I wish I had
a vein.
the highways are
under reconstruction.
It ***** like a
***** on 3-inch skids.
I did my time,
I'm part of the rhyme.
I'll stay lonely only
because of you..

Blue-eyed delusion;
living in the past.
I guess sanity doesn't
last forever.
Maybe she never
had it at all
I need a woman that
treats me right,
and knows how to love,
not a monster that rages
in the night.
The railroad tracks
know the truth;
so do those harsh Iowa winters.
And talking about a god
doesn't change it.

The greatest disaster in life is not failure...it's not learning from it.

I like worrying a little because it keeps me on my toes and helps me not to take things for granted.

It does not matter so much whether your house is big or small...what matters is whether it's a home.

This Voyage, This Resurrection

I cannot sleep, thinking:

I cannot give you short, bittersweet, sad, delighting, whimsical love poems.

I can give you short, bittersweet, sad, delighting, whimsical life poems.

In cold, rushing spring and river waters, ash and water-borne soil mix.

A voyage endless.
We too, voyage. Endlessly.

Examine the crevices and ravines that
are the map of your hands.

Your voyage's log, memory storage.

Indestructible.

In the clouds's moisture,
ever recycling, it is kept, stored.

Your hands well recall
the very first caress,
the softness of the skin,
the sweet of the lips,
thirty some long years after.

Dare to dispute?

The original animus,
the anima and the persona combination
the byproduct of blood and tissue,
some call spirit,
some call soul,
is matter that cannot be
destroyed,
nor created.

It only voyages on, the conservation of mass,
our body, our enlivement, our spark.

In cold, rushing spring and river waters,
ash and water-borne soil admix.

From this natural brew, renewal.

The voyage is the resurrection
Life ever after.
Life even before.
Life for ever lasting.

Our voyage is without destination.
Our voyage is our destination.
Our voyage is our resurrection.
Endless. Perpetual.
Eternal.

5:46 am
12/18/18

You are so beautiful that you compelled me to write
And so I wrote about you with my favourite pen
Every day.. I poured my soul out for you on the pages of my diary
The pages would beg me for mercy
But I just couldn't stop
I'd write about every facet of yours
I'd describe the magnificence of your beautiful soul
The incredible moon like beauty of your face
Your long black locks of magic
Your deep blue ocean eyes
Your ridiculously charming smile
I wrote about it all
And then one day the nib of my pen broke
And your memories and thoughts were left hanging in the ink
I could no longer capture them on the pages of my diary
I was so heartbroken and frustrated
I wanted to write about you so bad...
And so I tried with a new pen
But with a different pen...It just wasn't the same
The thoughts just refused to flow
My hands would tremble
I'd just keep staring at the pages
I miss those thoughts of you
I miss the emotions that I wanted to write about you
I miss capturing you through my words on the pages of my diary
My colourful diary is now an assortment of blank white pages
My diary which was once filled with life now has turned into a graveyard
I miss not being able to write about you

If you want to succeed...you have to be prepared for failure and criticism.