Solemn hour
Yonder year,
Take the latter second,
A car in the distance of the road,
Fertilized with the scent of life
A light reflecting him, and a crow
Perched atop his shoulder.
He ventured toward the chateau,
Cars passing him blanked by countless efforts
Tripped inside, a maid approaches the door
She appears to be one-hundred,
The crow fell off the shoulder and dust remained
Where the maid cleaned up and left.

I sit inside a poets mind,
And mess with the machine,
Their stories pour and print on paper,
And it's not always clean.

A gear there and engine here,
Their clicking engines work.
The pen falls and fills the bottle
Of ink while it spills.

The story is done,
His work is gone,
But never is forgotten.
He resets the typewriter
And starts to write again.

As the windows roll down,
The wind blows in,
The cold crawls up my arm,
And spreads like butter,
Engulfing the surface of my being.

The wind blows in and freezes the car,
The time stops and the moment stands still,
The night is young, but eager

The moon and stars frown
As I tuck myself to bed at night,
It’s still young, and hungry for life.

It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff -
and looking down
a downward spiral into a whirlpool,
that drains your dreams delicately
into a sealed bowl.

it’s like staring into the sky, and falling
that feeling you get when you know what’s coming
a nauseous feeling in your stomach,
the tingling of your feet and the absence of feeling in your arm

it’s like a clock going backwards
as everything moves forwards
like a gesture made often but
frequently forgotten

it’s like sitting on the train tracks
waiting for it to come
to wake up and ride away
to steal pain and numb the sadness

it’s like waking up from a bad dream
into a nightmare - that sudden feeling of worry
that washes over and drowns

it’s like falling off the cliff
watching that whirlpool wait to consume
knowing what awaits and accepting.

I walk around with my label-gun
and stab you with your permanent mark.
You belong here, with them.
Sulking and alone.

Or you belong with them,
Rich and stuck up.

Or with them, synthetic beings
with synthetic organs.

Or with yourself, secluded and different.
Maybe you need no label,
Maybe just an escape

It’s funny, how we laugh.
A crippled man with a cane,
We laugh.
As he struggles, we laugh.
We laugh in the face of his trouble,
His struggle to survive,
and we laugh.

We chuckle at the mis-matched student.
Camouflage pants and corduroy jacket,
An orange hunting hat and tan shirt.
We chuckle at him, in his highest fashion.
As he walks proud at his creation.

We boo the gay couple, and shun them away.
We laugh and call them names.
They search for oasis and fall short often,
Their acceptance here will never be forgotten.

We laugh at the difference,
The ones on their own,
We do not like the change,
From our norm society.

We laugh in their face, in their struggle their grace,
Instead of giving them the hand they deserve.
We walk away and laugh with friends,
As they struggle with their crippled acceptance.

Here I am, I stand
for one thing
I stand tall and proud
and shrink -

It's like a magnifying class
being pulled away from an ant
as it grasps for its life

Here I am, falling
A simple hole in the ground
where I stomped angrily

the world spins with me,
the colors bedazzle and amaze
everything seems slow,
why is the clock broke?

Here I am, on the ground
now grasping for my life
here I am, an ant under a magnifying class
gasping for air
begging for life

the world spun with me
like a top that wont stop
and now it's fallen, and I am lifeless