This noise is acid on my brain
burning straight through
leaving none in its path.

I feel it-
the loss
the pain
the sizzle.
The empty hole it leaves
running straight from my skull to my breast.

I wish it would spread.
Leaving one with a hole is cruelty.
Destroying the total is a gift.

A prayer offered
that he might outlive her so
she wouldn't see him
die as her last husband died.
Nice thought till her cancer came.

Am I a wanderer?
You would think
surmise
muse that
after twenty five
years with
myself I
would know

All I have
determined is
that sometimes
I lay awake
Like an alien
In my own bed
And feel the holes
worn in my feet
by shoes standing
too long
in one place

Maybe that's
my answer
or Maybe it
just scares
me to remain
where the
ground can
keep tabs
on me.

Because if
I do, then
Life can
Catch Up
long enough
to shake her
Finger at
Me til I
Cry.

Words left unsaid spoil quickly
My hands are restless, full of gestures
I had prepared and made perfect
While revealing my feelings to you

This mind bears many  fruits
I wish I could pluck them delicately
Instead of this clumsy silence
And flare-up of emotion

But I cannot seem to gather myself
Like so many silken threads
The harder I grasp, the faster they fall
All thats left is pooling in my chest

And the poetry, you say, is in my eyes

today i sat
in my living room
and i clicked
and typed
and clicked
and typed
and clicked
and typed
and then i found something.
something that would change me.
something that is changing the world.

it began as a group of men
marching peacefully.
carrying flags
and speaking their beliefs.
young and old came together
for one reason-
to defend their rights
as man.

they walk past palm trees
and tall city buildings,
on the streets that were once
their daily commute to work.

they come to a barricade
and are the army wastes no time.
they are fired at.
all hell breaks loose.

men fall,
men cry,
men run,
men die.

i'm still sitting in my living room.

I aligned my pace to the crowd.
I fit in.
It seemed like I had finally found the right lubricant to squeeze into the system I was previously unaware of.
It calmed me, being part of the tide, I rippled and swayed with them.
I would live by them now.
Die by them.

Yet no matter where I went I always had an itching.
An itching that I would lose them.
So I lost me.
So I could keep them.

Soon I was them, and they were me.
The placid rooftop they provided was nice.
The support they gave was good.
The foundation I had laid my very soul upon was well intended.

Not grand, nor regal.
But nice.
Not beyond, or captivating.
But good.
Not lovely, or awe inspiring.
But well intended.

Not what I would like.
But who was I?
I was them.
And they liked it.