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When you died, I was the last to know.
You lived on in my mind and soul.
You were a force that could not simply go.
Your memory was enough to keep me whole.

I grasp your casket,
Had all my eggs in one basket.
I didn't fear the fall,-
nor time stopping still
I could not hope to see over that hill|
To see that life without you is a slow crawl.

Your body rots with my soul.
You have died and left only no.
You were once all -- but now are a hole.
When I breathe again, your memory will go.
A man changes his wall paper.
Shortly afterwards, winter comes to an end.
He says to himself that he has changed the seasons with a single
                                                                                    deliberate action.

The seasons begin to change,
So slowly as they always have.
Midway, a man finally feels it-
He changes his wall paper.

The seasons say nothing.
Because the seasons do not feel.

Because they are felt.
It's Blue
      But so are you.
Not that sad Blue/
                                Reflecting from T.V.
But that happy Blue/
                                    That with you I see.

All my life I've dreamed of Pink.
Never written/
                          I don't dream in ink.
But it was happy/
                               I always said
I wanted to be Pink when I was dead.
People as colours. This, to the love of my life, before I really knew it.

I chase cars
Those passing lights
Such short glimpses.
Like that time I saw you smile
I just have to chase these cars
I'll do anything at all
To see those lights last longer.
Like that time I made you smile
I remember my first car crash
I couldn't chase anymore
And I just stopped.
Like the time you stopped smiling.
Stand at my door,
Young succubus.
Give me the passion of a *****.
Drench me in your bliss.
Addle my silly mind,
Make me feel this-
Confusion flooding over,
Struck by your kiss.
Take me to grow old, succubus
So nothing will feel amiss.
Of a woman.
Sing me a song
         For I love the sound of your voice
A crisp-gold
                 Notes, a string of memories
Blinding flashings back-,
To whens and wheres
Scents, words and people.
Sing me a song
For in your voice I remember
These ways in which I love you.

Dial tones|
Electric clicks|
That inaudible crackling
I'm listening to chase the ends
Of every end of your words.

I love when our ends both go silent.
Our minds rush back and forth
Chasing, always chasing (this)
Whatever it is that we should say next.
But nothing.
Five minutes of just breathing
Into the receiver.

Somehow, happy-
Understanding that this is,
              Although nothing,
Exactly what we'd been needing.
At the end of this terribly long day,
Lying in bed, wrapped in the soft fabric
Stillness, and smiling
But never hanging up the phone.
It is not the sun that lights my path.
It never will and never has.
And as age slowly cripples me
I realize, without the sun I'll ever be.

In this time of plastic body parts,
A culture with no concept of art,
Lit by the fake and fluorescent suns,
Where the only language heard comes from the mouth
                                                    ­                               of a gun

I am not alone in this dark and natural dankness.
We are children who grow|and are thankless.
We cannot even dream of open spaces.
The television reflects a bleak reality on our faces.

It's a time of war|the enemy is everyone.
Time has stopped in this world void of sun.
All that's left is the intent to ****.
And our only way out is to simply stand still.
Written as I worked at Subway..
People were dancing
while others would sing,

In the midst of the action,
Church bells would ting
And they would tong.
It was always a familiar song.

And an old man in black
Tells us of the faith we all lack.

I am guilty of that infraction.
Because I can see
That the multiple hells
Lasting forever in this world
Has been brought to us, and bound
By our      greedy owners.

That is the meaning.
After all of the spoken and written word,
We must suffer for one man's treason.
       Our redemption is no man's call.
I want to sleep with the living,
To tell them it's alright.
It's scary – death,
But I make for good company.

When I sleep, you are safe.
So you should hold me close.
Rest easy as you pray
That morning stays away

This time I shouldn't wake
And the night will be so long
Vampires in every sense
Begging just to be|

In fear
           Is all that's left
A want to die, or a want to struggle?
One of us will never see,
        True light by essence of purity,
        Ever once more
The contamination of one of us,
Has taken, has blinded
The original vision.
        One of us has let it spread,
        To the other, filling dread,
        Infecting and destroying purity,
       Crystallizing something important
       That wasn't to be forgotten
                        Preserving righteousness
                        Through Arrogance
                I must curse you.
                I must thank you.
Thoughts from my mind at sixteen years old.
Oh how many greater words I could use.
What marvels|
What intricacies|
What most unpatterned qualities!
Such confusion in the matter that it may be called,
           It is not life,
But no one living does dream of life without it.
For there is always one of two ways it appears.
Through the scars, the kisses, the waiting and laughter.
There is only the happy presence
Or the sorrowful lack of-
What would we do without it?
Oh how many greater words I could use:
What eloquence,
What marvels,
What intricacies,
Oh what most unpatterned qualities!
Such confusion in the matter that it may be called:
Yet it is not life,
Though no one living does dream of life without it,
For there is always only one of two ways it appears:
Through the scars,
                     The kisses,
                            The waiting,
                                         and laughter…
There is only the happy presence
Or the sorrowful lack of
I was looking through my poetry folder and found what looks to be the original copy of "Eloquence" originally titled "Joy".
Remember to love forever.
Speak in songs and compliments.
The countless unconfidents
Know only to love for never.

Wrestle the bonds that hold;
And locks and ropes.
Break the chains and mold.
Remember the joy of hopes.

Rescue that child inside.
Do not let your fancy tie,
Serve you like a mask to lie.
Rescue that child – cease to hide.
From this perspective,
it's almost like I can see the future.
It's just one busy highway-
An infinite stretch of pavement.
It looks like my veins, and the traffic is your blood.

Side to side of me passes with a blur,
forests to hills, to forests on hills.
I spot the beach and smell that endless surf.
For just a moment, I leave the road
so I can touch the dirt.
Can you catch a dream?
Can you grasp what impossible is to seem?
If you run all the roads of imagination
Can you really reach their ends?

Reality is to dreams
                      as daytime is to night
When the first passes,
                       awaited desires come and delight
Time is a dream
                       Dreams are never ending

It all starts with a chance
It takes patience,
and open mind|  
        a paradigm

Set to the right glance
Leave it to the lighting around us
to remind us how to dance.

       So I'll chase what has come out of my dream.
       Turn off the golden day and run through night.
       I want to grasp what is impossible to seem
                 If the end is waiting  
                 Then I'm still running
Then I'm chasing my dreams.

                    Orderly is not how I remember passion.

Wild winds pushed my hair back
I had no compass to keep me on track
The winter's cold has swallowed my legs
Through the wastes of snow;
World, may I be your scuffled window.

Dry air feeds my lungs.
Ice has taken over where I left my guns
Traveling night and day;
Through the dreams and throughout my soul
The road's path began with a hole.

There's no way to look back
Any distraction will throw you off track
Through the icy scapes of the heart;
I made this path on my own,
To turn it into frozen stone.

Feeling.                                gone.­
Freezing, but warm to the touch.
I thought I had pulled my heart through too much.

Now frozen in my own path.
Icicle beard man I am.
Frozen in place, my legs will not budge.
I went too far from the fire didn't I?
And now I know, I'll never make it back alive.
This poem marked a turning point in my style.
To see life.

To get away from it;
A bold attempt to change
Or to simply start anew.

When we take up that
           brave title-
         when we give up home
     to live on out feet...
We call ourselves free.
              It is true,
as freedom goes,
         It is truest on the road.

Concerns concern us not,
Suddenly everything is purposed,
And all objects are charged with meaning.
Edgeless days are the hardest
to let pass you by
as you stare at all the pretty things
Just out of sight.

There sits, heavy in atmosphere,
On these days of no ends,
A timelessness
in the most tragic way.

All your toiling
begins to feel useless,
and errors make a mess of this.
Your anger - Instantly boiling

Futile barking.
Damning non-existent gods,,
And then a mocking laughing-
Since you are alone.

Because, of course,
You are alone,
Chained to the room
They're paying you to
When the crushing
Endlessness to your day
Could be so easily been remedied
with conversation or, some play

And now those gods
are laughing.
And you wish to be alone
                     From yourself.
Of long, hard days of work.
It lies beneath the sands
That glide across the
      Glass that we call time.-
                                 Transparent, yet there.
Tip your glass o' worry down the drain.
Watch it siphon out,
Leaving emptiness behind.

It's time to do your dishes,
And try a different wine.
Of Matthew Chaisson
An old man perches over his desk
Contemplating memories.
Grief stretched across his smile
As he holds the photograph
Of when he was a child.

He cursed what he had to thank;
Death had not been cruel to him.
His flesh yet breathes while
The earth eats every year,
Another love'd wife or child

A life time of –almost|
                                      **Just Wasn't Good Enough.
Part 2 of 2
****** her
rants and
caves into
must not
twine around her
check how quite
tight it gets
that she's screaming,
for him to let her go.
By a lonely heart
And gone
Like prospects of tomorrow
Ten words.
The grains of sand
Sift through his hands
And we can only watch

Water trickles
The moon becomes a sickle
And all we do is watch

The hand is bored
Away   says the Lord
And he throws us to the side                 
I made some watchers in the sand
All they do is sit and stand and till the land
I'm sick to my core of these people in my hand!

To the hourglass we were thrown
To reap a punishment none of us had sown
Time had become simulation

An age of a simulated God was known.

As time, the grains of sand
Sift through the simulated hands
All we do is watch

We are man.
Our footsteps sound on ancient ground
Look around   Look around
I see you see me
But I know who you are
You are what no one wants to be
A murderer you are
As am I
We wouldn't dare admit it
But we know it's true
It's undeniable
We **** and eat other ****
We rest
Only later to **** again
Strange is the way of nature's call
Every year it's dead by fall
Strange is the way of ******'s call
Until we're satisfied, we'll **** them all
How silly of us murderers
Lock up our own like tiny birds
Not for ******, it is innocent and pure
But for bringing traitorous death to our own so near
And then to waste the meat you've slain,
You refuse to eat it, what a shame
You aren't like us
We proud murderers
You are a killer, a thief
To steal a life, you deserve your grief
Pff. English Class was boring. I wrote poems during the lessons.
.I remember the way you looked
.You looked to me with blushing eyes and extended smiles
-And I remember when you took my hand.
.You held it in your own as we stood on linoleum tiles

-I remember the way you felt-
.Like a refreshing cool wind on a hot summer's day
And I remember how you surrounded me with love
.But like the wind, was so quick to blow away

I remember how you left-
Sort of short and in a rush.
And I remember how you lied to me so much.
You kept your sadness quiet like a hush.
My first hard let down.
I remember how you left--I remember the way you felt--And I remember when you took my hand.
Out the window
(Speckled glass)
Lives being lived
(I'm sitting on my ***)

On the kitchen clock
(When will I paint these beige walls?)
Time being ticked.
(So it goes, after all)

And even on the street,
That kitchen clock does tick,
Madly, furiously ticking-too fast
As a life quickly fades
(But not mine this time)

We (and I) don't care
'Cause we weren't there
We(I)'ve no idea
How to feel.

One life's a tragedy
Two lives are jaw dropping.
A sports team is urban terror.
Fifty lives, a massacre,
And at one hundred it doesn't matter anymore

Rest in peace,
Dear lives seen
(On speckled glass)
I'm not afraid to die|
           Because humans are bad at counting.
Well this poem certainly grew a lot after finding it in my old notes.
Wipe me away.
Come into my field of dandelions and blow your great wind.
Shake my earth and tear down my buildings.
It does not matter, I relish the thought
To build once more, anew and learn'ed.
To build with you, a life of wonder return'ed.
In the night,
back when, (you remember)
the days were alright,
and we'd sat around,
in the dark, out of sight,
just the two of us silhouettes,
in the night,
awaiting the morning's cherry light.
Anger is a useless emotion
More often it,
(In usual hapless fashion)
Does grab more consequence
Than satisfaction.
With nothing to bind to.

But stuck,
Like a bike peddling in mud.
Like his ambitions

Focus on the
Of thoughts owned
By a man left alone.
If it's raining for you
it's raining all the time for you
It's a storm and you're alone.

If it's summer for you
It's too hot
and the mugginess makes your sweat useless

If it's too much for you
you're knees are buckling
and you're climbing
the steepest hill is your route
It's gonna get better.

If the rain's gone
your shirt been dried by the sun
your friends are outdoors
and it's time to make fun

If it's late spring for you,
you're comfortable,
a moist air keeps you the same

If you've just let down your burden
You've no lead in your shoes
and the road is a gentle downward *****
It's gonna get worse.
Death told her
           her life should end
and he was her friend

Calmly, she stole my gun
     she walked outside in the sun
pulled the trigger, set the mood
barrel to her head to conclude

I saw her head come undone
,,, Reached down, for my gun
Eyed the chunks in her hair
Now to my head |
                               |I draw a rose there.
Of gunslingers
They all cheer
In their Circular motion
Round about in all their faces
Swinging so back and forth
Watch out,
She'll steal your purse
And if not the purse
She'll steal a look
To get what she wants,
She must take
And we despise
That she needs.
Too much of a bother to release our
Abundance we so waste on ourselves.
Pretty old one
With the sweat of groin
and aching head, I conquered.
An arching back like lightning struck
My head grows cloudy as we ****.

Muted palettes of rage and passion
fused *** and sin, wet kisses from below.
Your eyes stare into mine, looking for stars.
And I gaze down like god in your galaxy at scars
left behind by this jagged love of ours.

In these moments, it's never been so clear
that the quality of your *** is a chain leash
Tight around my neck, and choking
Electrified stimulation, you force me to keep poking
But you love me like a dog in a cage
imprisoned and belittled
You've got me as worse than a child
Just a brazen creature to be reviled
                       * * *
You love the ***, but you chase away the wild.
Another day has gone.
Churned into dust,
Living out life
Like the milling of hours.

Slow, monotonous work
Of wasting potential
Desperately clinging to our lazy comforts,
Like lice to a hair disturbed.

Once we were challenged
To make something for ourselves-
To make something of ourselves.
The new-age view
Makes being you
Look just like
          Being everyone else.
Hm. Haven't been around in awhile.
Have you got a knife?
Hell yeah I've got a knife
Give it here-
Need to cut me a slice of strife.
Everlasting, have at-
My strife,
As I Strike. Strike. Strike.
Of Isaac Brock.
I wanna be all tangled in with you tonight.
All legs and arms and lips, tangled.
Heart strings, mirth and eyes locked.
Days unfolding and replayed in pillow talk.
Fingers into one another's,
in the hair,- hair tangled too, yet

In all these tangled knots
We twist and pull- tangled.
Gets tighter, closer and impossible.
We will never be undone.
We met on the crosswalk
and headed for the shelters.

We stood opposite of one another
waiting for the bus to
take us away from each other.
That's friends-
                         In the city.
I tried writing an imagist poem. It just didn't work.
Insanity roars upon both ears
My sanity is in this book.
I must read in sanity
Or I cannot quell my fears.
Of the fool, whose senses took
...Ease and lack of care.
Of the jester's twisted visage
All the children, it does scare.
But inside all these pages,
A sanctuary: here
What is the hardest part
                    Of being alone?
It's the quietness,
A stillness making
What ought have been a home-
a house.
It's filled with beds,
But those lover's nests
Are             Empty.
And the thought is
As occupying as a dream.
A dream you cannot feel
Because the loneliness is keeping you awake

With no one to hold down your fears
         And keep you safe.
I stepped outside in the evening
To sip the cool draught of air.
You waited in the car all night
For me to finish my beer.

I did not take to standing 'round.
No, not then and there.
In this drunken state I wandered
Blind in the dark without fear.

I heard you honk the horn one time,
When you saw I was not near.
I waited and strained my ear to hear,
a second, to guide and steer-
So that I would easily return to you,
Before the twilight cleared.
But I heard no sound at all,
And morning had started its gears.

Stranded in a foreign place,
A man returns to fear.
|-Oh how we miss the kinder things
   Long after they've been near.
In the wake of morning I am dying,
My child screaming,Happy Birthday, Dad.
I need my fire to stop the crying,
Purse my lips, the last cigarette I had.
She clambers into my smoke-gray walled room,
Innocence is a baby's white smile,
This contagious cancer is my gloom.
I am her murderer, still she would smile.
I often swore I would quit this **** thing,
For my daughter's sake, not my own **** life;
And always failed, this poison is my king.
It is her lungs that goes the smokey knife.
This selfish ****** turns my whole world gray.
Stupid. By my side, my daughter does stay.
Let all good men see
the small dogs they used to be
' Sea swallow them up

' Clouds come together.
Great gray lightening strikes down
' ungrateful vessels.

Creaking though young and,
before the voyage of time
'moves the painted hulls

Leaves only nailed boards.
The sketch'ed skeleton of,
my nagging damsel.

My dear dreaded storm;
My pride, my bride, my dog died.
Thank you Heaven... This time

Calm makes us forget.
Laughter makes us enjoy it.
' Good men miss their dogs.
Let all good men see
the small dogs they used to be
'Before the' Sea swallow them up

'The' Clouds come together.
Great gray lightening strikes down
'On our' ungrateful vessels.

Creaking though young and,
before the voyage of time
're'moves the painted hulls

Leaves only nailed boards.
The sketch'ed skeleton of,
my nagging damsel.

My dear dreaded storm;
My pride, my bride, my dog died.
Thank you Heaven... This time

Calm makes us forget.
Laughter makes us enjoy it.
'Only' Good men miss their dogs.
Look in on his
                   ­                      As he – in|
          The rugged determination of
                                               The very rock
                                                Under his feet:
Stares into the storm of our dreams.
The whiteness of our innocent and
­ Are a storm that blew the sea of rationality
          From the strange crags of the floors
            Of unconscious spiritual awakening
                         To unknown
     ­                                                                 ­    
                                                            ­ And neverending-
                        -Short. Love.
                     And sweet comforting familiarity.
                                 It’s all useless,
                                   Every bit meaningless.
The deepest
Sadness being|
None of it.
A reaction to Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog by Caspar David Friedrich
Yes the tub of baths and child's play,
Such a defining moment for me, I must say.
Six years old and so independent,
Yearning for ways to be transcendent.

The reasons for why I locked that door,
Unknown to me and will be forevermore.
If I hadn't and still slipped,
What kind of personality would I be stuck with?

Would I pick myself up after falling?
Would I be so strong to stop my crying,
As I bleed out onto the floor?
Would I ever reach for the door?

At an early age I earned my brass.
I have learned all pain will pass.
I take this memory everyday,
And remember how my paradigm could be different in a way.
And the wind did shake the dust
In preparation for the rain
To wash away the dirt.
No one asked any questions,
And no one stared at the Earth-
As everything they stood on
Throughout their entire lives
Was blown away.
  By the wind.
        The Wind. of Change.
This is for the rainy days.
The heavy days,
Blanketed under a dark silver sky.

This is an image of
Timeless days.
Where both dawn and dusk
Fail to exist,
Because the gray never went away.

This is the light drizzle
Painting your glasses
With tiny cloudy droplets
That blur-out your vision

And makes the next step a mystery,,
As you pray
                  For a chance of sunshine.

This is for the helpless days.
Lonely days.
Where with every battle
Pits you against the world.
     And should you lose,
     Or should you win,
     Your victory is heard
            by only two ears.

These are the words for the
Mouse-like people.
The great number of quiet strugglers
Who say yes to the fat cat
                                  By Instinct!
So they won't be the meat
Of someone else's meal.
          \    \     \
But this is not to cast you down.
Not a giant- making pinching gestures
With people sized fingers.

This is a challenge!
A day to reach up into
Your oppressive heavens.
Cast aside the disciplinary
Blockade and- Breathe.

Breathe in the tastes
Of a life worth living.
Of the courage to be on your own feet.

And this is an urgency.
This is an urging that
All the doormat people
Sweep out from the heavy feet,
The ones you welcome for trampling.
               -You know exactly what you're
This is for the rainy days.
The heavy days,
Blanketed under a dark silver sky.

This is an image of
Timeless days.
Where both dawn and dusk
Fail to exist,
Because the gray never went away.

This is the light drizzle
Painting your glasses
With tiny cloudy droplets
That blur-out your vision

And makes the next step a mystery,,
As you pray
                  For a chance of sunshine.
Tough enough
         To shrug it off
But weak
          For wanting to keep it.

An idea that needs
Replacing - or updating|
You can give the *******
Lion a hug.
But the rabbit would only
Get agitated

Let wisdom taint your
pristine vision -
And look.
There is no one hundred percent
for you to take comfort in.
It all exists in unique states
And your assumptions - Automatic responses,
get you no where|
                           A Person.
Not sure if my alignment will save properly.
This is how I feel on the bus. All these people avoiding strangers.
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