poetry is not a poison
but a burning desire
that courses through the
veins of the human spirit
meeting the soul on its own plane
transcending restraint
and substantiating emotion
in a tangible and connective way
it teases the thoughts, catches the breath
and breaks through all barriers between
feelings, actions, thoughts, speech and being
it is a spirit; a reality
a deep-seated truth that speaks the unspeakable
expresses the unexpressable
and brings to light that which was once shrouded in darkness
poetry is a boundless freeing...
a freeing of yourself

"My Lord," the tall man says,
"I'll eat that
and more,
carefully as if it had thorns-
I want to confirm your worst fears about me.
It's premature burial,
without hope-
I pray to its shadow.
Nothing's changed except
it's about the blood-
and maybe not.
I was careful of her,
I let her love me;
her softness and midnight sighs-
don't ask me why.
I've no idea what I'm doing.
A world of bald white days in a shadeless socket.
Sufferer of Aloneness;
I know you won't understand this,
but that's the sum of it."

Remember what we used to be?
The joy in this heart
the light in this eye
our first hello
that last good-bye
the laughter
the tears
the trials
the fears
the memories we made
my proof that you cared
the time that we spent
the love that we shared
the wonder
the wishes
the hugs
the kisses
all the time we had together
made our friendship strong
notes of wisdom intertwined
became our story's song
remember all of this,
remember this and smile
remember the bad, the good
all that made living worthwhile
dear friend, it's up to you now
to live for me as well as you
make each moment memorable
as I would have so loved to do
but, most importantly
please, friend, remember me
and remember what we used to be.

i love you
more than any mortal word could express
more than my actions could ever show
you are the gravity to my world and
i love you more than you'll ever know

Into that place
a hellish place
the hero is called to go
eden lost
undone by time
a savior without a soul

Called by fate
by time
by love
trapped by demons within
cursed
alone
pariah's song
singer of unspoken sin

How long he'll labor
without hope
the fates care not to show
a heart unfettered
surrendered tears
will you free the hero?

Persistence is sweat on the brow of passion
born from an exercise of faith...and patience.
So Dream on.

Dream on you backyard entrepreneurs
you idea formers, transformers, informers
of nay-sayers who
would take your dreams away.
Put them in their place - your past
and face your future with
all the passion you can muster.

For in those Dreams, those dusty
secret, loud, incredible, tired, tested,
and scared
Dreams
lies your potential, and all the potential that
ever was.

Your future can be your now...or more
if your hope
can trust in time to safeguard your power and
if you believe in the potential of your future.

Dream on.

The intent people swarm onto subway cars: overwhelming.  I am suffocated as we move, their flow pushing me on.  Alien babble seeps through the air with intention, before settling into a subdued silence.  I still don’t understand all of their customs/aged tradition. They know, these South Korean people, know that I am learning and so they try to understand me.  This soft patience forms the basis of our mutual respect.  I learn to modulate loud tones in my voice, whispering words (my speech a noisy cacophony). This is unfamiliar.  For now, foreign, but if given time this strange culture so different from my home, will become mine.