I remembered
I promised you a poem,
In fact one a day for our love-
There's a problem though,
I can't seem to get them out:

   Because your presence
   Is like a million words,
   A thesaurus sitting right
   Next to me,
   And what you are to me
   When you are with me is an
   Eternal sonnet.
   But when I tried I began to
   Understand something that brings
   My understanding of us clearer,
   That we are the same in separate
   Places, in the same solitude
   Without knowing each other's
   Pain or fatigue.
   That we are both not people,
   But the wind freed in our selves,
   A gale freed from the conventional
   And we become a sudden verse,
   Nostalgic and naive,
   Stubbornly young and hopeful,
   There in that place,
   When we are together,
   I cannot write the poem
   That has not yet finished
   Being written.

I want to open up my bedroom window and listen to the warm summer rain and call you and tell you I love you. That this morning I remembered how I'd try to massage your legs and you'd laugh so hard because your legs were ticklish and how I could never actually massage your legs and I love you. I want to ask if sometimes all these memories wash over you unexpectedly too, pulling you under, drowning you. I want to tell you that it's okay to call and tell me when it happens and that I love you and we can teach each other how to swim again. And I love you.

As my hands comb through my hair,
I stare between my knees
looking into the depths of this
unfamiliar wooden floor.
The foundation creaking
from the wind howling outside,
its feral cry
full of pent up emotions,
filling the night with chaos,
mirroring the landscape of my emotions.
Pictures so lovingly framed,
propelled by chaotic winds,
splash
into an unbroken lake
sending ripples scrambling away
as they try and escape the touch
of these cherished memories.
The golden light of a sunny day
spent laughing and crying
under pine trees,
shines from the depths.
The cold grey light of a rainy day
spent looking out the tear stained window
trying to make sense of this hurricane of emotions,
cuts through the inky black water.
The constellations of so many memories
seems just in reach
as I syphon this inky black water
through my pen,
drawing from the depths of my soul,
a straight IV
into these flatlining lines
of this black notebook
that holds my soul.

Who knew,

The girl who had
No voice
Would
One day
Teach the world to
Sing
?

To banish their
Bashful
And beam forth
In beauty,

To learn to
Simply
Just Sing
?

A time ago
Her soft
"Hello" was
Lost
Within
Translation
.

But now?
Oh, now!

With no care
To how,

That caterpillar

Has
Found
Her wings
.

The way the world ends...*

All birth a seed of mortality. The reason we come and we go is the same.
Parrots lose speech. Scarecrows attract birds. Zucchinis forget their meaning.
Clay pots yearn for earth. Everything inverts. Love> indifference> dislike.
Melting paragraphs. Pedestrians looking downward. Undelivered mail.
Fruit shrivels into donuts. The fix is in. Short everything. No tomorrow.
Empty Greyhounds ply apathetic Interstates. Nowhere to go. Not magic.
Frames without pictures. *** but motion. Carelessness abounds. No worries.
Cracks in the concrete. Death by delay. Rusted arteries. Repairs unmade.
     London Bridge is falling down, falling down
     and into the torrent we plummet and drown.

  ~mce

along these barren shores
of an unnamed land
the sea rages
as far as the mind's eye will go
it is a fruitless war I wage
against unseen enemies
I am old, weak and weary of the fight
to simply stand and face the elements
takes its toll
it seems I have walked this shoreline
for some time now
for some years now
all too familiar
the thunder cracks
lightning dances along the breaking waves
I see forms in the sand just ahead
footsteps walking in the same direction