a skeptic and a believer
in one cracked soul;
a not so lover of words
and a poet in one beating heart;
a grotesque and a beauty
in one complex mind;

it’s a person against the world
and a human against himself.

it’s the silent murmur of the breeze
and the gentle enclasp of the cold
around the frozen heart she holds.

Don’t we all hear the same sound
of a raging stream
Don’t we all feel the cold breeze
of September’s wind
Don’t we all see the stars shining bright
when it dims
Don’t we all smell that flower’s scent
when it’s spring?

The sound of a flowing water wants us to know that
we still have its melody when we hear nothing
but bones breaking
The touch of zephyr wants us to know that
we still have its warm hug when we need
to feel a thing
The view from above wants us to know that
we still have its solace when everything
our hearts see is darkness
The scent of the flower we hold in our hands wants us to know that
we still have its beauty even when we feel like
everyone’s stabbing us with its torn, cutting our flesh.

We are alive even if we don’t feel like we are.
Love still flows even if we live from afar.

as i sat on a soft
and mowed lawn,
i saw the morning light
of the becoming dawn.

as i closed my eyes
to make a wish,
i remembered you as my star,
gone but alive in my mind at least.

If what we write is what we say
then maybe my words could make you sway
If what we write is what we say
then maybe you would stay.

If what we write is what we say
then maybe I’d no longer think of you as I lay
If what we write is what we say
then maybe I’m no longer writing you this way.

it is not the poetry perse
that we depend upon as an escape
it's  the words that we use
to keep our aloof soul safe.

we are the visible boundaries
between our hearts.