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Nick Huber Nov 2017
I thank you,
My cold sweet lover.
That you left me in the damp, dark, frigid night.
So on my own, I could learn
The grief of stones.
That solemnly watch,
The world change above them.
And in the end, are gathered in each of your lovely hands,
To be crushed and ground,
Made into the bricks that buttress,
Your humble abode.
Nick Huber Nov 2017
Breath softly into the night.
So I did
And the world
                                                         Fell Apart.
Like the tears,
As they fall from your eyes
At night,
                                                        I crumble.
The light I hold in my hands:
Burns, flickers, and fades.
As do my feelings.
The difference? Feelings stay
Unlike the flowers
                                                      They wither,
But I,
Burn, flicker, and fade
Till I drown memorialized.
And in the iris of your eyes,
I burn flicker and fade
As the world around me
                                                      Falls Apart.
Nick Huber Jun 2016
Bring back the night
Bring back the memories,
Of simple small talk
Boisterous egos
Promulgation's of our truths.

I've already sealed and bound
Those simple talks
In my book of life.
That day,
I risked my sanity.

I threw myself at the amber colored waves.
Where ghosts await my ascension.
And I whispered,
I whispered to you
and was met with flames.
They felt so warm,
Till my lips moved towards yours.

From my own volition,
From yours (so I'd hope).
The inner dialogue is confused:
But I'd rather be confused
With you near.
Nick Huber Nov 2017
There is an endless brutality
Mixed inside this gentle soul.
And it takes it out,
On the one most ill-suited to sustain it's relentless attacks.

To understand it requires:
A Kindred Spirit,
With an Unrequited Love...

It isn't that I feed off negativity,
I simply force myself into a dark room
and light a single candle.
I take the dark, and t̶u̶r̶n̶ ̶i̶t̶
Transform it into something else....
Entirely different from the shattered form,
Others saw it as.

Think of the earth
With all the roots
Stabbing the soil.
How they may sprout into beautiful flowers,
Given a few tears,
And the light of the sun...

But I work in the opposite way.
I live on in dreams.
Picture it, Hope.
The one emotion that seems, ever so far away.
But we cling to it!
So, I feed on Hope
Without it,
I will die!
Nick Huber Sep 2015
How do you know when something has died?
When the breath stops?
When the blood stays still?
When the heart shatters in two?
Is this death?
It lingers constantly
Like I'm constantly sinking
The weights will not be removed
Please let me be
The stench burns my eyes
It makes my throat lock up
Tears that won't flow
I'm forgotten again
And I did it to myself.
Nick Huber Dec 2015
Dissolve me
With a soft kiss
On these hardened lips
That have been betrayed time and time

Return me
To a place without time
That I cannot reach
No matter how hard I try

I’ve dreamt of you
Nights on end
Of that day where you and I will meet again
No sorrow, no pain, where we will be taken away
To the ends of the earth

May we live and die with each other
Nick Huber Jun 2016
Taken from experience,
Ripe for the pickins'

The tree of
Lords twelve
No thirteen
No One disciple
Along tar plates

The city-scape
Escapes the truth:
Means nothing

I'm learned,
but I do not see.
Takes my eyes
and bury them in the tree

Time is of no form
Desiring body
That is truth!

Scattered forever.
Nick Huber Jan 2016
I had a dream, that you laid still
As I wrapped your naked flesh
In elegant red silk

The color of my desire
Plastered onto you
Like the exalted paintings
Of the Sistine Chapel

Goddess of love
I call your name
And carve your name into my flesh

Intoxicated by your body
I can't abide my thirst
I rest in the caress of your destructive flesh
Gone forever

Now I linger
In decrepit brothels
Searching for you, Eros
But poor beggars and cheap swill await
I find myself, chocking on their perfume

I'll dream of you
Imagining a lucid night
Sinking into your flesh
The canals of glorious Venice
Magnanimous beauty
I'm your hostage
Nick Huber Jul 2016
I was told this evening
That I'm far too young
To speak how I do
That may be true
I'm far too bitter
Sadness has encroached my life
Far more than it should
But let me tell you
Perhaps you're too old
To remember when agony gripped your heart
And turned you into what you are today
The memory works in mysterious ways
Blocking out heartbreak
With nostalgia
Ohhh how simple life was then!
But it wasn't
You were probably just as cold, bitter, and arrogant as you are today
Just remember those nights
You sat in tears
Waiting for sleep to take you
And make life seem like it was ok
As I have aged
The tears won't come
Sleep hides from my eyes
And life doesn't seem alright
It just makes you uncomfortable
That someone this young already knows that
Now let's leave that in the past
And see who makes it to the goal first
I'm young enough
The race is close
I might even win!
Nick Huber Jun 2016
I felt the wind gently kiss my hair
It's arms enveloping me
It's stare as cold as ice
But ice my heart is not
And as the blood rushes through my heart
I stand head first into the wind
It may take me far away
But my feet are planted firmly
My principles resolute
And my love
Hurricanes, gales, tornados
They rock my base
But I know the truth
Hell, I've known it for too long
So go on ahead
Whisper into my ear
And I'll stay right here
For all eternity
My captor, my love, your force is stronger than the wind
I'll call you gravity
Nick Huber Jun 2016
I'm a hack of all trades.
Fondler of the sacred.
Like a roach,
Who turned into a human.
Metamorphosize that Kaf:
I'l have you spinning in your grave.
While darkness ***** on the sun.
Oh Clouds!
Clouds of blue, Clouds of grey!
Mark the evening sky,
With Buddah's laughter
Nature's secret,
What it has to teach:
There is no universal mind.
It's laughable and cyclical.
No wonder the smile...
Simulacra overload.
My mind is a toad
Nick Huber Nov 2017
I held the sun in my left hand.
The pen in my right.
Placed the sun above and squeezed.
As my blood began to boil
My skin began to peel,
My right hand shook,
But I couldn't let go.
What laid on the paper
Was the yellow flame from the sun, full of red blood
and black ink: The witches brew.
I growled, at the top of my voice!
"What more can you take?!?!
My life?? Take it, it's yours!
My poetry? It was written,
long before I was born!
My hand? I have no need for it anymore!"
Soon enough,
The sun was floating,
Above my wrist, where I dared to hold on.
It took what it wanted,
And left me a present,
Above the now cauterized flesh.
When I'm tired of writing. Poetry is not pleasant to me. Sometimes I feel as if it writes itself, and leaves me with an open wound.
Nick Huber Sep 2015
I told them that what bothered me was
Everything and nothing in particular
Shoud it provide comfort?
To not have a demon?
To not have a cause?
To not have an answer?
Questions and tears are all that’s left

Broken hearts, broken bottles, broken lives
Tear and Tear and Tear at the very root of my soul

No one knows the future,
And even less know the past.

We just sit here,
Plagued by those momentary thoughts of hope
Only to realize, that hope is fleeting

All succumb to the nature of what it is to be:

Nick Huber Jun 2016
My verse is free
******, malleable, ever changing
From sadness, to peace
The cavernous confines expand
And my heart is lit aflame

My words are simple
Visions, prophesies, fortunes
From death, to life
The time between dilates
And my soul is lit aflame

My tone is steady
Musical, poetic, evolving
From anger, to gratitude
The space between magnifies
And my voice is lit aflame

My steps are fast
Running, wild, assured
From sedation, to waking
The road in front broadens
My body is lit aflame
Nick Huber Sep 2015
Lobotomize me
Make me dumb
Take my voice away
So I’ll never hurt again
The less I speak
The more I feel apathy
Its in trying to connect
That I feel distant
No point trying
To clear these gaps

Lobotomize me
Out of necessity
So I won’t lose any more
Can’t be happy
Can’t be sad

Lobotomize me
So my desires will fade
And I’ll be left drooling at my bedside
While the beasts congregate around me
Ripping my flesh
Replacing my memories with their own

Lobotomize me
So I can be happy not being the protagonist
Composed out of spite
Nick Huber Jun 2016
I long for destruction
For Erosion
For the winds to tear down the mountains
For the eyes to pierce my soul
For the words to stab at my heart
Is that not my art?

The painful prose of winters strife?
It calms the masses into the night
The earths porticoes rising through,
Towering sadness that comes back anew

My words are recycled
Reminiscent of Christ's disciples
Who shackled their sins to a cross
Only I'm the one who lost.

The devil, the jailer, the judge, and the muse
I embellish their words and stand abused

The sailor who lost his one guiding star
I'll be alone in the end
Sir Nicholas the Tsar
Nick Huber Dec 2015
A battered heart
Laid bare by a storm
With gnats and vultures
Picking at the outer layers of skin
How can one expect to heal?

My lungs, covered with tar
Feel much the same
But we are both still breathing
Still living
Still healing
Still imploding
Barely staying afloat in the waters of a swelling ocean

Wretched persons
How dare you hurt my love
Who can’t shake the feeling
Of being torn apart from the inside
Trust me love
I too feel lost, unloved, confused
This isn't how I envisioned it!

I pictured love and happiness
Fulfilling my every desire!
Hurt escaping from my grasp
Love flowing freely from my heart… To yours
From yours, to mine
I imagine loves everlasting divinity
Gushing forth like the great rivers and waterfalls in this world
What I got instead, was a light trickle
Like a dying stream in the middle of a desert.

Forsaken, forlorn
I throw myself at your mercy
That you may find what you seek
The strength that resides within,
The strength I see.

For I am a maggot
A parasite
A fiend
I search for life stronger than mine
And feed off it
But now I realize I’m neither of those things.
A saint in disguise
Trying to play the demon.

I know when to tread softly
To move gently
To wait till hearts can mend
But then, I realized that there is nothing to mend
Or to heal.
Incomplete from the start
Cast aside
Unbreakable hearts
Succumbing to the infinity before us
Feelings fading
I gasp for one last statement
Before we lose anything more
My heart screams out into a cold night saying:
Nick Huber Dec 2017
What do I do?!?!?
Answer me!!!!
Don't leave me alone.
A nod of the head will suffice.
Should I smash the mirror?
The face that stares back in dissatisfaction?!
Do I blind the eyes,
So they can't look into my own?!
Do I take the lit candle,
place it beneath my face?
Burn my skin, shave my face,
Change my look entirely?

Why can't you answer...
You don't have the time, or is the answer too painful?
It doesn't matter.
I have braved many storms.
Faced the sea in defiance,
Bound my wounds in gauze,
and counted the time it takes the sun to set.
I can handle you.
You who ridicules, charms, then throws my smile away.

You can never run!
I know your secrets!
I know your name!
And someday, your taunts,
Will fall on deaf ears.
I'll look into the mirror,
And stare back,
At my own lustrous eyes!
When I go through my own negative self-talk, I fight back. Even if I don't think I can succeed.
Nick Huber Jul 2016
I measure my worth,
By what I have accumulated,
Which really isn't much:
A diseased liver,
A book of poetry,
And a broken heart.
I am what I said I was:
Which really isn't much
Nick Huber Dec 2017
Save your pleasantries for someone else.
Another innocent smile.
Another unexpected face.
Let them bask in the light,
Only to find the sun doesn't exist.

I have no more space in my heart,
For spontaneous gestures or overzealous words.
Take that love you fed me, and watch it implode.
You've harnessed the fission of a star.
Only to Supernova... Type 1A.

I've witnessed it all.
Forced it upon my eyes.
Believing that the truth was kept,
Secret through lies.

So tell me,
What am I missing?
As a human or just as a man?
Is it passion?
The thing that exists outside "me"?
I put it on the paper,
I don't wear it on my skin

I let words do the talking,
Without even a grin.
No, I'm much too secure.
Sure of my motives.
I know them thru and thru.
I'll never demote them.

Let me linger in solitude.
I'm never alone.
My sovereignty requires strength.
I won't be placed on your commode.

So, lean over and I'll whisper a secret to your ear.
Because without a whisper, you'll never hear.
The reason why I'll never change.
Because at the root, I'm never ashamed.
Just a little depressed.
Nothing more or less.

So carp all you want,
About your burdens and guilt.
I'll let the albatross fly from my sight.
Till it vanishes in the moonlit night
For Mayra
Nick Huber Nov 2017
Our love was like a tablecloth.
White, pleated, and stuffed away for special occasions.
You wouldn't let me take it out, half the time.
I'm clumsy, and you didn't want me to paint it red.
Just let it's gleaming brightness adorn our table.
But keep it hidden.
As for special occasions, I can name three:

One-- The day I met you, while the flowers bloomed outside.

Two-- When we walked beneath the city lights, all in the dark of night.

Three-- The day you left, disappeared from my sight.

So today I'll bring it out...
That white pleated tablecloth,
You're not here, I'll paint it red.
Nick Huber Oct 2016
Paint me with oil,
Or hot burning lead
That gently singes the flesh
Where your name once read

Out of despair comes hope,
All isn't lost!
But I can never cope
When the butterflies die

I search for words
In dictionaries and books
That fly in your head
Just like birds in the vast blue sky

So please! Paint me with oil,
Or hot burning lead
So I can see beyond,
Where your name once read.
Nick Huber Sep 2019
Now that passion's embrace has left me cold.
I find I must stay away:
Deliberately, Intentionally....
With purpose and necessity.
Whenever I begin to cave in,
Lending an ear to those forgotten words.
All my hidden resolve departs.
Sweet betrayal,
How could I ever doubt?
My Dear, My Love, My Light...
Deceive me again.
Nick Huber May 2019
You have to give yourself permission.
You said that once, I remember it clearly.
I remember you saying that. Right in the middle of one of those many episodes I had.
You know,
One of those episodes where I sat at the table.
Shaking my leg,
Hunched over my journal.
You remember the one:
It's that journal I have that looks like an old Islamic prayer book.
Complete with geometric patterns embossed on the front, machine painted, with a lock on its side.
That lock, that doesn't really lock.
It keeps itself shut through intimidation.

You and the book have so much in common: maybe it's your sister.
Or something like your sister. Of the same blood, of the same mother, but maybe of different fathers.
That's not the point though. It doesn't really matter.
But I remember it well.
Even though it never actually happened.

Really, it was just part of a dream. Whether it was a dream I had during the day, or one at night like everyone else has at some point in their lives.

It's just, I remember it well.
Like it actually happened.

Maybe by thinking about it this way...
It did.
Like telepathic communication, or reading my "energies", or something else that can't be proven beyond a feeling.
Maybe in this dream... You were there.
Not as an extension of my subconscious desire,
but like you were physically there.
My brain interpreting the electrical signals of you being right in front of me.
Kind of like your picture that shows up on my phone when you call.
Existing, but encased in memory, not reaching out.

But really, you couldn't have been there.
You were only present in these dreams.
Comforting me there, taking my hands, speaking softly into my ears.
In real life, I knew that was impossible.
You could see nothing, through my eyes.
You could never be that close for long.
I guess it hurt you in a way, I couldn't see. But,
I wanted you there.

But lets go back. Let's not get discouraged. Let me remember what you said in that dream, where one detail is always left out.
What was it you were saying? It seemed very important.
And I can't help but feel the memory I have, is counterfeit.
Because I'm a man, who questions my motives.
And you being there, seems so clear. Like it had to have happened.

So let's recap: there we were, in the car, staring at the city lights. Scriabin's Piano Sonata 6, blaring through the stereo. This scene always seems to cut out, right at this point. Your hand was gripping my own. Your fingers, lightly caressing my skin. My heart was racing, I looked at your eyes and said: "What's next?"
Your hand reached up, brushed my cheek. Our embrace moving closer and closer. Your hair, resting softly with my fingers moving through.

                                                                             (End Scene)
What am I giving myself permission for?
Nick Huber Nov 2017
Remember that feeling,
When you pick at a scab.
The fleshy white skin that forms,
over the red underneath.

A thin layer that protects
From elements,
as you heal.

But I'm,
Left staring,
Mouth-wide open,  at the blood,
Coagulating silence.

I wonder,
This time,
Why did you come back?
To pick at my just healed wounds?
I'm sorry,
All that's left is ash.
The charcoal still burning,
Red-orange flames.
Dying down,
Burning out.
This ash,
It covers me,
From head to toe.
Nick Huber Jan 2016
I weep at the ruins of my sanctuary
The possibility of loves remains
Scattered, ashen bones
That which held the heart
Blown away by the wind
Ravaged by kerosene flames

The feelings of those
Destined to lose
The halls of my sanctuary
The painting now warped
Acrylic melting off the canvases
Impeccable of expressions
Now a pile of dust
My heart still beating,
I await the knife

The gardens of my sanctuary
Overgrown with weeds
Unkempt grounds
With broken statues lining the fountains
Where once baptismal fonts filled with holy water
Now lie with acidic libations
They burn my flesh
My sanctuary is gone
Nick Huber Dec 2017
I can't count the number of times, the wind stopped me in my tracks.
The length of night that stretched out of my heart.
The number of times, I could not say goodbye.
I counted on so many things to signal your return.
Each time, the signs dwindled down, to what they are today.
It was never, the way you described; I found out,
You'd call on a whim,
And miraculously, I'd be there.
Like the worn down music-box my grandmother kept.
My motor was wound, and I laid,
Always ready.

Even if I were blind,
I'd know you from the gentler notes.
The rate of your breath, the sound of your voice, the scent of your hair...
I didn't have the heart, to stay far enough away.
I wasn't a slave,
But, I couldn't call this freedom.

I was a poet, with a few words,
and a jar full of tears.
I'd carry them to town: every morning negotiating a fair price,
to those who'd pay.
They'd pay me in flowers, in kisses, and large bellowing laughs.
But my pockets were empty, my lips parched, my voice hoarse.
But I did have a smile. It spread from cheek to cheek.

My eyes would receive the light, and transpose it into something else.
Faces molded by a Gutenberg Press. Antiquarian, but lovely either way.
After a day or so, the ink would fade at an alarming rate.
Once red lips, now chapped and anguished.

Their arms, could not hold me.
I was already, very far away.
Now, I watched as tears fell, from eyes that weren't my own.
I watched, and felt a pain in my stomach.
Not the gut turning pain of guilt.
I was hungry!

But my pockets were still empty.
I spent it all (out of concern for my health), on a fake smile and an empty glass. But don't think it was all that sudden.
I was cold, I was alone, and I was drifting through a town I didn't know. I went back and forth with the angel in my heart, and the devil in my ***** for a whole 30 seconds, accepting the shame I knew you wouldn't feel.

Now, now, I know what you're thinking. This story deteriorated into one about me. But it hasn't. It's still about you. 100%.
So, I'm sure, one day, you'll read this letter.
You'll file it away with all the postcards I sent.
Maybe even loosely bind it in a folder, held together with rubber bands, stables and tape. Not with the notation "beautiful poems," nor "inspiring messages," and definitely not
"everlasting love."
You'll put a post-it note on top, and label it "Deranged, Obsessive Ramblings."
It'll float around, bouncing in between the chasm of your perfectly sculpted head, till one day you realize: "It couldn't be about 'Him'."

You see, my life had none of the adornments I mentioned.
It had no flowers, no kisses, and assuredly, no bellowing laughs.
But I can say,
I was really, quite hungry.

                                               The End.
For Mayra
Nick Huber Jun 2016
Speak softly,
 The words that leave your mouth
  Gently enter my soul
   Leaving their mark
    In the absence

Speak loudly,
 I hear them
  Laughing, crying, singing
   Dancing in my heart

Speak surely,
 So that I have no doubt
  When you’re gone
   When I’m alone
    When you’re in love

Speak beautifully,
 To remain true
  To remain pure
   To remain independent
    To remain you

Speak poetically,
 So I remain me
  For before I met you
   I didn’t have words

Speak honestly,
 And I will stay
  Even when it hurts
   Even when the words sting
    To give you my heart
Nick Huber Nov 2017
Tell me,
Are you listening to these words?
They fell from my mouth.
Raindrops, scattering silence.
Through wisps of faint crackling,
The embers now ash. Before the throne of God
I called you Saviour
I called you Goddess
I called you Life Itself!
And now... Look!
I'm falling from reality,
Into a fictional anguish.
So listen, Please... Listen!
I do not hate, the way you impassioned my grasp.
I cannot be anything else,
But a light, flickering into dark skies.
I am you, or the part of you
That you cannot love, but do...
Nick Huber Aug 2019
I once grew a garden.
It withered and faded,
Everything except for the tree.
That sapling I couldn't pull from the ground.
It's roots, mottled, protruding from the earths surface.
It's branches bare:
Weathering another winter, alone.
With a sun that couldn't reach.

It's trunk was wide, and filled with holes.
I drilled them there to find its' true age.
For although I planted it there, just a few years ago,
It appeared to be there for ages,
Solemnly resting in the arid soil.

It was no longer my own.
Someone else tended to the matters of its health.
They nurtured it, they fed it, they pruned its' leaves.
But they couldn't hear the songs it made.
Among the branches, among the leaves,
along the trunk, and through the roots.
The markings left from long summer months.

I climbed and climbed,
but always fell back down.
How could it be mine? This tree?
I could not claim it as my own,
I could not feed it,
I could not climb it.
I wanted it.

We made an oath:
I promised always to return to its plot to rest.
And it promised me,
A night that would never end.
I cut my wrist, and fed it my blood.
It's roots responded in turn,
Burgundy wine that dyed its soil.
Now we are like family.
It grows in me,
and I in it.

Now when you see me,
Know that you can hear this trees song.
It taught it to me, through many long nights.
We sing it the same.
So catch me in the meadows' grass,
Under a cloudy day,
Singing madly,
Heading the reapers call.
Nick Huber Jul 2016
My heart speaks a language
Unknown even to me
I listen for answers
But nothing is clear
The language of silence
Can only bring tears
But I knew it from the start
The power of resolve
Nick Huber Sep 2016
The moon shines no more
I could never rest under the sun
That I know to be true
But I'd come out under the moon.
Its modest brilliance, paling before the light of the sun.
But now, even the moonlight burns my eyes.
Instead of brilliant yellow,
I searched far and wide for ashen white.
Now I search the sky
For clouds, to hide behind:
Clouds of all shapes,
Clouds of all sizes,
That replace uniqueness
With transient whispers of specter silence
Where dreams become what?
Dreams Fade
And I disintegrate
The Moon Crashes.
Scarring it's pristine white
With cratering canyons.
Now the sun sinks
Into eclipsing dark.
And I'm afraid, that you'll never find me.
Even if you feel that's O.K.
Who knows,
Maybe it is....
So Goodbye Moon
Your brilliance has lost its luster,
In the cavernous gutter I'm in
Nick Huber Dec 2017
I did not
Hit the nail on it's head
To drive it in that far.
Oh wood! Forgive me!
I've ruined your face,
And watched you split in agony.
Nick Huber Nov 2017
Behind the door,
There was a room left bare.
The walls didn't have a single painting hanging on them,
My mind already composed the perfect portrait:
Of you.
In my imagination, I'd see it, each time,
I'd walk into my house.
Think of that.
A portrait of you, held only in my mind.
Sounds a lot like us... doesn't it?
Nick Huber Jun 2016
I wish to be a stone
That all at once enters your thoughts
As natural as the earth beneath your feet
As necessary as the soil that brings life
As subtle as the trees that bring air.

For if I were a stone,
I would be immobile
I would be where you stumble
I would be heavy enough to weigh down your thoughts
But light enough to pick up and keep.

For a stone is solitary,
Lifeless, and Brilliant
and from its lack of movement
Able to remain steady
In the ocean that pours over.
I could remain that way
As a Stone, Or as a Dream.
Nick Huber Aug 2016
The page has been written
Not by my hands
My hands seek something else
They seek something to rip out
To burn
And watch as the words are engulfed in flames,
But there is nothing:
No Flame,
No Will,
No strength.
I am alive, I guess
And for now,
The wind does not sing:
It cries,
My heart dies
A little more inside
An elegy of the flesh
As nature itself, forsakes my presence
It is written
And that's that.
Truer than anything I have known.
She is gone

And so am I.
Months ago, I wrote a poem to someone I love dearly. I told her I was leaving the last page unwritten. For her to fill with love, with heartbreak, with anything she wanted. This is my response.
Nick Huber Nov 2017
This time,
I felt nothing.
Not the fast beat of the heart.
Not the violent wave of rage.
Not the muffled tears of sadness.
Not the all-encompassing envy.
Not the unstoppable movement of despair.
Not the stinging noise of defeat.
All that was left, was that bitter taste,
In the back of my throat.
I called out, and the moon...
Didn't respond.
I was empty,
And nothing in the world, could fill me.
Nick Huber Sep 2015
A poem is a testament to my soul
Words that mean nothing

Composed with sincerity and love
Things that I can hardly grasp
Yet I try to express them with my
Limited vocabulary
Yet I know in my heart
At least one person knows my joy
Knows my happiness
Knows why I suffer so much
From abandonment
From the truth of beauty
I can't break away from the people who put me down
They strengthen me with their insults
I rearrange my priorities
And instill a sense of wonder

When I look to the mountains for guidance
I see snow covered tops
Filled with tears as the seasons change
Breeding life a new
Just as I reach a depth of despair
Staring from the valley below
I might never reach the top
to play in the snow
to hold the coldness in my hands
but I hope to grasp at least the words it lends my ears
Wind howling through the saplings
You soothe me
You make me realize my inadequacy
and you make me crave for more
Lustfully, beautifully, intelligently
I thank you,
As you watch the leaves of your tree
Fall and decompose this autumn
to feed the parched soil of my heart.
My ode to the absurd
Nick Huber Nov 2017
If I had want of anything
In the entire world,
It would be of hands,
That mold clay into shapes.
Shapes that serve a function.
Shapes that piece together,
The fragments of hope,
You forfeit to despair.
For it is hands alone!
That knead tirelessly,
That truly make the world move.
Not wit, charm,
Nor these majestic tapestries of words.
Nick Huber Aug 2016
The night comes again
I watch as the sun disappears on the horizon
As thoughts blow up in my mind
I realize that your words make as much sense to me, as they do to you
And every minute I sink.
I sink further into this fantasy.
Where Truth is stranger than fiction,
Maybe dreams mean more than reality.
I no longer know:
All I know is the longing, the angst.
The feeling that as much as I have fallen
There is still so much more
With you, I discover new depths
I learn things I can't understand.
But I know, in one way or another.
The end is near
It is always so near
I reach out,
Clasp it in my hands,
Know it in my heart
Then, it scurries away.
And through it, I hear a voice
Is it yours, or is it mine?
Neither of us knows
It's the river, it's the wind, it's the leaves, it's the tree, it's your heart, it's mine.
Reality is a figment of imagination
The breath is what makes it real.
Madness, is sinking to the bottom
And going further.
Further is where I go
Further is where we go.
We lead each other there,
Without knowing who's ahead.
Sleep well, my dear, sleep tight
The dream is as real as we are
And dreams of you, I shall have
Nick Huber Sep 2015
There was a time I dreamt
As most people do
That the moon and the stars could be ours
But time passes, just as dreams are forgotten
Revealing the darkness I burrowed in my heart
No moon
Nor stars could ever be mine
Gifts of nature so distant
The river that cleanses
Erodes my once esteemed castle
The dam I built to stop its flow
Broke in the storms
My passions, and desires float away
Down the stream

I no longer dream
I gave them up for reality
That maybe nothing would ever be mine
O world of dreams
How I long to have you back

— The End —