I am a flute
ornately carved of rich wood
able to whistle a mighty melody.

My potential to toot
and my complex craftsmanship could
be the reason why I might break easily.

An apathetic Boot
or aging untouched could
be the death of me.

I am hollow inside
but with a gentle touch and a loving kiss
I could sing so sweetly.

There is someone i miss
I miss them very much
I miss the thoughts,
the ideas.
I miss being alone with this person
I miss the quiet evenings I have shared
filled with silent thought.
I miss the cloudy introversion
and I miss those bright rays of inspiration
I miss the frantic writing
The scribbling, in the notebook,
racing the thoughts,
trying to catch up,
always hoping for a tie,
always losing.
All those thoughts missed.
I miss the conversations.
The whimsical fantasy filled ones
about bright and laughing futures,
and the dreary depressing ones.
I miss the problems.
I miss the solutions.
I miss the countless air guitar solos shared.
the dancing to the music only we can hear.
I miss the attempts at creating music,
I miss the frustration at not being able to.
I miss the ridiculous rationalizations,
also the pragmatic emotions.
I miss most, though,
the silence,
the blankness,
the idleness,
the serenity,
the aloneness,
the isolation,
(the feeling that nothing else exists)
I miss it,
I miss-
me

I sit,
Legs drawn to my chest, elbows on m knees,
Left hand clasping my right wrist.
I sit
In my backyard
Facing the forest, back to the house.
It's midnight,
Yet the moon illuminates all
In shades of darkness.
The sky filled with points of light
Their varying luminosities giving the illusion of infinity.

My near sighted eyes see all of this.
My eyes that are "blind"
My eyes that cant function (society says) without aid.

Through the blur I see the forest.
Through the blur the tall outstanding trees with leaves and branches only at the crown transform into palm trees.
Through the blur the shorter trees become one mass,
a dark perceived green jungle underbrush.
Through the blur the constant sound of the crickets becomes a compilation of little roars of waves producing a smooth calm soft cry of the crashing ocean.
Through the blur the cool air around becomes a salty sea breeze.
Through the blur the wet dew of the grass turns into the reachings of the surf that wets your feet as you walk along the shore.

Because of the blur I am now on the beach of some island.

Laying in bed on my back.
My head resting on hands, cushioned.
The dark ceiling with a black asterisk in the middle.
My windows casting shadows of light across my room.
The rain outside silencing me with
shhhhhh
continuous
shhhhhhhhhhhh.
Listening closely I hear the lone pitters and single patters.
The nearly not noticeable rustling of branches.
Tempo of the rain quickening, slowing, quickening-
almost like a heartbeat.
A drip drip of droplets delving into a puddle.
The rushing of a shy, shallow, stream;
Its rare gurgles.
The ominous bass of thunder, deafening.
Natures own orchestra-
For me to fall asleep to.

tick tock
goes the clock
not enough time
need another line
maybe some rhyme
......