I wait for the inspiration to strike.
For the lightning bolt to hit me,
for that satisfying boom of thunder
to be the music in my enlightened mind.
But it doesn't come.

Day after day, I sit idly
and wait.
As other crackling lights fill the streets,
I am stationary as ever.
"It will arrive," I say, "When the time is right."
But it doesn't come.

Dawn turns to day, day turns to dusk.
Twilight seeps into the once bright sky
And I know
My time is coming to an end.

But still, inspiration evades my waiting mind.

And then, as the soft light of the stars flicker into view,
Something finally comes.
I stand up and look around, the profound realization lighting my fading sun.
There never was and will never be
a thunder god out there to help me.

Because I am Thor.
The inspirer,
the creator
of my own lightning strikes.

I smile, contented,
but still, I know
I will never create that shock of energy,
that blinding light
or world-changing view

For now,
it is too late.

I try
So hard
To be perfect.

And yet
I fail
Every time.

You're lost in the destruction, a defect of time.
Your life's been turned around, spun upside down and back again.
The very thread that defines you is coming undone,
your entire life gone in that very moment of loss.
You are alone.
Once so useful, you now are equivalent to trash,
tossed in the can
without a second glance.
The dirt on your back has become too much;
the loss of your partner overwhelming for all.
For, it is true, being a sock without a pair
is nothing less
than a travesty.

When I awake,
Will you be there,
Be lying by my side?

Or will I be alone,
Alone again,
Like all those other nights?

Will the sheets next to me be warm
Or will they be cold like you?
Will you be there, finally,
With the love that’s overdue?

My breath leaves in white swirls
Mixing with the icy blue air
Wavering, disconfiguring
Then fading away.

It wasn’t her fault
The sun didn’t rise
In my world
Today.

It wasn’t his fault
That I watched
Her hair create a halo
Around the head of an angel
As she fell.

It wasn’t their fault
That hand in hand,
They left this world
Hoping
The next one
Would be better.

There they were
Hand in hand
Forever, so it seemed.

Their hair creating halos
Around the heads
Of angels
As they fell.

Moonlight streamed through the trees
Illuminating the wicker basket
Toppled on the ground.

Casting light on the lonely
Checkered blanket
Splayed out beneath the tree.

Hand in hand,
They left this world
Hoping
The next one
Would be better.

Her hand pulls me toward her,
To the light brightening the darkness
Hidden beneath my eyes.

Under the soft glow of a full moon
We run across yellow fields
Of waving grass
And forgotten memories.

We lay on our backs
Gazing at the worlds above us
Craving their darkness
Almost as much
As each other’s light.

She opens a basket
Letting stardust spill across our laps
And light the darkness
Surrounding us.

I thought I was nothing without him,
Without the planet I orbited.
But I was wrong.
Without him, I became
The sun.

The internet slows
Then stops
Before I can find
The answers.

I reload the page.
Watch the words disappear.

And with it,
Everything I was searching for.

Like a shooting star, what was once now is gone forever
leaving a trail of memories behind,
the only thing lighting this bleak sky called life.
The night is cold and we are restless,
staring at the dark ceiling caging us in.
Headphones cover the ears of the sane,
blocking out the screams of their companions.
And here I stand,
surrounded by voices blending and changing,
monsters streaking out of mouths and
capturing others before freeing them
only to make them its slave – a contagion,
contaminating even the purest of hearts.
The sounds from my sweet songs mix
with the knives from the real world,
easily piercing through the fragile film
that keeps out the monsters.
As the daggers bury deeper into my haven
the darkness slips in,
wrapping me up and stifling my silent screams.
The headphones removed, reality’s sky blinds me
as the monster slides down my throat
and settles in my gut.
It curls around my stomach and lungs and tightens its grip,
now a constrictor leeching the life out of its prey.
I’ve been caught. The virus called life
has
found
me.

Swirls of red and gold
Stretching across the world.
Filling the planet with pale greens and deep indigos,
You are the flower on a desert plain.
You are the sun on a cloudy day,
The rainbow after rain.
You are what makes this world beautiful,
The artistic touch painting the earth with marvels beyond compare.

Artists strive to harness your beauty,
Musicians sing of your grace.
The indescribable image you paint,
Of a baby blue sky and lush green grass.
Day after day, people gaze in admiration
Finding joy in your very presence when they can find it
Nowhere else.

You are the light in a dark cave,
The path through an infinite plane.
The finishing touches of a painting,
The smile on a child’s face,
The laces on a shoe.
Something so important we’d be lost without it
Yet so subtle most look past it.

Bleak skies, barren terrain.
Without you, everything is boring; the same.
How would we symbolize love, glory, shame, danger?
How would we see the edges of each object with such sharpness?
Without you, we would all be at a loss,
Living in a bleary, stark world.

Torn, broken, upset
When I left, I didn't look back
How I regret it.

Let us run away
From the troubles of the world
To wonders elsewhere

Friends fall around us
Blood reflects the starry sky
Stain the ground with red

Smoke obscures the sun
Metal birds soar through the sky
What's this world become?

The last rays of light
fill the sky with ****** red
We will die tonight.

The last glimpse of light
Fills the sky with ****** red
Then the world turns dark

Lost is forever
Never to be seen again
Goodbye one last time

Colors streak blue skies
as the sun makes its descent
towards the horizon.

Cliffs tower above
Stars paint the sky with dancing light
As the young doe sleeps.

As stars cast soft light
and twilight fades into night
the forest sleeps.

Wind whistles through trees
Blowing pebbles through meadows
And ruffling fur.

Arms wrap around me
Just before I hit the ground
I am saved at last

Plunging to the ground
I close my eyes, giving up
This is where it ends

Wind rustles papers
Birds chirp their sweet melodies
Then all goes quiet

As the night darkens
The moon casts an eerie glow
On owls’ yellow eyes

Fractured light gleams off the walls
Reflecting off the Rolex strewn casually across his immaculate desk
Its platinum plating smirking at the watchers
From under the diamond rock.

He wanders through the halls
Stares at the struggles of those below him
Through the translucent walls.

Reaches out a hand
But can never touch the world
Obscured by the diamond windows
That are his prison.

Tilted, rounded walls make caricatures
Of lives, of livelihoods, of people
Like funhouse mirrors in the playground
Of life.

He winds his way through the streets
Of those outside his cell.
Staring through the milky panels
That bar him from his subjects.

Though he can never touch, never truly see
It is he who holds the power
above the watchers below.

The joy that comes with a pretty spring day
And stopping to smell the roses
Or listen to the birds
Or feel the warmth of the sun caress your skin

The joy of a smile
A laugh
A conversation with someone new
Or friends you’ve known forever

When you cross paths with an old acquaintance
You haven’t seen for a while

The feeling when you see the “A+” on a math test
That you’ve studied for for hours

The laughter you when your pet does something funny
Or a friend
Or a sister
Or a brother.

The happiness you feel when you know you’ve done something right
And can now relax, the burden relieved.

When you help someone
And know that it’s made their life
Or day
A little better,
A little easier.

The feeling when you realize
That maybe even reading a poem
Like this one
Can make you just a little bit happier.

His mouth forms a wide smirk
as the others laugh at his words.
But it isn’t funny.

She lowers her watery eyes, glasses slipping
down her nose.

Book pages flip
in the breeze that picks up.
She loses her page.

His mouth opens, sharp daggers sliding
from his lips
Their laughter echoed by the trees.

She gets up, stumbles, falls.
Lines of carefully thought-out words tumble to the ground
his foot stretched out in front of her.

Their hands reach for the pages.
Fingers wrap
Around worn bindings.

They play tug-of-war,
trying to pull it out
of each other’s grasp.

A rip.

Papers scatter in the wind.
Snickers fade with the footsteps
as her eyes rain tears.

I bend down.
Papers fill my hands
one by one.

She looks up.
The sun lights up her clouded eyes
as she takes the faded pages,
in her grasp again.