Here I sit
thinking my thoughts
inaudibly talking to myself
metaphysical anvils
positioned on my chest
I yearn for assistance

And here I sit
bearing the entire weight
of my human emotion
with no chemical buffer
and I must wonder
why my sorrows scream louder
than the laughs I share in company.

Sickness lies me home in bed
no hope to stop this dreary dread
for rain pours on days as this
but lentil soup is truly bliss

She mans the stove with idle ease
a soup of love to surely please
no doctor's note could do me so
for lentil soup is the healing pro

The bowl is warm
a heated touch
delectable soup
a sickness crutch

But this wouldn't be
if it weren't for she
the love she imbues
in the soup and for me

This isn't an ode
to a dish on the stove
but a song of the heart
by which I impart
the joy of Mom's food
the elixir of moods

Lifting the shades of the gloomy day
my love for her will never stray.

Oh snow
coated pine
standing tall
at the edge
of the forest;
in the distance
your family
and friends
ancient generations
wait beyond
utterly untouched
unfathomably serene
oh snow
coated pine
so still!
how I admire
your cold
stoic blanket
caressing your
many limbs
that reach
and ******
to claim
your territory
and I remember
a time
I bent before you
scouring the ground
I stood
suddenly sliced
lashed and ******
your quick attack
forgiven in an instant
for I love you
snow coated pine
and truly  
we have done
far worse
oh snow
coated pine
how different
you appear
without your  
moonlit cape!
such grandeur
a marvel  
by the comforting glow
of the living room fire
and I thank you
snow coated pine
for your sacrifice
to joy
nobly endured
in the dead
of winter
a place
to gather and share
a precious pause
in the year
thank you
oh great
snow coated pine.

in bed
on a wind
filled night
I lie

his gaze
stuck to the
back of my
head like glue

and in the
faint flashes
that fill my
window panes

the black
limbs of trees
mimic his
jarring appearance

"Tick... Tock"
the cat-eyed
clock on my
wall proclaims

"Tick... Tock"
it repeats
the thud of the
minute hand
strikes again

and when the
hands reach
1:34 AM
he smiles

caressing the
shadows on the
walls he maneuvers
the room

snaking through
the dark crevices
of the grey-
blue backwash

for a moment
the wind
stops and the
streets wait;
void of cars

and in its
absence would
there be
silence?

"Tick... Tock"
a car passes
and the wind
howls as before

a brief opportunity
of clarity
has presented
itself

I turn over
to a room
shrouded by
a dim gray
and  

there he sits
his toothy grin
and lifeless
eyes

staring into my
soul as he
waits in my
desk chair

and sometimes
I wonder
if the Clock
Man brings me

to the place
where he
comes from
or where
he goes next

and I simply
pass it off
and say it
was a dream

but I really
wonder why
he always
comes back

The Sea of Sound
On which I lay,
Floating, wandering,
Passing thoughts crash
And barrage each other
In constant battle they sail
And sink – closing the gap and
Drifting once again.
The waves destructive
Only expressed by beached ventures
Finding their way
Back and forth; but
Never complete – and in the distance
The island stands;
Home to the barred cages
That weigh it down
Suppressing the freedom
Of thought and voice.
Never to be found
By another Soul but thine own
Shunned by your personal design,
Your own creation, leaning
On the rock of euphoria, captured
By the sand. The ticks and scratches
Count the days on the lonesome isle
With nectar so sweet and thoughtless
The battling ships fade on the horizon –
As you drift; lost and alone.
But do not fear
For they say help will come –
Freedom will find you
And the discourse will cease

The shell –
Whether full or empty,
Can be free in the sea
Of wavering noise
That so influences -
The depths of one’s mind
Arise, break the lock,
Give in to the violence
Of uncontrollable control –
For the universe calls.
You will know in time,
What true liberation is.
The realization – that
The physical is temporary.
Prone to erosion and removal
From the caustic waves of the mind.
Fluctuating as does the thoughts
Of adolescence do -
Upon the first experience of shame.
But everybody feels this…
Don’t they? How do they,
Span the murderous sea of sound?
Is it graspable as the sandy beach dissipates?
Leaving the iron bars of the cage
To corrode and rust
As the ocean is traversed.
I wait; and float – seeking,
The image of terrain with no cells
Or cages on the horizon.
I have traveled,
And sought,
And found –
But nothing yet comes.
And here I stay –
Entrapped on the island.
The warmth and chill of the sand
Coursing throughout my fingertips
One day, maybe,
The static noise of the sea will cease,
And the heavens will open –
Exposing the marvels of a fulfilled life.

One day, maybe,
The static noise of the sea will cease.