I like to imagine each new day is like a fresh page in a book.
As the day starts it’s spiral down the drain, I rarely hold the quill.
I’ve always kinda just let it do it’s thing.
Because I didn’t care.
At the end of the day I skim back over the page.
I don’t read it, the events of the day are of no matter to me.
I’m just looking for your name.
As long as when I look, I can find you there.
I don’t have to tear that page out.

I’ll probably just take a walk through the stars like I would a field of wheat.
Run my fingers over the reeds of starlight protruding from a time long dead.
Spend a day with the sun. Take a nap on our quiet moon.
Then I’d like to awaken in an ancient forest by a silver waterfall.
To build a fire. So if you should ever want to find me.

Where the wind runs it’s fingers through the fresh grass of spring
Or those moments of solace to which we all cling

Where the waters are warm to touch with cloud capped dunes
And fireflies play under soft crescent moons

Where the mist gathers and turns the world cold and grey
When you think of that night, that story, that day

That’s where you’ll find me if you’d fancy a chat
Just look inside
I’m where you’re at

Some of us write from the heart
Some of us from the head
The thing we all have in common
Is one day we’ll all be dead

So we put our thoughts to words
Penning our woes and such
Silently screaming into the night
Using poetry as a crutch

If you’re lucky someone will hear you
Your words might strike a tone
Though most of us will go unnoticed
Forever remaining alone

There are countless stories about love, triumph, and discovery. The story you’re about to read. Is about none of those things.

In a village not long ago, underneath a breath of snow. There lived a family of kinder sorts. Albeit slow, all good sports.

And every year the took a tree, from yonder woods, cut at the knee. They dragged it home, their latest ****. And propped it up against its will.

Then they’d sing and set it to light. Confused and scared this tree a fright. They’d sing a song and praise it’s glory. But this tree was to have a different story.

Along with more snow there came too a wind. A silence unknown began to descend. Across the valley, up and into the wood. What was to come would harbor no good.

It’s tracks were cloven like that of a goat. It leapt upon rooftops, mocking the moat. It’s hoof falls muffled by tops of white cotton. It took scent of the air, and found it quite rotten.

It made its way from cottage to cottage. It saw a man take a fruitcake to ****** frottage. It witnessed a woman snorting up snow. While another devoured her up from below.

Disgusted, our creature continued to search. It witnessed a friar defile a perch. It saw a young man go to bed with a priest. And four old lady’s that ******* about yeast.

Ole Mrs Goodhead was down on her knees. While men came and went offering cheese. Her husband the blind poor crippled fool. Thought he got lucky while a goat ate his tool.

Our creature repulsed, threw up on his tongue. And just about then the church bells were rung. In all the commotion he found his query. That one little tree, so tired and weary.

He kicked in the door surprising his host. Standing there naked, his **** between toast. Our creature scoffed and took hold of the tree. “You perverts and freaks, this goes with me!”

Their mother outback getting reamed, the children shouted, shrieked, and screamed. Creature cradling this tree under arm, ran into the wood away from the farm.

The townsfolk rallied, with axes and torches. Leaping from *** swings that sway on their porches. Naked and scared they marched toward the wood. Not a one of these folk knew what they should.

“You tree stealing goat you dare steal our hope. We brought along **** and a whole lot of rope.” They chanted and cursed threatening ****. You would’ve thought there’d be no escape.

Through the wind and the snow they soon saw a light. Clutching their axes and **** cheeks tight. They witnessed the creature replant the tree. Then it unzipped it trousers and started to ***.

The steam was rising from out of the snow. At the foot of this tree that then started to glow. It’s branches stretched and it grew a bit taller. Away from the *******, the drinking, and squalor.

The creature turned, addressing the court. It let out grunt, a huff, and a snort. “Who there among you dares to do this? To steal away this tree where I ****.

I spent my life ******* on trees. From rivers to mountains I **** where I please. Until one Christmas drunk off some cider. I collapsed and stumbled and woke up beside her.

I rewarded her presence by melting her snow, she paid me back with a warm growing glow. So every year I come here for *******. Getting just drunk enough to keep me from missing.”

The townsfolk still naked, some of them dead. Let out an “oh” and lowered their heads. “Please beast forgive us, we know not what we do. We’re ripe with chlamydia, and haven’t a clue.”

The creature still frothing and somehow still *******. Knew what it was the townsfolk were missing. He let go of his tool and reached his hands. Still naked and scared, they met his demands.

They started to sing they started out low, then their screeching started to grow. It cut through the valley like a wet **** in bed. Scaring the children, the wolves, and the dead.

Many years later, that tree grew in height. On Christmas Eve, they bathe in it’s light. They gathered around it ******* and singing. Throughout the valley the bells would be ringing.

Then one Christmas they’d gathered to see just how tall was their ******* tree. A storm rolled in, filled them with dread. Then it fell over and now they’re all dead.

The moonlight creeps through my garden like a white tiger on the hunt.
It caresses the bench where you used to sit.
Come morning these trees will burst into flames of crimson, sunflower, and oranges.
I’d like to be able to imagine you there and when.
Add it to the list of things I’d like.

Lie to me
Or
Tell me the truth

I wasn’t there
So
I wouldn’t know the difference either way
So
It doesn’t really matter

I beseeched along the road I walked, these things I held so dear
Hoping all along one day to see my path laid clear
Those dreams I had of her and I
These stones that I’ve collected
Now litter my past, that went so fast, more so than I expected

I should be able to tap out.
That’d be nice.
If I could just place my hand over my heart. Give it three quick taps.

Are you still there?
In the mist, where I left you.
Under a crumbling sky.
We were alone
And I couldn't understand why you were looking at me.
Wisps of fog march passed us.
Like an undead army from an ancient battle.
You sounded more frustrated than anything.
So I left you there.
I still think about you.
On those dewy mornings.
As the sun breaks over the trees and sets the world on fire.
I'll smile to myself
"the **** was I thinking?"

Candle wax and sweaty backs
Empty packs of butts
Balled up pants, and a passing glance
What more could there possibly be

Empty bottles the hard **** waddle
And the chicken got left out
Your kid is crying, I’m over here dying
Surely we are blessed

A morning beer dost make things clear
Underneath that callous sun
A new day calls I scratch my *****
Truly this is heaven

They told me to be who I am when I got here
But I don’t know who that is
Can I step out for just a sec
And come back in again

They’re like those puddles of rain.
The ones you find in a parking lot littered with oil spots. The colors that swirl about within. You just gotta stop sometimes and look at them. Just for a moment. Give them all of you. Maybe you part ways with nothing. Or. You walk away having seen something that no one has ever seen. And it’s yours. To think back on at your leisure. Forever.
These people.

They tell me to write what I know.
Pen out the feelings inside.
Well I’ve been holding this quill and smoking all night.
And I think that I’ve already died.

It’s like reaching into a vase.
And finding nothing is there.
Cold blind hands scraping the walls of nighttime in a bottle.
What’s worse is I can’t even care.

So I put the vase outside to soak.
And watch it grow cold in the sun.
In the fall it fills of death, in the summer it’s colors will fade.
And sadly no where to run.

A moment unknowingly waits.
This vase will surely break.
From water and mud it came, to ash and dust it’ll be.
It suffered for sufferings sake.

We’re coming close to the end of things, of things I’d like to say.
Here’s a list of some of those things I said before I pass away.
I called an old woman a **** one time for reasons that are my own.
I don’t regret it not one lil bit and let’s just leave it alone.
I once told a small child I’d cut off his face and use it to wipe my ***.
But to be fair he was stirring my scotch but he went and chipped the glass.
Then there was that time in church when I said “what in the **** is a ******”.
Or that time I told my girl that I might as well go **** a sturgeon.
The end.
Don’t forget to tip the coat check girl. She’s homeless and afraid of homeless people.

What yonder light they said be seen; in hues of yellow, red, and green
Fields of satin sands run high; beneath the clouds as they roll by
The dolphins play amidst the surf; the bays, the waves, the sea their turf
A gulf born whispering wind; will find its way and begin again
There’s nothing here to be said about i; another cloud just passing by

Look it here what I did with words; I lay them out till each one curds
Then I skim them tops with my favorite knife; just leave them with a little life
Just enough for them to be true; when they whimper “I love you”
This rhyming **** isn’t so hard, most words used are just plain lard

I’ll probably stop on this verse three; in keeping with the trinity
Don’t wanna ******* any would be gods; just in case they’re not all frauds
Besides let’s just be honest here; nothings ever crystal clear
Like this here flow it has no meaning; just the ravens eyes in the darkness, gleaming

Those frosted amber days of fall have come into fruition
Leaves fall like money dropped, the trees just paying tuition

The dew upon the spiders web as if all she caught were diamonds
And sunlight spills out on the valley to nudge the sleeping highlands

Tell me then just what you said from behind that veil of fire
That night we saw it all come down and you called the moon a liar

These days fall short of 5 o’clock and the night is extra quiet
It hangs its head and drags its feet with no one to stand by it

I’ll tell you what you told me as your lips were burned away
You said “maybe, I don’t know. But I can’t, not here today”

This is why I don’t mind that there’s a vacancy in my life
No confusion to be sorted out no cursing and no strife

So I’ll drag my feet along with the night through streams of dying leaves
And those who see me on the rivers shore will know the one who grieves

The harshest of realities
Is when you realize
They feel the same way about you
As you do

The whiskey ran out but the shrooms kicked in
So I’m off to a pretty good start
The church bells ringing reminds me of home
And covers the sound of my ****

I found my fingers on the ends of my hands.
I thought I’d never find them
I needs these fingers to catch these thoughts
So that I may hush and bind them

I lit you a candle and it burnt down the house
But I found your diamond ring
You could give it to that charred mockingbird
Though I doubt he’s gonna sing

Just hold on my nuts, when I order a sundae
I sold my epi pen
There’s a blind lady waiting to tell me some lies
About how she’s back again

Sitting under a bodhi tree, hoping for some truth
Or even a sincere lie
I’ll burn to ash every **** tree in these forests
If I thought we both would die

If what matters to you, is the illusion; then let the illusion become what matters.

It’s not what they say or how they say it. It’s how you take it in.
If you’re wondering aloud “what’s it for”, that’s where you should begin.

A bear is a bear because you called it a bear, the bear itself don’t care.
It’s not aware that it’s called a bear, it’s simply not here or there.

Your existence is so improbable, in fact the chances are practically zero.
But here you are, the king of your dreams. Your very own ****** hero.

A photon can traverse the universe from billions of light years away.
Only to die in the blink of your eye at the end of another bad day.

If you assign a thought to someone and hold them to that standard.
It’s you, not them, that stepped right up and wrecked your delusion of grandeur.

I think it was Matthew at 6:14 who said forgive them for what they’ve done.
Those that would trespass against us, before gods dying son.

There’s nothing to prove that every creature doesn’t share in your same fears.
Will it die for reasons unknown or has it a few more years?

This wasn’t suppose to make sense, it’s simply some observations.
That’ve come into view under many a sky while searching for constellations.

Though I urge you to think about these in moments of conflict and strife.
Kindly remember that while we’re here, what matters is only life.

It's as if the building is on fire
And I'm just happy I can finally lite my cigarette
My lighter, much like hope, had only temporarily been mine
I lost one in a field while wondering why I'd let go of the other
Honestly
I'm not sure it was ever mine to hold onto in the first place