These eyes of mine
Have seen
Beyond the imaginary lines of being,

A broken heart mend over the written word shared by those whose wisdom has surpassed time,

Beautiful sunsets painted over gray lines by poets who know that you'll never know the true meaning of joy without a little pain paving the way.

I have wandered in the caves of those who dare to etch their souls on paper, and shun their thoughts to wondering eyes,

To give meaning to the lives of many, direction to the gypsey, and a mender for the torn,

Walked more than a mile in shoes of so many to find the quintessence of broken glasses, the epitome of troubled souls, and the essence of being,

Beautiful melodies that soothe the soul through the ears of a deaf man,

The rhythm of a heart in love that sickens the soul, invades the thoughts and leaves every inch of the body longing,

A memory of a love so precious, unforgettable that it's fragrance lingers still from a distant memory,

And when all is lost and plundered,
Your words are like a thread that sews patch after patch across my torn silhouette


It's a pleasure
To have read so many inspiring, beautiful and heartfelt poetry in here.

WE that have done and thought,
That have thought and done,
Must ramble, and thin out
Like milk spilt on a stone.

I'll be waiting,
     for the day we become one
I'll be waiting,
     'till the day you return
I'll be waiting,
     with my heart still open for you
No matter how long,
      i'll be waiting for You

Happiness isn't at the table were you eat your dinner
But
At the Kitchen were the cook makes it
Because passion is drive
And food is an escape

Sheepishly held-down dental floss
guitar strings and cracked hands
like sink-side toothpaste.
Cuspid picks in a mint-scented, plastic bag beneath textbooks
and a zipper rusted like gingivitis.
A backstage house of pamphlets
slurred time like novocaine speech. Thirty-two people sat at coffee-stained tables talking about their routines between sips of créme de menthe cocktails and water.
Fluoride lyrics dripped from his mouth as people closed theirs.

there are worse dreams than nightmares. you know those dreams where you wake up and you're a little off center and uneasy for the rest of the day. where the dream follows you around, but it's very subtle. hiding behind corners and behind peoples' faces. it could be a word that triggers you into remembering it. and it makes you sick, but you don't know why. it's like something was stolen. something small and insignificant and you could easily live without it, but you miss it nonetheless. these dreams terrify me more than any nightmare could.

I took a shower with Heaven
once under
a brilliant
sky of splashed milk.

She exploded,
   then giggled
at our *******-sounds,
the beautiful noises
we made in earnestness
up against the slippery wall.

I often build the house we could live in
With massive windows and towering ceilings
And an odd arrangement of candles that I'm so fond of
And you'll never see it but
That's ok.
And I do it all the hard way.
Because that's the truth about us.
It's hard and it won't ever happen but if it did
God wouldn't that be something