There are roses in the road
tear soaked tissues
torn up pictures
with letters on fire.

They are the breakup play-list
for hang overs
and scratches on the hood
from relationship status updates.

The secret poems
in songs of heartache
and paintings thrown in the trash.

A fingerless engagement ring
unworn wedding dress
and a honeymoon for one.

The divorcees still wondering
and the mothers and fathers
who didn't quite make it

There is never knowing
and always wishing
but never seeing it.

Not to mentioned the ex
you can't forget
and the unfortunate person
who can't afford to leave.

all the widowed wives
who are forgotten after death.
and solders with no one
to return home to.

But all the while
a broken chord
amid the misfortune
and sorrow of the world
could not escape the
thresholds of inevitable ends

This city is built like all the other cities
Atop lives and deaths long forgotten
Covered in the dust form its excess

The people, draped in costume and mask
Rarely pulling them off
Always making up stories to go along with their suit
I'm a business consultant
I'm a banker
I'm a painter
a poet
a liberal
a conservative
an anarchist
a national socialist
Forgetting what it's like to be naked
Even when they are alone

But a few walk naked
Hearts out, heavy with the weight of the world

They sink deeper and deeper
into a sea of trouble and worries
There is no land to call home anymore for
The restless wanders going nowhere fast

Once forgetful
But remembering what it was as children
We play games with friends
while spitting the fire in our breaths
Atop the graves soon to be reused
waiting to be buried in them
so the city can be built on top of us.

Underneath a canopy
Moonlit and cloudy
Your body rested against mine.
The night seemed effortless
Much like our first kiss
That day's eve was sublime.
And we drove out of the city
To a place with red rocks and Juniper trees
So together in moonlight
We shared another night.
And when we drove down the mountain
I did take the long route
So together we got lost in a desert blackout,

So may the short fuse hiss towards a boom
That will scream my hearts discontent
As my love lights up and begins to bloom
While all of my patience is spent.
Yet never fear my dear for the bomb is a dud.
Instead of a sparks and fire a lily flower did bud.
For what your eyes may hide I will never know
But for eternity I will spend wondering so
And how the sun and moon seem so lovely
Whenever I wonder what it is that you see.

And at the top of the flight
Of these wide, white stairs
For the rest of our lives
I would wait for you there.
Up-top the flight
Of these wide, white stairs
I would wait
Arms held out, opened wide,
My guard let down
My face without a frown
For I have no need to hide from you.

And still the sun it lolls
Through its daily stroll
As the season changes its colors.

And still the moon it passes
Through its nighttime pageant
As the stars burn out of existence.

Time may beat us with age
So we each may turn our page
As our story must be writ,
Still your love I will yearn for it.
And I might throw my little fits
With all my kicks and my spit
While you absence colors me blue,
Still my heart will burn for you.

You'll always have a place in me,
Underneath my breast, inside this chest
In a small little black dot that is my heart of hearts,
You can have that spot.

I wrote you a love poem but you'll never read it.
I wrote about your red hair
        blue eyes
        fair skin
        brown hair
        hazel eyes
        olive complexion
        your prefect breast
        your curly locks
        your red lips
        the things you said
        the things you did
        how smart you are
        and funny too
        how you knew what to say
        how you drove me insane
I wrote about how you hair was like fire
        and reminded me of your personality
        and how I never would expect you to bow down to anyone
                or anything
I wrote about your lovely smile
        and how it would light up the night
        even if you were faking it
                and I could always tell when you were faking it
I wrote about how you had an aura of purity
        which is why most men where scared of you
        how I've always respected that about you
                and how I was never scared of you
I wrote you a love poem but you'll never read it
        because we never made love
        because it was just *** to you in the end
        because you said 'I love you' like a chess player making their next move
        because your unconditional love had it's condition
        because you've got me sitting at the crosswords of what is to be a cynic and a poet
        and I find it's easy to just be both
But don't get upset, thinking you've wronged me
        or to excited because you had some impact
        because in the end -
I wrote you a love poem and you'll never read it.

I am not an ordinary person.

I am no genius,
no artist,
and barely a poet.

I have no great life's work,
no opera,
no magnum opus;
but I'm no ordinary person.

There are no great lovers
waiting for my arrival
at the docks,
or morning my departure
as the ship sets sail.

No major sporting events
with crowds of fans cheering
and booing my every
success and failure.

Nobody takes pictures
of me or gawks at my pose.

Nor does anyone ask
for my signature
on their favorite
piece of paper,
which happens to be
stained by the ink
of my own words.

No one praises me
for my work,
or thinks I'm the best
at what I do,
whatever it is I do.

But I'm no ordinary person.

I have no son or
daughter to look up to me.

Parties aren't thrown
for me, and I am not
on the top of anyone's list,
not even the **** list
my enemies make.

I don't dance very well,
and I'm not a good singer,
songwriter,
musician,
or composer.

I'll probably never
be on TV or
in the movies,
no that's not
gonna be me.

But my life's work
is its happiness,
my operas are
my own personal dramas,
and my magnum opus
is this life itself.

For I am like you
the extraordinary person.

Shadow before me tell me what you see...
Can this truly be? is this what's become of me?
This desert wanderer tired and thirsty,
Whose only drink of water was given away for free.

What I try to reveal to light is now hindered
By the shifting of stars and the coming of winter.
Forever lost in the wake of the sun's glare,
Exposing to me, my love and all my worldly care.
Now how the wind will burn me with its frost,
Reminding me that death is worse to bear than loss.

Broken heart of mine heed my call,
What I've found is your not broken at all,
Bruised and battered a bit, maybe-
But beaten and shattered you'll never be.
Heart of mine please be strong
And keep me well when love goes wrong.
Bleed this blood as I type these words,
Words in the vein of a song-less bird
Without a voice so seldom heard.

Avail oneself, of no avail.
Cast it down like the summer-storm hail,
Eat the dust that floats in the wind.
Breathe in the earth, breathe in, breathe in.