The sheets are melting.
They hung outside,
Clinging to anything they could,
Rooftops, signposts, streetcars.

They cry tears of life,
Nourishing dirt patches,
Where the flowerbeds will go.

The sun shines early now,
Allowing the moon to rest.
Stars no longer linger in the morning sky.

Buds wake up,
You can catch a glimpse of them,
Pregnant branches on trees.

The grass plays peek-a-boo
With pillows of snow.

Its time for revival.

Oh Fools!
The pain, the unheeded advice-
Oh Feste, oh gravediggers, oh Fools!

Hiding behind the garb of jesters,
I hear your truth.
I know the fate sleeping in the riddle.

Alas! Poor Yourick knows it well.
For that which lives must die,
And that which dies has no tongue,
No verbage to warn.

Whilst the kings laugh
At morbid jokes,
The Fool sheds a tear,
For behind all good jests
Is a terrible truth.

I stare at the brown ocean
Contained in a translucent cylinder.
White pebbles, the sugar coating bottom

Sweat drips down from the umbrella cap
Sitting out on my desk for hours.
A puddle forms, the ring of time.

I stare longingly at the
Beach towel colored straw
Orange-like the sun
With white stripes

The wing tipped tongue of the saleswoman
Flutters on about numbers
And percentages.

Those numbers, and doodles,
And my face
Reflect in the cylinder.

Bold black letters
are written on the side,
F/V 3C 3S.

Here's to the untouched,
the naysayer virgins,
the believers, dreamers and bright eye beamers.

The poets with clouds in their shoes
Walking on gusts of autumn airs.
Humming the tune of a new idea
And sparking the wick of inspiration.

Here's to the inventors,
the birthers of thought
the can dos, will dos and get er dones

Brains in their pencils, cascading onto the page,
Blueprints blotting out
Black splotches in their lives.

Heres to the musicians,
The beat makers,
The Chance takers, love makers and feeling creators

Chanting the tune of tolerance,
Singing the ugly untouched image
Composing the stuff of life.

Heres to the artists,
The men and women
Still starry eyed with wonder,
The backbone of humanity.

Heres to you.

Unsure
Dangling upside down, held up by only trust
I am suspended over a bridge,
One of which I am afraid to cross,
afraid to think about,
afraid to imagine.
But you hold me there
suspended
laughing
I don’t know why I let you torture me
I know I’m going to fall
hard and fast
painfully
but it’s happening and I feel as if I have no control
I let it happen
and then you’re gone
years later I can’t forget
that bridge,
that night
that mistake and the long recovery.

but that’s the funny thing,
Hamlet could've killed the king.
You could have killed me,
Released your grip, sent me down.
Rushing, flying,crashing, crying
Your name on my breathless lips.

But...

You didn't. You held me,
Up.
Alive.

Still suspended, but no longer unsure,
We've met dangling above the water
On a bridge.

Your Ophelia, safe from drowning.
Safety assured.

Date someone who walks into a storm.
they may be pour at weathering it,
shoes soaked, shirts clinging to collar bones
jeans suctioned onto hips
But they'll make it through.

Date a person who gets caught in the rain.
They may not expect it,
but they can handle a surprise.

Love a person who isn't intimidated by thunder.
They know how to wait it out,
the heavy air will subside in the end.

Love a person who has experienced hail,
They may be bruised by it,
but they laugh at the ice pellets perching on their fingertips.

Marry someone who walks into the storm.
They like the excitement,
but they know when to come home.

Mary someone who walks into the storm,
They'll thrive in the abandoned streets,
walking barefoot through the puddles,
dancing to the beat of your heart.