Man, it is so disappointing.
I get close to exploring
another human’s mind.
A minute or two
passes through
as I share truths
and expect her to
present hers to,

but generally I get
either vehemence
or indifference.
She either gets ******
or merely dismisses
my curious persistence,

and I find myself
alone in a never-ending pursuit
of knowledge
that I never get to share.

Supposedly,
I was wrought
with jealousy.

Justifying,
allegedly,
believing
that it was
owed to me,

cause I was better,
kinder, smarter
working harder
to prove my love.

In reflection
I refuse to admit it,
I’d prefer
just to forget it,

but supposedly
I am to smart
to fool myself.

To tell the stories
I have to run,
have to move,
partly for fun,
and partly to view
the world through
a traveler’s lens.

Cause if I stay
I’ll die
of old age,
and barely
make any change.

So,
I have to
run
to grow,
and share what I know
with all of you.

Its all ok.
Till, it isn’t.
Till, my howling beast
comes to swallow me
as I drown in the hollow
corridors of humanity.

The wails of the hungry,
the horrid screams of agony,
the shelters shattered
in mind numbing madness
made by modern
technology.

Mostly, this doesn’t
even touch me.
I wipe it off,
flap that flak jacket
that is dusty
with the flakes of
the fallen and burnt.

Our history returns,
but I am tired
of playing
the soothsayer
to those who go on
behaving like raving
children slayers.

My spirit becomes
comfortably numb
as I succumb
to my own complacency,
cause to struggle
drains me
immensely,
saps what’s left
of my sanity.

But even in the cluttered corners
the poet philosopher,
lover of literature,
student of history,
cries out to me,
yelling “do not surrender
your kind-hearted wonder,
and sense of empathy.
If you do there will be
nothing left of me
and our withering
humanity.”

There is something there
in the downtown square,
an angel statue
with statuesque hair.

On my way to work
the nightshift,
I stop and stare
at the strange
stationary beauty,

whispering secrets
in her ear
that she’ll never share,
cause she doesn’t care.

She is as hard as metal
but the last beautiful girl
staring up at the stars,
while loud cars
blast by
destroying the peaceful night.

Like Pygmalion
I am in love
with a statue,
but unfortunately
for little old me
there is no
Aphrodite
to bring my beloved to life.

When life is to hard and hurts to much it is love and hope that drives me on. When darkness and despair permeate my world it is love and hope that sustains me. So I thought just so you all know when times get tough when the tragedy is to much please remember I love you all.

The folds of
burnt black metal
pinch his skin,
breaking the flesh
that slips within
tiny gaps.

The knight gasps
as pain explodes
and trickles of blood
start to flow.

To this
his page says,
your forgot your
aketon.

The newly knighted fool
stares and drools,
stuttering “what?”
and the page replies
your underpadding.