Smiling face
and laughing eyes
I can't believe
I fell for all those lies
I think it's best
we share goodbyes
You're just an actor in lifes play

Standing there
upon the stage
reciting speeches
from the page
while i sit fuming
full of rage
You're just an actor in life's play

To me you're just an empty shell
Who I will meet again in hell
With others words, such tales you tell
And I believed them.....I believed

I thought that
what you said was true
That you loved me
like I loved you
Then I found out
That's what you do
You're an actor on life's stage

The real you
is a mystery
You've got a
blackened history
I can't believe
you did this to me
You're an actor on life's stage

Another play
Another role
Crawl on back
into your hole
You're an empty vessel
With a blackened soul
You're an actor on life's stage

The real you
you will find no more
it's just a role
you played before
so many lives
that you've lost score
you're an actor on life's stage

Silence falls
as you will find
No actor's mask
to hide behind
The play will end
Time is not kind
You're an actor with no stage

To me you're just an empty shell
Who I will meet again in hell
With others words, such tales you tell
And I believed them.....I believed

The subtle ache in my fingertips
Where calloused skin now grows
The love for my guitar certainly shows

I cannot wait
For the work day to end
So I can venture off
Guitar in hand
To the place
Where suburbia dare never blend

Amongst the trees
And a calming breeze
Beautiful music comes with ease

What things today may hold
What people i may meet
Is to be untold
Whatever the case
Amongst the beauty of growth
There be not a better place
To venture off
And put on a smiling face

In the seat with the split window,
black cold metal blocked the road ahead,
the sliver of window from the seat infront of me
clouded and beaded with cold rain.
I'm only aware of what's passing me now --
what I've already passed.
None of it feels real, though.
The trees and roadside ditches seem to jump
like an old film
like thousands of pictures flashing in sequence.
The rain streaks making the scene flow not quite right.
A few seats behind me painted nails trace an empty smile
on the condensation.
Thousamds of raindrops rolled behind
two blank eyes and one hollow smile.
Yet,
the image never beaded and melted away,
even as she started to cry.
I watched the wind pet small waves
onto window puddles,
and flinched as pothole vibrations cut it apart.
As we lerch forward --
perhaps for a red light --
the puddle would run to an unseen place,
a place I could not see yet.

It lingers
Like a cloud
Like its proud
But dont worry
I'll come around

If you don't want me to go,
don't push me away.
If you don't want me to stay,
don't pull me closer.
If you don't want to remember,
don't ask me to explain.
Tell me to leave
only after you've held me close.
Tell me you hate me
only after you've stolen a kiss.
Tell me you're sorry
only after you've left bruises.

Tell me you love me
and I'll stay.

Walk with me, if you please,
in the graveyard that was once
our Eden.
Every flower seems to perk at your touch,
our rose bursting into crimson bloom.
It was easy letting you walk from Eden,
my heart was ready,
the Goodbyes were prepared --
It was the realization at startled me:
this blossom is nothing more than a ****
through the eyes of the next person I invite.
Never again will I plant another flower like that,
not exactly,
not with your touch and your embrace.
No one will ever see the beauty that we see,
forever will the rose be something only you and I will share.
More and more flowers will be planted,
more and more will shrivel into barren hips,
and maybe one day I'll find someone to stop the infestation.
Until then, I cherish the beautiful roses,
the ones planted in laughter and love,
not the ones thrown to the earth with rage and sorrow.
You will not be forgotten,
the rose will not allow it.
I know you will not want to walk with me,
but know that the flowers will remain
just as your good memory hovers above the roses.

My mind no longer thinks in English but in the sound of your voice,
and my mouth forms no other shape than the shape of yours,
and my tongue can't create any words because it's laid heavy with the thought of you,
and I hope you notice that my heart is beating extra hard for you,
and I'm starting to sound like a cliche and I won't say those words because I can't dare them to be true so I'll venture as far to say that I adore you.

*-c.a.

Why must we elaborate
Poetry is subjective
Because it is art

Why must we label
Poetry is not what we say it is
It just is