The Universe sang
A song close to my heart.
And in it I lost myself
Choosing Dreams over Whispers
And Life over Death.

The Stars called out
And in their blaze
I sought to find my Light.
As I poured out my everything
I realized that You were all that I had.

The Night almost at its end
I draw your figure in the Sand.
The dark skies barely frighten me
Not more than the distance
You keep between our Hearts.

The Universe sang to me
A Song I thought I never knew.
It led me home to the prairies
Where the northern wind
Blew strong, a magic of the Stardust.

I knew the Shadows
Would one day return,
A Haunting, my dreams never fond of.
But if the Storm got too rough
I'd sing the Song the Universe sang.

And in it I'll lose myself,
Once again.
Because in it, I came to know
The only Reason that keeps me alive.
*Because in it, I found You.

but i will.
i will write it and it may take me
five minutes
or it may take me fifty.
and neither of the two is an absurdly long amount of time,
unless you really think about it.
because five measly minutes
is just the same
as three hundred seconds.
and three hundred seconds
is just the same
as three hundred thousand milliseconds.

we've only just covered one-tenth of an entire fifty minutes,
yet already we have before us
three hundred thousand intricate units of time,
each lasting for the blink of an eye -- no, less --
then vanishing,
like the evanescent remains of a flame
that has been reduced
to first sparks,
then dull embers,
then ashes.

the funny part about it is that you never know
what each tiny little bubble of time might hold,
what might happen when it forms,
or when it pops.

a millisecond is incredibly short,
almost unfairly so.

but three hundred thousand milliseconds?

it can't be said what could happen as those fleeting fractions
slip away.

we may try to grab hold of them,
to catch them in our palms.

but time stops for no one.

so you may find yourself
with empty, bleeding palms,
as a reminder that time is harsh, cruel,
tyrannical.

and as you wrap bandages around your wounds
(or maybe not),
those fleeting milliseconds
will laugh with sudden bursts of cynicism,
like fireworks,
deafeningly silent.

they will laugh
at what a fool you were,
thinking you could catch time
in the palms of your hands.

(a.m.)

The poem I would never write would tell of the sun
And the moon and
The stars,
And how the color gray
Describes everything by far.

The poem I would never write
Would be about roses
And the wind in branches and trees.

The poem I would never write
Could never be read.
You see,
The poem I would never write
Would be about the unchartable,
An unwritten world waiting to be created.
The poem I would never write
Would explain my every wish,
The desires buried deeper then the sorrow I hold.
Words would not suffice in
The poem I would never write.

I notice you did you notice me?
I saw you did you see me?

Maybe it was the crowd that's probably why you couldn't see me...it's ok

I notice you did you notice me?

a bedtime story*

In the distance stands a lighthouse
seeing all with cyclops eye
once a beacon, now a hollow,
dead in misted moonlit sky.

Proudly once she ruled the headland,
warning all of crag and shoal
trusted friend to salt scoured sea dogs,
smugglers caught within her glow.

Beauty lived as Keepers mistress
'till one day her love did bloom
walking clifftops with her lover
brought her ending, far too soon.

Bloodied, torn by cliff face ragged
screaming for the life she craved,
Beauty held her rounded belly
As fury deep hit waters grave.

Beauty stands alone in darkness
there above the tempest sea
bloated souls of those who perished
now her only company.

 When the moon is high above us
wrapped in rags and witching stare
Beauty stands atop the catwalk
weeds 'a winding through her hair.

I tried to fix you
I swear I did
there was just too many
broken pieces
and I couldn't grab
them all
before I began to get cut
and pieces of myself
soon joined yours
on the floor.

(a.d)