Time

Coming and going at the same time,
Always moving without permission,
Here one instant,
And gone the next,
There is a time to live,
And a time to die,
Bad timing,
Perfect timing,
In the nick of time,
And the time of our lives,
Whatever the time is,
Use it wisely,
As is comes and goes,
We can never get it back.

I cry myself to sleep every night,
Thinking of how badly i want to be with you,
And you keep living your life,
Like I don't even exist anymore.

She was dressed like one,
She was standing there on the corner,
Low cut white tank top,
Short jean skirt,
With red high heels on her feet,
Just outside the convenient store
Under the dim light,
Neon sign buzzing above her head.
She was a lady of the night.

A man with greasy hair,
Baggy jeans with a hole in the knee,
Ketchup stained Led Zeppelin shirt,
And a green toque with a joint sticking out over his ear
Came sauntering down the street,
Passing by each street performer,
He stopped at the girl.
“Everyone’s got their price,”
“What’s yours?”

She whispered into his ear
And they walked off.
Into the darkness around the corner,
Escaping into the night.
She was about to give him
His Red Light Ride…

These winding roads surrounded by crippling trees,
Casting shadows of darkness over my car,
Tempting me to turn back and try another,
Each curve beckoning a dead end,
The further I go the narrower it gets,
The darker it gets,
The fiercer the trees are becoming,
The thoughts now getting foggy,
Hoping its not another dead end.
No map can decipher these roads I’ve travelled.
I don’t know where these roads are taking me,
But I keep travelling these roads,
Trusting they lead me to something better.
These roads have lead me astray before,
But not this time.
Something about this road feels better…

The struggle with writing poetry,
Is that my brain is a whirlpool
Of thoughts,
Dreams,
Memories,
And ideas.
The struggle is pulling those ideas forward
Out of my imagination and writing them down.
It takes time,
It takes patience,
Sometimes my brain has a flood of ideas,
Simply to be washed away when the pen hits the paper,
But I leave the thoughts
Hanging by a thread,
Writing it down and coming back another day,
Adding bits and pieces day by day.
The struggle with writing
Is sifting through the thoughts,
Finding the perfect words
For that meaningful poem,
But I guess that’s what makes
My writing different from yours,
Its what makes my poetry mine,
Its what makes poetry,
Poetry

Her lips like honey,
The residue leaving me wanting more,
Her eyes, so big, so bold,
So beautifully brown,
That smile that can shine
Even on the darkest days,
Her voice, so sweet, yet seductive,
That shooting star,
That 11:11 wish,
She is my dream come true,
On my wedding day,
My gorgeous bride
Will soon be mine,
Sealed with a kiss,
A commitment for life,
I can’t wait for you
To be my wife.

Sun rises early,
Dew glistening on the grass,
Smell of fuel floating in the air,
I climb in the seat and
Start my plane.
Moving slowly
I line up on the runway,
Firewall the throttle
And move down the runway.
Wheels lift as I soar into the sky
Feeling weightless,
I climb into the smooth air,
Feeling free,
Alone,
Absolute peace,
I, am flying,
There is no rush anymore,
It’s as if
Time,
Stands,
Still,
I could stay here forever,
This feeling like a drug
Holding me here,
Not wanting to come down
Staying up as long as
The fuel gauges let me
But then it’s time,
Time to come back down,
Back to reality,
Back to the busy world,
I come back to the airport
Entering back into the circuit
Lining up for landing,
The wheels touch the tarmac,
That squeal of the tires
Snaps me back into reality,
Back to the rush
Of the real world,
I can only wait
Till next time,
The next time those
Wheels leave the runway
And I re-enter
My temporary high.