I'm going to write a poem off the top of my head.
Not sure what I should write, or what should be said.
I sit at this computer, with thoughts flooding through my mind.
Hoping that if I write them out, my fear I'll leave behind.

You see...

I am afraid of everything, but I seem to hide it well.
For most who seem to know me, would not be able to tell.
I tuck my fear inside myself, and go about my day.
If you were to ask how I am, I'd smile and say "okay".

But maybe that's what I'm to do, is keep it all inside.
Take my secrets and bury them, and go away and hide.
For now my shell is all I have, the safest thing I own.
What is a person left to do, when it's their only home?

So if you ever look my way, and see sadness in my eyes;
Keep on going and don't look back, I'll be in my disguise.
For if I see that you noticed, then I will turn away;
And if you were to look again, I'd be smiling and okay.

I'm sitting alone, surrounded by people
An un-still congregation, away from their steeple
They pass by me, often without a glance
And when they do, i've missed my chance
Every person here has a story to tell
Their own thoughts on heaven and hell
More than just that, they've lived whole lives
I wonder for what each individual strives
There's a woman in a fluorescent orange cap
A curious thing with ears attatched
She walks into the Hudson news
And all I can hear are the sounds of their shoes
As they still walk on, not noticing me
The man who sits and writes what he sees
I wonder if that's all i'll ever be
And if any of my words mean anything

bats on a wing soaring high
chasing their pray
in a blood lust frenzy
ravaging emotions
in a moonlit sky.
wide awake in the dead of night
heart rhythmaticly beating
to distant drums
of flights of fantasy
just out of grasp
till the morning light.
not daring to look
deep inside me
an empty vessel
i scream your name
silence speaks
yet another day.

On tattered wing of memory
Came the pallid Ghosts of Autumn,
Those solemn gaunt's of Autumn
Swept swiftly in to chill the day,
Their faces long and glum
And coats long and gray.
Down to take the valleys Czardom
Claiming night and claiming day
Rode the gaunt, gray Ghosts of Autumn.

Those thrones were overtaken
From the sundered Summer Devils,
The lordly Devil's of Summer.
And we have not mistaken
We who live in the lands of Almer
Know the cost of war is taken
From father, son and daughter.
As we await the return of the forsaken
Crimson Devil's of Summer.

For soon will come the chilling
Ancient Kings of Winter
Those savage Kings of Winter
And no blood will thus be spilling
As our logs turns to cinder,
As the Kings will then be killing
For vanity and splendor,
The shades of Fall will they be conquering
Those ageless, Kings of winter.

And from the Gaunt's essence
Shall rise the Maids of Spring,
Evergreen and supple Maids of Spring.
To pass the Winter King's defense,
Sans iron and thunder, these lovely things
Will woo and exhaust their frozen senses
Then silence and ****** the Winter Kings.
And Almer lands will grant happy commends
To the glorious Maids of Spring.

Yet these are but forethought's;
Soft now approach the Ghosts of Autumn
Those mild, soulful and solemn
Beautiful wraith's of Autumn.
Soon Almer shall be sought
By Kings, Maid's, and the Devil's Ransom
Our hearts shall ever be owned, but ne'er bought
And we will pay our lords so handsome.
For now our land shall be rendered and wrought
By those gray gaunt Ghosts of Autumn.

Can't Breath, Nervous, Stuttering.
Tingling, Butterflies Fluttering.

Must be Dreaming, In Denial.
Standing next to you with an uncontrollable smile.

The canopy
was a kid's collage
of finger paints
on fathers old night shirt.
While the day dries
he will take a nap.