Walking in jeans
stained with
grass
and
memories

i tried to stop myself
but i ended up here
at the bottom of this hill
a long tumble down

i told myself i would not fall
i could not fall
but somehow, i tripped

i tripped down the road of love
but not quite love

a journey so long in feeling
but so quick in recollection
so graceless in beginning
but so right when you held me in your arms
so right when you caressed my being
so right when you kissed me with passion
under the glow of city lights and moon alike

i should not have let it go there
but i fell
i fell and now it is too painful to move.
to get up or continue falling...?

what am i to do but lay here?
and wonder why i ever looked down the hill.

There are layers existing deep
in you,
parts long forgotten,
parts yet to be found,
they call, but you have never known
how to listen.

They can no longer wait.
The Gods make sure of this.

Someone or something will come
and burn you down to nothing.
Burn down your faulty armor.

It will hurt. And it should.

On the other side of this hurt,
who will be there, but the charred seeds
of your soul.

Find them. Only you can replant them.

Only when you have stopped looking for yourself
in the hands and at the feet of shallow statues,
look down to the soil at your own feet, that ground
you walk upon, there,
plant those seeds, and begin again.
Grow stronger.
Grow wiser.
Reborn.

A teardrop with holier
Than though tendencies etched
To its skin boldly leaves the eye’s sanctuary
And makes its way down the face
Where there was no way before.
Nose up in the air and a haughty step.
It glides effortlessly, making its way easily
And just when it’s about to reach its destination
It dies out, solemnly and curtly.
Poor teardrop, it had so much promise
In its bowels.

Her dress was lovely.
A cloth of pure white.
A dress just for her.
What a beautiful sight.

But as the music began,
Her smile faltered.
He won't ever see her dress,
Cause he's not at the alter.