alienate me
make me a stranger
to guiltlessly hate me
when i turn away

you take my breath
with those wide hazel eyes
your hand is in mine
my heart beats faster
our bodies touch
my heart beats faster
our lips join
time stops

We are God, Maybe not God as in almighty
but God as in we can hold everyone tightly
spreading respect and compassion both daily and
nightly finding wanderers who sadly have all
chosen darker roads but didn't want to be alone.

It’s just difficult to process all this
power we possess inside so some of
us can’t help but turn away from open
arms and hearts ablaze with right intentions.

We always need to be pulled more than we’ll ever admit.
We always need to pull harder than we ever will.

What if that were to change?
What if on Sunday mornings we didn't pray,
instead we said each other’s names?
What of pain is just the love we keep?
Happiness is letting it flow.

The mind is a rebel,
but also a tyrrant.
Take yourself down,
or be enslaved.

watching them fly by

thoughts and dreams of following

yank at your thick chains

inside your pale eyes

is only my sillouette

you see nothing else of me

roses blooming wide

smelling sweet in the thick air

sweeter still are you

terror gripping tight

shadows of distressing dreams

not a wink tonight

taming the wild seas

raging waves and winds and storms

now calm in my hand

now exposed to you

no secrets left to explore

will you still love me?

saturate my soul

flood me with your salty tears

fill me with your spite

dandelions

all over my green lawn

not green for long

I saw a man whose face I should have known.
He was with men and women I recognize
from the sections in my head where I
put them to rot.
can I be more forgiving than the world?
I don’t despise anyone. I just don’t let them in.
I assume because they’re heading in a different direction,
or no discernible direction, they won’t be worth the time.

I never consider that my path could be the different one.
I’ve always just assumed and put the others in their sections.
Send the wanderers away for another to deal with.
Separate the wanderers so there’s no mistake.
They’re away from me. They’re not the same as me.
I don’t have to deal with them.
When the realization sets in attitudes can change.
realization that everyone we meet is wandering through their
fishbowl castles and burning corn mazes,
right next to yours.

it’s time to put separatism aside

We all have our different sections,
our strictly separated sections.
We all seem to be different,
we all need to be different.
or so we think

Look closely enough and
the world is just a giant cracked mirror.
Look closely enough and
we’re just finding ourselves.

daisies and mums

brightly entrancing me

colors of love

don't look at me

look at your ****** self

i'm not sorry

i'm stuffed

wrap it up

check please!

Everything is ghastly when the sun goes away.
Not away for the night, completely taking flight
withholding its brightness, no amount of
politeness able to woo it back from the dead.

It doesn’t just leave, some people fear
being burned enough to shun its rays and
keep to tunnels and caves that would seem
safer save for the isolation they discover
too late. tunnels are hard to shake off

It’s not hard to chase dying candles when you
realize you’re missing the sun. addiction
It’s not hard to stop caring enough even if the light
you were running towards is real. depression
It’s not hard to lose hope because you may not live
long enough to make it back outside. cancer
It’s not hard to relive the past and accidentally push
others away when you need them most. ptsd
It’s not hard to forget that your mind can always move
even if your legs can’t carry you anywhere. ms
It’s not hard to be out of energy before you’re
able to make it all the way out. insomnia
It’s not hard to run away from people forever because
someone betrayed your deepest trust. fear

It’s hard to keep reaching until they finally take your hand.
It’s harder to keep holding after they let go.

Don’t stop searching the darker roads.
*We don’t want to wander alone.

Be known for always holding a torch,
‘cause inspiration shouldn't be underrated.
Don’t let good thoughts remain good thoughts,
work up the courage to make them good deeds.

whats's the point of being the tallest giant
if you'll still never touch the sky?

broken windows framed with faded green trim
un-invite passers by with the darkness
they seem to project through the curtains grim
and wriggling slightly against the sharpness
of the glass left standing in the open
mouths of walls that seem to no longer have
reason to stand now that the Smith children
grew and moved and lived and died all while half
the rooms in the house collected dust and
sat waiting for the rest to abandon
the tile floors and wood cabinets and grand
piano and frames on the now barren
walls streaked with dirt instead of times gone by
just waiting to be torn down by and by

we need to hold hands more…
                                                           ­       look into each other’s eyes more…
we need to be honest about important things more…
                                                           ­                            tell our secrets more…
we need to be alright with silence more…
                                                           ­                              take chances more…
we need to let go of the past more…
                                                          p­ay attention to the little things more…
we need to fight for ourselves more…
                                                           ­                       watch the clouds more…
we need to talk to the trees more…
                                                           ­                       listen to the wind more…
we need to move on more…
                                                           ­                                          laugh more…
we need to hold on more…
                                                           ­                                        forgive more…
we need to enjoy more…
                                                           ­                                               feel more...
we need to believe more…
                                                           ­                                          know more…
we need to live more…

                                                we need to love

please just tell me once again
whisper softly in my ear
fill my head with pretty lies
so i forget my death draws near

RH I should've listened to you more
JH I should've showed you more respect
AH I should've been kind instead of firing back
CH I should've reached out while you were still around
JW I should've been less competitive and more honest
EM I should've listened more than I lectured
MC I should've taken the chance
EW I should’ve been more open with you
ED I should’ve held on tighter
AW I should’ve given you more credit
EL I should've talked to you more
EG I should've tried harder
SW I should've been a better mentor
MG I’ll take care of you as much as you take care of me
RK I’ll motivate you more
AK I’ll be a more firm guide
JC I’ll try to love you anyway
TU I’ll tell you more how amazing you are
GB I’ll let you know how much I respect you
TC I won’t stop striving
AS I won’t let go

I saw you lying in the sand
I came you and took your hand
I thought that this was oh so grand
until you whisper your demand
and how on earth could i refuse
my mind amiss and yours to use
just how could you not abuse
the power I was sure to lose

derelict I stand in shadow
far, so far away from home
how did I become so empty
hollow shell of rusted chrome

The hardest thing about closing the door is
watching the silver lining drift to the floor,
ground to dust and swept under the rug,
floors are much quicker to let bygones be.

The hardest thing about closing the door is
the screech of hinges boring through skull
like worried whispers heard before that
made the iron oxidize.

The hardest thing is clicking the lock
and seeing both keys on the table top,

then clicking your heels
but you're already home,
just seeing how empty
it is on your own.

waking wildly while wily winds whip weeping willows

I cast out the line, a frog this time
One hook is risky, but that's all it has underneath
Reeling in, turn by turn
Make the rubber legs dance like flesh, in case they know the difference
One, two, three, four, five, six, splash, pull
Almost lose it, hold on tight
Reel, slack, reel, slack, don't break the line
He's heavy
Tire him out
He's heavy
Get him in, pull the line, into the net we go
Black, green, white, wide eyes, large mouth, spines triumphant
Even in defeat
Stomach grumbles, thanks for dinner but...
Beauty
Brawn
Flaunting your will to live against my hands
Remove hook, throw back
Hungry
Proud

obsidian black-rock soul
lackluster and cold
loosing shards over backyards
failing to heed mother's plea
"keep to yourself, the children are here"
maybe tomorrow i'll borrow compassion
and fashion a rope out of all i can ration
to hold together 'til calmer weather comes
sneaking from behind the peaks and treetops
and leaves me the **** alone
as if
forget the children
they'll know soon enough the taste of hate
and the twinge of pain that precedes disdain
if only i could care
if only i could share a prayer
if only i could waive despair
anymore

Spring's first dew is doo-doo next to the dew that you do when I do you.

I watch the petals drift away.
I watch the petals drift away.
I watch the petals drift away.

I watch the petals drift away.
I watch the petals drift away.
I watch the petals drift away.

I watch the petals drift away.

Full evergreens, branches heavy with snow,
hold the line between forest and field.
A wall of faceless wardens holding fast,
heedless of the cold and ice, fixated.
Ground untouched and peaceful,
only housing shadows cast by brave trees.
No tracks, no twigs or animals, perfection.
Amongst the trees too, no stirring.
Only still silence, only the field and wall
and thick forest packed with ice and snow,
waiting, as if holding in a breath.
Straining, attempting to shout warning
to the village, Montigny-le-Roi.
But frozen in a moment, captured in time,
just seconds before what emerges with a malice
that the wardens could not dream of holding back.
The Volksgrenadiers defile the wall and still field.
Heavy boots and rifles lay waste to its undisturbed surface,
and continue without recognition of the tranquility
of that moment captured in time.

tear down your walls, and let the undertow
carry you far away from the shore
a thousand miles from life
take your flag and raise it high, high enough
for the world to see, for the world to know
that you are the one, the one who took the plunge
the one who dove away from the rest
the one who knows where his home truly is

Please just tell me once again
Whisper softly in my ear
Fill my head with pretty lies
So I forget that death draws near
Give the demons angel's masks
Make this a joyful masquerade
Drink and dance and laugh and sing
'Til violently Hell's toll is paid
When the boney knife is drawn
And halos start to fall away
Close my eyes with heavy hands
Remind me of a brighter day

why can't I ever wake from this
I thought that dreams were full of bliss
but here I lay in the freezing rain
every inch of my body cries out in pain
when will these nightmares finally cease
my mind is imploding piece after piece
if i dont wake soon I'll have nothing left
but only for me this distruction is cleft
and as the morning sun slowly wakes
the last of my sanity finally breaks
and the sunlight confirms my deepest fears
that fill my eyes with bitter tears
and the blistering truth that the sun did reveal
i was never asleep, it was all very real...

come to me now out of darkness
don't hide your eyes behind that halo of stormclouds
leave your rain and your tears behind
you won't need them in my arms

does your **** get hard when you hear your own voice
or are you really auditorily jackin off a softie?

chokin on pulls between bottles and bowls
we all know you're full of ****
yellin unfair brackets are the worst of it

come back and talk to me with eyes a little less red
with some stories and quips you haven't beaten so dead

if you're fed up with the honesty then get up and head out
I'll never be stoppin ya
scream and shout as much as you like but somewhere else
cause I'm seconds from droppin ya

an understatement is ever hearing your voice again would be too soon
just the memory is worse than a broken out of tune bassoon


in short I don't hope you end up dead in a fire
but to say I'd be sad would just make me a liar

She has the look of the angel.
She has the voice of the fallen.
He has the hope of the child.
He hears the words and crumbles.

It seems the world is losing sight,
while stars and sky grow dark.
The will of man is finite.

Blood and bond are seen as blight,
truth as an unseemly mark.
It seems the world is losing sight.

Righteous men have lost their light,
and others frightened fly as larks.
The will of man is finite.

Heros are not born of right,
they change our fate with iron heart.
It seems the world is losing sight.

Evil takes another bite.
Too weak to tighten tourniquet,
the will of man is finite.

**** the masses who take flight
instead of fighting hard and sharp.
It seems the world is losing sight.
The will of man is finite.

so take a breath and dive
headfirst, into concrete
the tide will swell and break your fall
if you believe

Excuses are drugs
you have given your sense
Excuses are masters
you have given your means
Excuses are graves
you have given your future

A hangman once told me,
"It's not the drop, it's the stop."
I was going to argue,
but he pulled the lever.

When I found you, I hated you.
Now I understand you.

I gave you reason to cast me out:
veil of spite, cloak of confused fear--

As I come to know what makes you tick
I respect you as deserved.
Your violence should have been presented by now,
not restrained and checked,
silent caged bird--

I envy you and your unshakable faith,
resolve of the stubborn gods,
drive of  the hungry wolf--
you deserve more, than the
awful posture of your peers.

Whatever you do,
you will not fail to find yourself,
among the triumphant titans.
Your effort is not lacking like ours:

your heart is the rising sun
which teaches and inspires in magnificence--
which teaches and inspires, in us echoing
this stimulation from awakened mind
to kindled soul.

I tire of being God. Deafening droves demand the universe after declaring I do not exist. Hypocrites destroy themselves, only caring that they hurt those different, forgetting, or ignoring, that they are one. They put such little value on their lives, it should be obvious that I would not intervene. Let them die in my man made disgust. Extending their existence would be too cruel.

hanging gardens

roots cling to my heart

hanging for you

Take sickly scheme and rusted rhyme,
and put them back in their own time.
Archaic systems all lose sight,
we don't need structure when we write!

****...

Every noon we sit for food,
sit in chairs cold as tombstones
even after waiting in the sun.
On cloudy days they are ice
and we wonder why the wood
and iron have so much hate.

I believed only men could hate,
and pondered while having my food.
We only bring bowls made of wood
as they don’t mark the tombstones,
but like the chairs they are ice,
unaffected by the sun.

My thoughts fixate on the sun
and how light does not wash hate
but should be melting the ice
while we prepare our midday food.
Still cold are the pieces of wood
we use, and the dark tombstones.

Now I know that the wood
is simply blocked from the sun,
and the heavy tombstones
siphon off of our hate
to use as bitter food
to help them maintain the ice.

I came to realize the ice
is not only in the wood
but covering our food,
defying the warmth of the sun.
We realize that our hate
is why there are tombstones.

All the hard etched tombstones
are now three feet beneath ice
next to us, and our hate
in the iron and wood.
We pray for brighter sun
and some stronger food.

But heavy food won’t delay our tombstones.
Nor the brightest sun melt our ice
stuck in wood boxes, strengthened with hate.

Is it surprising that I should walk through the valley where shadow and death and life and light can no longer touch me? Do you think I have any soul left? Any you did not take when ripping the anchors clean? I hope they didn’t slow you down. The pieces I  mean, when tearing away. At least I froze the pain away, on your icy trail. Take me for granted and toss me aside. One more time, just once. Even if I’ll die in the end. Used is better than alone. This time the journey is of no consequence. Only the end. Oblivion. I wish your cup to be full, overflowing with joy, so there’s something to turn to ash in your mouth beside those ******* words you’d say to me. Those ******* words I’ll never forget. Fear comes no longer from self preservation, but the lack thereof. Myself couldn’t keep afloat in a kiddie pool. Drowning in inches, like the insects all over me. What good is existence with no means to live? My means left, preceding your footsteps, echoing away, rattling in the chamber where my faith used to be.

I would sooner stand forsaking the sun,
than for a moment lose your purest light.
To be near to you, the things I have done.
For your presence nothing I would not fight.
I have held the cross high in foreign lands,
smiting the evil, young and old alike.
Delivering man from the devil's hands,
rending nonbelievers with holy strike.
Each night before I lay my head to sleep,
I kneel and look to you for guiding voice.
Though I hear no words, your fight I will keep,
the pope has made heaven an easy choice.
But suddenly heat replaces all grace.
I do not understand why hell I face.

Or I would be, could be if the
sea was a memory, distant periphery,
granted sideways glances between
sought out land masses that can
offer some known substance, sore
eco thumb prints making them
seem special, almost terrestrially
relatable, debatably to people,
less contested to ideas, thoughts
and reasons beating back brazen
treasons of the seventy percent
that needs to take over, its
meaning is deeper than dirt.