I’m still seeking luck
with my head down
in the grass, maybe another
four-leaf clover
will show her the hope
in our beating hearts,
because the symmetry
that connected
what’s broken apart
runs deeper than
the stubbornness in-between
all the bullsh*t mistakes
that I keep making

Her scent somehow still
hangs in the air all around,
and instead of sharpening
my blade
it’s starting to dull out
until the rest of my body
aligns with my head
that is still looking in the grass
for that clover
that could be a symbol
of two lovers
who might last

Maybe it’s only me
holding onto something
that has already slipped
through my grasp:
like grains of sand,
time is shifting
and sifting through my hands-
it doesn’t seem fair
but if there is one thing
I have learned
it is that everything is fleeting,
luck runs out, and romance
becomes a story
forgotten in the past

I remember the grass,
my fingertips twirling between
the blades,
and the rays of heat
as they give life
to keep the past
in the present-
a dietary aid
to all,
with trees to provide
some shade

I had forgotten
because I hid inside
four walls that weren’t
just physical
but of the mind:
closed off to nature
and the care that
my loved ones deserved

Gradually,
the seeds have been sown
for I am outside again
learning about hard work
with hummingbirds
that mew in the wind
and bees buzzing
as they collect their due
from this life giving earth,
the one right underneath
that I always forget
to appreciate,
but will forever
find my way back
to her
and her healing ways

How does one love here
eternally,
when it is seemingly
ambiguous
with no happily ever after?
Evasive to perception,
yet somehow within us
only to be without,
never to stagnate
unless we fill our cups
with doubt

Ineffable, we’re all ****** up,
spiraling-
was this inevitable?
Lacking in honor;
devastation, She may instead
choose to watch the world burn,
we animals have
come unglued
from the fabric of
our own humanity-
lest we forget,
we are animals too

And we’ve disconnected
from the alchemy
beyond senses dull touch,
because access starts
from within
to be with out,
yet most of us sit around
reveling in drugs, lust,
and doubt

Compassion
lacks an identity,
it only exists to give
so what is it that set us
up this climb
of forced actualities
that are actually
meaningless?

We circulate an eternal
notion of control,
pacing concrete
and calling it purpose
instead of settling
into our dark abyss
and finding acceptance
underneath the
surface

Silence is golden
so I’ll watch you float away
in the lack of noise
you desperately need
after our lifetime of chaos
it is only fair
to let you ascend

If I’ll never find this love again
then I’ll hold it as close
as our Bellingham days
where I wish the breeze
and purple skies
would have let me
let you under my skin
oh, what we could have been

But wishing is fools gold
and the present reels in
so I will let myself
live out these moments
in a room that is candle-lit
until I can get a grip
on these distractions
and learn how to be
a friend or a husband-
even if it’s not you,
I still need to find my center
because it is my time
to ascend too

I go to bed each night
with your face
for reference
in my frame of mind
to discern musings of how
there is no shared
connection left
between the
dreams I have
of what could have been
over what came to pass

I mull over idealized trust
while settling into a pillow,
only to realize that it was
never anything more
than a beacon of lust

Enough
is enough,
I've had it up to here
with this ******* tragedy,
three years and counting,
filling the hollow spots
with a jagged cup
only to perpetuate
the savagery
of spilling
my own blood

When will ‘enough’
become a segue
to pass through valiantly
into new heights?
Where credence will
alleviate symptoms
of infinitely reaching for
a reason why I can't find
an alternate reality
outside of seeing your face
when I go to bed
each night

And after all this torture,
I think I might
put others on
a pedestal so high
that enough
could never be enough,
and after drowning in
my violent noise,
it seems that
in your silence
is where I will have to find
self-love

There is magic
strewn through the mind,
but instead
we stare at screens
believing in artificial light,
supporting distorted needs
only to give up
before we ever try

So I will become a one man army
charging into
silent darkness
asking the forbidden questions
allowed,
“why are we completely remiss?
So imbued in
tranquil doubt
to the point of mass
ignorance?”

“Is there underlying reason
why we are hollow?”
It is hard to retain meaning
in this war without
illuminated arrows,
guiding a way to the finish line
of our self-corrupted
sanities

A mushroom acts
as the only beacon,
showing mercy within chaos,
symbolizing an
unspoken promise
of serenity to be found
if we stop rejecting the world
and listen,
instead of sitting around
expecting everyone else
to make a difference