There are places in this world;
places you'll find that'll grab you right by the heart.
Shaking you they will scream,
"This is it! This is where things are as they should,
not as they could be."
If you have the fortune to find that little slice of wonder,
absorb it as a sponge does water.
Breathe it! Eat it!
Let it soak to your bones.
More importantly,
do not ever allow yourself to forget how you felt when your heart was shaken.
Do not ever forget what you learned.

Never had I witnessed yin and yang,
in more tangible form.
One came in like a fire *******!
A bright flash and a bang you couldn't help but enjoy.
Then with a passion,
she'd gush in obvious pride
over the delicately crafted treasures before her.
The other blew in like the wind,
soft and mellow.
With an easy voice she spoke of her craft,
as if only natural,
a person could weave wire in such intricacy.
It was a beautiful equilibrium to behold
and something I'll always hold onto.

Some people,
are nearly indescribable.
But too prominent in the mind,
not to make the attempt.
I guess,
I guess I'd say she walked like sunshine,
and spoke like rain.
Where she strolled it was warm,
all the evidence could be seen in the people she met.
No one walked away without a smile.
When she spoke,
they all listened.
A gentle voice that hit you like soft drops,
in the summer.
Walking away I felt like I was watching the sun set;
disappointed in the loss of light,
but happy in knowing I'd witnessed something beautiful.

Everybody will tell you,
"Now don't fall in love with a poet,
or a writer.
They're all liars or manipulators or both.
They're twisted in the head!"
Now,
I won't even argue the truth in that however,
what the **** is life without risk?
I'll take your stale white bread existence and flavor it!
I'll weave words that'll hit your ears like silk!
I'll show you pristine mountain peaks
and dark alleyways from a perspective so radical,
you won't know the difference.
I'll show you the whole ******* world from your couch.
That is,
if you'd fall in love with a poet.

I always said,
"What a man has in his pockets,
says a lot abut him."
I still believe that.
A man carries what he thinks he needs,
or what he thinks will get him what he wants.
As I've grown I can say,
I like how my pockets speak of me.
Some whiskey, some ****, a couple smokes
always a journal and a pen,
or two.
An empty wallet,
and at least two lighters;
that's very important.
With a little intuition,
someone can put those pieces together,
and know me.

Do her eyes still change,
to slate grey in anger?
Do they still turn to blue when it rains,
and when she cries?
I always tried to tell her,
those demons would hang her.
"You're just bound and determined,
to decline til you die."

Sometimes,
I wish I could quit.
The drinking,
the smoking,
the maybe-too-frequent drug use.
I know I'm just chasing the high I got,
from you.
But you're gone and not coming back.
"A man's gotta do,
What a man's gotta do."
At least that's what they tell me.