebooks to my grandchildren in hopes they are able to read and see and understand that, though life’s suffering often comes from within and at other times tragedy is to blame, there are enough good moments, blessings, and miracles between it all to live a full and long and good life.

I’m in search of a come-home-to type love,
a partnership of life,
a hopes and dreams type love,
a forgiving and honest love.
One that bends and shapes itself
for the times.
One that laughs and cries
and worries and doubts
but does not waver,
a committed, steadfast,
and dedicated love.
One that builds a home
and encourages in times of apprehension,
supports in times of strength,
and comforts in times of hardship.
The love I search for is neither static
nor simple,
but instead is dynamic
and fluid,
a real, true,
and honest
type love.

Transfixed in solitude
and consequently bound by
the deepest parts of my shadow,
I've found that the poison I've known
is the poison I seek
and to lay it down
is a sacrifice I have to make.

Days pass and the craving grows.

My choice is either to fall into stupor,
into my blackness inside,
and have my life end by my own hand,
or
nurse my spirit
with shadow fully conscious
without spirits.

In this, moderation will not do.

It's only in refusing the drink
that I have a chance,
a hope,
a sliver of possibility
of showing myself some respect
and saving my own wretched life.

Returning to 16 hour days,
breaks few and far between,
no time to think or to ponder
but just to do,
a slave to my own will,
a puppet to my own dreams,
I am but a vessel for creation

I don’t know the weight of your words,
with what truth they carry,
but I assume the best
and that you have tied them up,
written them in fading ink
on homemade parchment,
considered them well,
etched them on the closed door.
I reach for the ****,
intending to see if it’s locked
but cease my motion.
I don’t know your intent,
didn’t know it then,
so chances are I never will.
Maybe you don’t either,
but, in this, maybe is a fracture
across time and
a life I wish to keep whole.
Closure is a blessing
when done with right intent,
but I don’t know you,
so I’ll take it at face value,
assume it is true and good,
and leave doors locked from within
alone.

I am full of holes
just like a good cheese

Tumbling down mountains
through long and sharp grass,
I find
that the dew I’ve gathered
is of little consequence
to the stars
I’ve pondered
above.

Yet I still find myself
glancing skyward
as I gather speed,
wondering
if they’re
watching
and hoping
I might catch
their eye.

I have been ready and willing
to give myself,
my all,
to someone - not just anyone -
that would accept.
I have tried,
been true and honest,
present and willing
and loved in the process.
I'm not ashamed of those I've come to love,
maybe just disappointed
that we wanted different things,
were on different pages.
But I'm sure there's a reason
that will reveal itself in time.
I'm not cynical or bitter.
Maybe I would have been years ago,
not now.
I still put myself out there,
bear my vulnerability for the world.
I am afraid, of course,
as we all are and should be,
but I know nothing great comes
without time.
So, for now,
I'll bear my loneliness
and continue to live
forthrightly
with honest intentions
and careful thoughts.

Take me into the depths.
Show me the underwater beast,
the Leviathan, the oceanic Medusa,
the wet, slithering, Hydra.
Let me breathe in the sick algae,
and bury my eyes in floating sand.
Fill my lungs with coral and stone,
and grind my feed to stumps
so I never escape.
Bind my hands with a seaweed embrace,
and let me bite the fisherman's hook,
fool such that I am.
Worthless drifting piece of trash
cast into the ocean tides,
starved of affection,
and bitter in the world.
Drag me down into the depths
and leave me there
where I belong.

I mourn(ed) you in pieces
like all others I love.
Denial was brief -
how could I imagine it any differently?
Anger was flashing and red-hot.
Some still remains.
I asked God why
as if I would receive an answer.
I did.
I was cast into a pit,
notably of my own making
as it has always been.
I have reached outward,
but maybe
maybe I'll just stay here.

Deep in dream states
come visitors of the past
and beyond.
Perhaps to say hey,
maybe just to see how I'm doing;
I always enjoy their company.
We've laughed, cried, loved
and forgiven.
There is peace in our actions.
I like to think my visitors
experience just what I do,
and that, on some level,
we are still connected.
Maybe that is but a fantasy
or a dream within
a dream.

If you cannot even think of death,
how do you expect to ever face it?
What roads do you walk down
with face cast down
as stones you dare not throw?
--I am no different-- [strike-through]
I remain tempted to say
I am no different,
a common pattern in my thoughts,
but, in this,
I certainly am.
I am not scared
(anymore)
to hurt another,
monster such as that I may be,
are you?
And what unnecessary hardship do you cause
in your ******* excuse for
compassion?
You did not let me off easy.
You hooked and gutted me like a fish
unworthy of a reason why.
But, unlike you,
I am unafraid of being hurt.
Maybe we were too different
after all.

I am transparent.
My words,
made of glass,
betray me.

I stay deep in silent reveries
and lost in meditation

I've been acting out of character
trying to build a new man lately.
Careful don't you look down on me
and find a different version of yourself.

I have lost pieces
once easy
searched for pieces
then trying
now effortless.
I've come to accept that
growing comes with
repetition,
but I didn't know
it meant forgetting
to then
rediscover.
There is nothing to fear,
not anymore;
there is God by my side
and if I fall then
it is by Him.
He knows my heart in all its darkness,
shamed as I am.
I have grown too tough
and too gentle,
too rough and too sentimental,
too harsh and too weak,
all at the same time.
There is a time for each.
It's time to lay down the extras,
and pick up the forgotten.

I’ve stared into the flame too long,
saw that which lit the darkness
and seen the darkness overcome.
I’ve been on the verge of death
and living a seemingly full life
for far too long.
It’s not that I’ve always gone away,
but that I’ve forgotten how to stay.

Taking a small break
Maybe you haven’t noticed
I’ve been kinda scarce

It is only human to love.
I’ll make no apologies
for my currents and currencies.
For also
revealing my humanity.
I know many dark facets
of this existence.
I know what it means to fight
and to love.
Sometimes they are the same.
Maybe it’s all I’ve ever known.
I’ve bore the consequences
of my desires
and been born again
time and time
again.
I am no stranger nor victim
to the raging infernos
of this life.
We were born to confront
the chaos of this world
and turn it into love.
It is only human.

Please God help me
I'm trying
Can't you see?
What do I have to sacrifice?
What can I give you?
That's all I have,
can't you take something else?
I can't give that up.
Help me
please.
I can't give you that;
it's all I have.
Please, God.
Please.

I did it again,
I didn't fight -
I took less
than was deserved.
Nobody respects that,
not even me.
Too worried to tear
out a throat
to deliver a warning
nip.
How many times
do I have to learn
this lesson?
Too little, too late,
right time
wrong place.
Don't you dare
face me now.
I am rabid,
full of venom,
and craving blood.

Start with a statement.
Something you know to be true.
See how it relates to the things you cherish -
family, nature, flying, anything.
Now write it, but also speak it!
Make sure it has a rhythm
that bounces to and fro.
Weave in the important elements
everywhere you can.
But be careful with your words!
Try not to repeat them -
this is where a thesaurus comes in handy.
A dictionary too!
Use your language correctly,
or have a **** good reason for not.
Punctuation matters too;
it affects how you read.
Listen in your head -
does that period belong there?
Grammatically it might be correct,
poetically, maybe not.
Hide things, little secrets,
between the lines
for the reader to discover.
But most of all,
and now this is the important part,
write what feels right,
nothing less
and nothing more.

That's how to write a poem.

Watch me as I fall
without you.
I've spent years
perfecting this dark energy;
you are not the first
to leave me longing.
Watch closely.
I can build a statue
from ashes,
inhabit order
surrounded
by chaos.
Watch as I consume,
without myself,
myself.
I can fall,
but I cannot fail.
Watch.
You only scratched
the surface
of who I was
and am,
but you let loose this
agony -
my flood,
my fuel.

Face your fears
or have them face down you.
How can you not even face me?
You run like a child,
do not.
Instead of fight
you take flight
and reveal truer colors yet unseen.
There must be a lesson for me here as well -
in what ways have I been running?
In what ways have I failed
to be truthful
in action and in words?
A question presented
and an answer revealed.
I did not flinch,
I did not waver
in the revelation of your feelings
truthfully shown,
but I have been cut deeply
and taken to my knees
in these darkening hours
to ask God
why?

i have a habit of throwing things away
ill tear myself to pieces and lay them at your feet
i know its foolish
just leave me be
and i can turn this one sided feeling
into a no sided thought
like a magic trick
ill fall away
disappear into the black
leaving scorched earth behind
i dont mind
ive done it so much
loved too much
or not enough
its hard to tell
some days
i just cast things aside
put myself in a box
so i dont bite
tear my teeth out
trying to escape
my own making
i never learned to play softly
no one ever wanted to play with me
like a dog unsocialized
i can only growl and snap
and be pet
when wearing a muzzle
i have not hidden
who i am
who are you