I can never find the right words
when wanting to write about you.

My thoughts become your cluttered desk.
My mind, searches,
but cannot find its way over your
plastic paper protectors.
Because you insisted that everything more fragile than skin deserves
a little extra attention.

When wanting to write about you,
my brain becomes dog-eared.

By every play, every novel, and every anthology still on your shelf.
Waiting for your hungry eyes
to return to the adventure.
You have yet to turn the page.

Shakespeare couldn't've prepared anyone
for the hurricane hearts you left behind.

There is no monologue
that can fill a pair of lungs with air,
no poem that can breath for the breathless.

I am a natural disaster trying to write
about the sun.

My head is trying to put words
to the fire you left behind.

I know now,
that California's forests are
nothing compared to an empty stage.
Your flames branded
everything you touched
With the sound of your smile...

For a while,
I wanted nothing more
than to look into your oceanic eyes
one last time.

Then I remembered, that I do,
everyday.

When I walk through that door at 7 a.m.
groaning.
coffee in hand,
ideas for poems in my head.

You are not a sonnet, or a clear sky.
You are not a tomb.

You are
the cow as white as milk,
the cape as red as blood,
the hair as yellow as corn,
and the slipper as pure as gold.

Most importantly,
you are a classroom full of wide-eyed children.
Ready for their lesson in advanced theatre.
Well, not ready, but we'll get there,
with speed and purpose.

Your smile is like the sunrise.
Gradually, you light up the world;
the luminescence is taken away
all the same.
Even when you're not bright as day,
your spellbinding light shines through.
An infinate glow radiates around you.

When he leaves
let him

and when he's gone
don't let your love dwindle

for no one can take away love

for all creeks empty into the ocean

Bob had a kid, Bob had a wife, Bob had a job and Bob had a life

Bob was always happy, Bob was never sad, sometimes Bob got angry, but it was always just a fad

There he was. Bob. The perfect guy, never did drugs and never got high, never made a person cry

But one day....

A vending machine fell across Bob's chest.. Bob was paralyzed, a vegetable. He layed in the hospital, hooked up to a machine.. keeping him alive.

He watched as his friends and family debated over shutting off the machine that Bob was attached to, and **** him. He watched his own mother give the "ok" to the doctor.. he watched the doctor shut off the machine.

Bob was a model human.. he never got to hug his kids goodbye, he never got to tell his wife he loved her one last time.

Bob died a horrible, sad, lonely, painful, torturous death.

THERE IS NO GOD.