The bright light of the computer taunts me.
Is this what my writing has been reduced to?
Mindlessly cranking out poetry,
as words flow from my fingers onto the screen.
The perfect black lines dance together,
beckoning me forward towards this no man's land
of modern day literature.
The only thing that sets my writing apart
is a copyright sign, my name following.
My nervous scrawl can't be transcribed into cyberspace.

You make me want to write poetry
Not the sappy sentimental type
Dripping with cliche metaphors
Oozing with prefabricated references of love
No, your presence is much more subtle
Your influence upon my words is obscure
Yet it lingers in the empty spaces
Dancing between the lines
Which separate my tangled thoughts
The poems which you inspire
Have no periods
For to associate you with an ending point
Would be as if telling a circle where to stop
For this reason, the poems you inspire
Have yet to be transcribed onto paper
Endlessly flowing throughout the canals of my mind
Yearning to be unleashed to the world
I selfishly hold back
Unable to attach a significant ending
To the overpowering significance of your presence

Built up by fractions of the truth
We gaze starry eyed to the future
Forgetting our youth
Constantly in movement
We tend to forget where we started
For we took flight at the first impulse
Daydreams disregarded

I'm tired of being weighed down
By expectations
Built up by a world
In fear of condemnation
Free will is replaced
With the will to freely obey
Yeah it's a contradiction
But it keeps revolutions at bay
Cuz we're brought up craving structure
It's in our making
Sure we test our limits
With no intention of breaking
The bind
Which has a firm grasp on our mind
We fool ourselves into thinking
Society and structure can coincide
We'd rather live questioning
All that is around us
Afraid to jump and swim
Cuz our common sense might drown us
All we know is derived from what we hear
So how would we function if we cut off our ears
Afraid to listen to our own voices
Society tells us we can't hear
Our perception is hazy
We've gotten lazy
Why use our eyes
When we can listen to what we see
Aware it doesn't make sense
But neither does reality
We take the easy route
Leading straight to our demise
Slavery has resurfaced
We allowed it to rise
Feeding into it's foolish games
Now we're the ones in it's harmless chains
The burden on our backs
Bears our custom caskets
We faithfully await the day
That we can climb in and latch it
Sealing our fate
Our destruction has decided
It's past the date
So we sit back and try to compensate

Love stems from the moment
In which words are no longer of use
When expressing the most poetic of feelings
Is done so with a sense of poetry that does not need to be written down
Ah, I want to feel the emotions run through my veins
Spurting out into the world
Yet not chained to paper and ink
I want the compulsion to write it all down
Yet the intimacy to refrain
For no words are worthy of portraying such a passion
This is love in it's rawest form
Stripped of all the conventional formalities
Which weigh it down

You speak with the effortless air
Of somone who has spent many nights
Dwelling upon the awaiting conversation
Premeditating every move
You have your lines memorized by heart
Yet your heart is not in them at all
The words that tumble from your lips
Have been ****** dry of their raw emotion
Leaving behind the empty skeleton of conversation
Which you have so diligently perfected
So much so that when your voice rings back in your ears
You can hardly recognize it as your own
For the voice inside your heart is not universally appealing
Nor does it allow others to twist it so it fits their insight
Suppressed by the drone of causal conversation
It remains silent and untraceable
Lost beneath your faded words

I do not miss you with the emotions,
reserved for feelings of despair,
which stem from absence.
For the tearing of my heart is much more than a feeling
that can be scrawled across a universal greeting card,
or a get well soon wish that is spoken out of routine.
I can not find sanction in empty words,
that come so close to defining
the effect your absence has upon me;
yet already stretched thin,
they are used up before reaching their full potential.
Should I speak of how I miss you,
the phrases uttered would not do you justice.
And if I could ever find a way to form this emotion into words,
I would leave it unspoken,
pure and unfiltered,
so not to dilute its meaning
with the muddled language by which I am chained.
So when asked if I miss you,
I can truthfully reply no.