how fast time flies by
you stop but for a moment
and suddenly
four years have passed
and in all that time
you have not moved

i spend so many sleepless nights
thinking of you
never dreaming
a dream is more tangible a thing
than thought
and in a dream everything is real
even if it's just for a little while

i come back from the gym
it is past midnight and the rain
has not stopped since midday
my roommate sleeps
he has work tomorrow
i have nothing for the next three days
i sit on the edge of my bed,
that fails to bring me comfort every night,
and huff the silence that would be
if not for the cheap refrigerator
grating solace with its mechanical orchestra

i sit on the edge of my bed
and i watch as a mist
hovers over the pines
stretching out east where there is nothing
that is my place
for i am lost
so many pieces missing, with people
who have long left my life
what am i now
a mosaic, not yet finished
or ravaged by history,
destroyed almost completely
what am i now
the mist that seems almost like
a tangible thing
but when you enter it it's gone
a cloud, a dream,
it's just for view
from high above
it is not for me
and neither am i

the hating heart
burns fierce
it scorches the flesh
leaves marks on the body
no river will wash away

not even the mirror will take me
all that's left is the see-through vision
in the window by night

you are the moss
upon which i wish to lay my head in death
you are the mycelium beneath the earth
that i wish to devour me when I'm dead
you are the blue jay and the sparrow
and your songs will lead me to heaven

where does snow end and ashes begin
where is the brook, river or creek
and where is the caged waterway beneath the barren city street
littered with poison and dread
and all things unholy
where is the oak, ancient monolith of gods
and where is the creaking telephone pole
where does the robin soar
when there is no song in the wind
and what does rain kiss
when we are burdened with mud
what does the frog call her home
when the pond is crude oil
and to whom do stars smile
when the night comes unkind

where do we dance when the sky turns to black
and where do we love when steel comes to fly

what place can hope find
in the hollowed out shells
of her children
what courage is left
in the traitorous bones
of her muse