the pen has rusted
and the hand has grown old
are there any words left to say she wonders aloud
are there any roads left to walk down
the rain keeps my head in places id rather not be
and there are too many people trying
to make thick walls before me blocking my way
there are highway lights that are like deep oceans
and small rivers of the logic that must be bridged
there is so much standing in the way
i wonder if i can keep going on with this
even write another word
but they keep coming
not always so easy not always even worth saying
but they come anyway
because there are heavens in the eye
there are summer fields in the heart
full of life and birdsong
that its hard to just turn and walk away
still dream of it years away
its the kind of thing who's beauty catches you by surprise
and takes the breath away
cause its that moment for me when the
words strike true to the song of my day
when the words hit home to what i'm feeling
to what i'm burning to say
that it lives for me
that the rest of the world falls away
when the small minds and the troubled hearts
disappear into the darkness they live for
and i'm here in the bright light
of the knowing
of the perfect line
of the good phrase
that taps cleans
that shows true to the thought

To the Days I Felt Safe:
For those who
Tie knots around their necks,
With words they once heard
Sound fancy enough they choke upon their diction
You do not belong.
For those
Whos hands wave
And voices shiver,
To cover the emptiness of their words
You do not belong.
For those who-
Sit in corners
And draw airplane in their minds,
And create universes
So that their little airplane can find
A reason to fly;
And by the end of the day in school
They would learn that,
Black holes are never darker that the pits of our day dreamt creations,
And moons cannot reflect
All the rays of imagination
A little kid dives in,
Each day,
Sitting in corners,
Inspired by the spirals
On the edges of his copybooks
Because what’s in the middle of the page
Was never his concern;
He did not belong.
For those who paint their dreams
Red blue and green
On the back of their veins
While their skin is dead pale
You do not belong.
For those who find difficulties reading,
And find haven in short words
And in pauses after sentences
And in deaths after paragraphs,
And find heaven when no text book is open
You do not belong.
For those who can love
Hard enough to call it love
You do not belong-
I do not belong.
For those who are tired of their deafening surroundings,
The fruitless noises
Of teenagers who forgot how to think,
Their voices that shatter
Like ultra-violet rays
Hitting ozone layers;
Who are tired of loved ones that fail to realize,
That the beauty of their souls
Rises and falls
Twists and turns
And burns to the core of my heart,
Till it bleeds
Verses of spoken word poetry
Of words unspoken,
You do not belong.
And belonging is relative
And death- is partial,
For social circles squeezed too tight
That it’s too hard to breathe,
And our egos grew too wide
We forgot who we really are
Although we’re full of ourselves.
But our imagination; takes us away
Till we realize
How far we are
From who we could be.