If you could only hear this howling desert wind,
Echoing of the four corners of this vexed heart,
Swirling about trying to latch onto your love,
But the wind has no fingers...

It continues to go, 'round and 'round,
Forming a dust devil and shredding the walls,
Cracking and separating the desperate foundation,
The blood trickles down my ribs,
And you never saw it.

You write for enlightment
The purpose of writing
Is capturing a lightning
That is gone in a flash.
Being a poet is
Wrapping up flames
With nothing but paper
As the resultant ember
Becomes an assault
On the limitations
And confines
Placed on humanity.
Being a poet
Is being a star
That is either dead
Or carrying a burnt
Existence
Just to guide those
Who are lost
With the light of love.

And
         however beautiful
          the ocean maybe
          you cannot drink
             from its water.

Anger is born of unmet expectations.
The more entitled we feel
being attached to an expected outcome
the more intense the anger may be.

grounded, delusionally,
I can fly occasionally,
like a mythical horse with wings,
when I set my mind to these things

When you were a phosphorus angel
     There was almost light,
And your glow became like the Fallen.
        
When you were holding my hand
       Your prints took over
Mine, like a stolen identity...
Willingly.

       And I was,
Because you were my existence
    In the abyss,
And your luminous spirit a breath
      Underwater.

And you were the storm
     That I left the shelter for,
A little grey can go a long way
      In a rain of sorrowing embers.

I was the reconstruction
     Of your project,
Rebuilding is never easy
But you stayed til I was me again.

       Life is big,
But so little in time,
     I am because you were,
I was because you're gone.

the sun disappears
some say the world goes to sleep
but really it wakes

Somedays this whole
that I don't feel
is like a hole
that needs filling.
An empty space
that won't let go.
Another place I find
myself in that's growing old.
But that's the highway
talking, because
if I was a walking
man I would have gone
home a long time ago.