The shore weeps for her lover’s return
She yearns for his sweet kiss
That lingers long after he is gone.

But the sea
He can never stay long
With each embrace he is pulled away
Away
Into the depths of his own loneliness.

But the sea
He never gives up hope
He gathers all his strength and drags himself back
Back into the shore’s arms
To again be denied what he longs for most.

But the sun keeps shining
The moon keeps rising
And the waves keep crashing on the shore.

Body shaking
Heart racing
Mind scattered
Feeling dizzy
Need help
Can't talk
Go away
Can't walk
Pass out
Why not cry a little too

Hello my name is anxiety

If you're freely willing
to see your dreams grow root

take the honey grove route.

It's the name of a place
without a bee or a hive
where you arrive
if only you take a wrong drive

lose your way
on a forgetful day
to reach a space
of wide eyed face
where the children have never seen a car

or may be one or two
with wanderers like you
that once in a year
strayed this far
and to give their dreams a root

took the honey grove route!

I didn’t hand it over
I neglected to sign a consent
I never said you could                                 yet you did anyway

a cavity within my chest
anatomical rather than cliché
the mask told me it’s a ventricle                then I stuttered okay

hollowed inside thick walls
it gathers substance productively
like a strawberry picker                              but the berries are smashed

The easiest way to the heart of a woman
is tea-sing her.

Make her a tea
Sing her a song
And yours she would be
For lifelong!

If you think I fable

See me making that
At the tea table.

Through the darkest seed
Through the light split by blood and greed
They desire that which is forbidden
Yet persevere disregarding being forgiven
It's in disgust as infestations reap its greatness
Holding broken memories we soak in weakness
It's in these crown of thorns we rest in what we believe
Yet voiced with transparent lungs we grieve
We try to fight the silence but no one is listening
Screaming our emotions translates to whispering
As we bury their hope in the ground gasping their final last breath
We except their fate
Their destiny
Their death.
Even after death we feel their words resonate
As they breach the great white gate.
They are never forgotten, they are always loved
Looking down on us from above

-Joseph B Schneider