Are you still there?
A spacious question
asked of the unoccupants.
Empty was the domicile,
No answer, response.
The uninhabitants
had to ante up.
Wasted, deserted,
Kenopsic borderlands.
This is what's left. It is so;
Vast, immense. What
temporal question

we are young
so is the night
the multicolor lights are irresistable
so are you
libidinous teenagers are we
salacious in our thoughts
the smell of alcohol and sweat
a lecherous aphrodisiac
but we skittish non-lovers
because we don't know how
obsessed with bodies in a well-travel tale of amour fou
lascivious and bothered
stay young, my friends
it doesn't last long

"On my temple in Delphi there are two words written:
Know Thyself.

It's good advice,
Know yourself. You are worth knowing.
Examine your life. The unexamined life is not worth living.

Be aware that people have equal significance.
Give them the space to make their own choices, and let their choices count as you want them to let your choices count.

Remember that excellence has no stopping point and keep on pursuing it. Make art that can last and that says something nobody else can say. Live the best life you can, and become the best self you can.

You cannot know which of your actions is the lever that will move worlds. Not even Necessity knows all ends. Know yourself."

She prays, she stays perched on her knees,
but she can’t admit she never receives replies.
All these days, it’s no phase but she never sees,
essentially she’s only talking to vacant skies.

She pleads with her beads, her trusted rosary
but every word falls on deaf ears.
Every night, routine tight, does she include me
or does she only prioritize her deepest fears?

I’ve only prayed once in my life
for something so meaningless most people would forget.
I should’ve saved my “one” for times of true strife,
but I’m a lucky gambler, I had never lost a bet.
Are you there God? It’s me, Emily,
not the one in the past or the future self,
I could ask for a million things but they wouldn’t hold much meaning
but I’ll neglect begging for my fleeting health.

Up, down, left and right,
I personally prefer the Contra Code.
It aids one better in a fight
regardless of the settings or the mode.
They say Sunday’s a time for worship and rest
but I’ve been working all night and my left brain won’t stop flowing.
I guess there’s a lot of things sitting on my chest,
and a certain type of comfort in uncertainty and not knowing.

I dig six feet deep to find the dedication,
and I put my hands together; connecting my fingers.
I can’t help it, I can’t find it, it seems my hesitation
has a will of it’s own, and it always lingers.

a poet sits in a corner
mind adrift floating some eons away
nether here nor there
but somewhere in between
yesterday and tomorrow and today

a reflection escaped from a mirror
a voice without a mouth
an ocean trapped in a tear
a story told over and over again
in a forest where every tree growing
makes its own sound

death is a mystery woven
into the fabric of life
grief is the thread
to which we use to mend our hearts
tragedy is the sacrificial lamb
to the alter where we will find
our laughter again

and love...

love is a sweater in the lost and found
waiting to be worn by anyone
in need of warmth
knitted from the softest yarn
from the generosity of kindness

love is row of crooked deciduous teeth
in a fresh bright smile
not yet ready to be traded
for quarters and trinkets
all giggles and sugar
in the innocence of youth
the magic of children

love is adrift
a vibration
connecting every heart
from this corner to that drugstore
from the gas station
to the solemn park bench
both here and there
anywhere and everywhere
looped through yesterday
  and tomorrow and today