Like rain drops plunging
into puddles
this only echos outward.

I can feel it vibrating
the harrowing space
that separates us.

Ripples repeated
trickling with the notion
that it's moving...somewhere.

Slipping into
subtle transformation
that we pray is growth.

Obsorbing within us
like rain drops dancing
bound together by spirit.

Here is the place of death and ash;
Here is the slumbering beast of vileness past.
Look at these barbed wire rows
Guarding scarlet stained poppies birthed in woes.

Some people die in Texas.
Some people die in Spain.
Some people die in their sleep.
Some people die in pain.

We were all in love with trauma.
We were all in love with the same
ideas we projected onto people
and disguised with their name.

I don't live in nine-eleven-land
and neither do my peers.
I've been monitored by other people's Gods
for twenty-two ******* years.
Coffee pots and cigarettes
stimulate my day
and keep the thoughts streaming,
that eventually fade away.

Some people die in Utah.
Some people die in Prague.
Some people never get married
or have the family dog.

We were all in love with status.
We were all in love with goals
that would make life poignant
and make ourselves whole.

I don't subscribe to the thought
that my thoughts necessarily matter.
If life is a horror movie,
then I'm the fake blood splatter.
Bible thumps and dead eyes,
are all part of my design,
and how I live and where I die
means to separate my mind.

Skewed, and Angled.
Perception of time seems so vulnerable, at least able to be captured.. mangled.
Away it flies, yet draws closer by the second; quilted with its own set of rules and manners.. entangled.. in itself.
Oxymoronic.
The ultimate healer, but kills all, besides itself, "In time." Dividing a fine line between happiness and misery..
Above rides the wind, and below, the waves.
Neither can go back, or skip ahead.

He hated his life incredibly deeply
So he resigned from it incredibly meekly
He wrote poetry with passion so seething
That late evening paramours would recite it so deeply
Suicidal sons would read on and keep breathing
Loathsome lovers would repent for their cheating
His words float without effort, masterfully  perceiving
Of the harsh and real yet ensorcelled and believing
The lost and the ****** with one glance would find meaning
In a world so berift of love
Who knew when his bullet, right temple and pulled it, from the left side would fly a dove

plant the seed
beget the tree
protect the greed
neglect the free
comprised of thoughts
of two, rest, see
reprised and taught
idolatry

a chromatic eye now strips me
how long will we see it this way?
that which we acquired quickly
it trickles down day by day

i know that a movement ripples
i know that a payment trickles down
i know that a little by little
the ceiling will come crumbling down

Wind walks wild -
there is no end and no beginning,
only movement:
the great big arms of a mother
on a sea of waterfall foam -
cold embrace that
can't be returned.

We shine with heat
that only certain beasts
will see -
we are a strong, wet candle
that does not gutter
so long as our rivers
of tears
are kept within.

Only a broken heart
feels the shiver in a wind's embrace.
Only a shattered mind
feels blown apart in the breeze.