They tell me I'll be fine all by myself,

But I sit here waiting to talk to you, My Love.



              It's strange how we try to be so strong,

          yet we all need a shoulder to cry on.



I was lost in a sea of self-loathing

                          and it was there you saved me.



       A train whistles through the cool, still air.

               Not much longer will we be left in this moment.



                            I pray you know I admire you, Baby.

                  I hope you know my love for you knows no limit.



I wander under these storm clouds,

         wishing it would just rain love on me; on we.

Let me provoke you.

Let me stir you.

Let me make,

           That chair you are sitting in,

Not as comfortable,

               As it was a second ago.

Move with your words.

Write your heart.

Get mad once in a while.

Feel love once in a while.

Witness beauty once in a while.

Feel disgusted once in a while.

                    Let Me provoke you.

Let me stir you.

             I want to make you cringe!

I want to make you move!

              Write!

                      Write!

Write like Shakespeare,

      But curse like Dangerfield.

Provoke Me!

                               I want to feel your grit,

   your emotion,

          your constant devotion.

Write.

The Shadows dance about me;

Taunting me;

Consuming me.

They torment my every breath.

They contort and conform with my every move.

Following me everywhere I go,

haunting my troubled soul—

                        Except at Noon.



The Shadows dance about me,

and I do not know where to go,

nor where to hide.

so time I’ll just bide,

until it comes time to die,

and the Shadows will follow me,

no more,

no longer,

the Shadows dance about me.

I’m Standing,

Proud.

Let these,

Words,

Fall on you.

My lips,

Are strong.

Let them,

Smother you.

This Hate,

Decays.

Let my love,

Devour you.

Spoil you.

Let these arms,

Consume you.

Embrace you.

Gently,

Carry you.

I want to feel that again.

I want that desire to intertwine words;

To create meaning from spontaneous emotion.

I want to express my love again.

                   I just want her to hear my heart.

I crave the inspiration.

     I want to feast on the words I used to know.

I miss my insomnia;

                     I miss those nights when it was just me

                                       and those words

               exploring the deepest depths of my mind.

I miss the music coursing through my ears,

              as I sought to explain the image

      of a cloud I had fallen in love with that day.

I miss it.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

Crisp is the sea-bound breeze,

as I sit here on the banks

                 of lovely Queen Lake.

       I can’t begin to fathom,

the journey this wind has,

                traveled.

        The countries it has seen.

       The smells that it has breathed.

      The tastes it has gorged on,

                   Oh!

            How I envy the wind.



       A boat sails by,

            and two jet skis race around it.

Their wake is generous,

                   and the waves tumble o’er each other,

     as I sit here and wonder,

where the red leaves fly,

       when they die,

   here in Boston.

No.

       No.

Don’t push them away,

    for they need to hear this too;

all living things,

      come,

           and go,

before we even know what’s around us.



I watch the dogs splash on the shore,

      as the old church bells sing,

in Philipston;

            how can this be the land of war,

                                   and revolution,

      when it’s plagued with beauty and peace?



I lift my eyes to the trees above me,

       and watch the leaves fall,

floating in a wind that I cannot see.

    I believe that I too,

while sitting here on this bank,

    am meant to fade away,

  with the breeze.

the beets are looped in grass,
the squash is on our plate,
the river runs so smooth,
while the rapids take their break.
the trees begin to sway,
at the slightest hint rain,
but there’s nothing we can do,
there’s nothing we can say.
my toes begin to curl,
when the fan is turned on high,
your heart begins to race,
when the bullets hit your thigh.
the sauerkraut,
and carrot sticks,
are never done on time,
leaving us the thoughts,
of a dream world gone awry.
there’s nothing I have heard you say,
that will take away the pain,
there’s nothing you have done,
to close this little gate.
my trust is so gullible,
to the sound of open arms,
your deception was the pawn,
that swept this poor king’s heart.
forced upon my knees,
with a trademark on my arm.
there has got to be a way,
to remove this purple yarn.