Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow—
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream:
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand—
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep
While I weep—while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

How do you explain

to your children that the

horrors of the world are real?

How will I tell my son, We

found a place you can call home but

your bus might not make it to school.

Do not look too Jewish in this part of town

Do not play in the train station

Do not get used

to the weight

of a machine gun.

Or look my

daughter in the eye and say, someday

you might say “no” and someone stronger than you might

not listen

You will not tell me

Know that this happens a lot

Know that your wrists pinned against a

backboard will

echo in the way you move your hands

for as long as you let it

But

human hands aren’t as heavy as metal shackles

And I’m so sorry

but I won’t be able to

take the weight for you

You’ll wake up in the morning

That I can promise you

You’ll wake up

and your lungs will fill with air

whether you tell them to or not.

One day

I will hold someone

small, with my face

and they’ll cry and I’ll say,

*I know.

I know you’re tied with little yarn strings to the last life

I know it hurts to be here and

(honestly)

you’re never going back

But

the older you get the less you’ll remember

what it was like

before you had a body

when you were made of ash and infinite light

You’ll convince yourself you live here and

that your hands are you,

But remember that once you were boundless

Inside my body, without yours.

I like you.
Or at least I like who I am when I'm with you.
When I look into your eyes,
I'm on a different planet.
I've always liked you...
Even before everyone else did.
I still do...
And I don't know if its worse if you know,
Or worse if you don't.

HouseKeeping

I want the Key
Not just the key
The master key
Unlock every door and more
Of course I act like I wouldn't care
Who had it or where
But secretly I want the key
And all the doors it unlocks
And all the rooms that entail
And the prowess of the detail
Nothing stops me
Nowhere
Cause I have the key
I unlock the doors
I don't wait for anyone anymore

Hush now don't say a word
Someone could be listening
Can I trust you'll listen later
Or will you name my crime
The dime you'll pass
To try and save your own ***
I understand I do
You do what you have to for you

So now that you know I won't deny
I've never been to keen to lie
I admit my crime
I give my wrists
To pay for all my wits
I don't regret at all
As the door closes and I fall

I cannot recreate your smile with lines of a pencil.

I cannot capture the twinkle in your eyes in a photograph.

I cannot imagine your bubbly laughter with no recorder.

                                               I can, however,

see and hear you as best as I can in my mind,

and wait as long as needed until I see

                  your full smile,

       and that twinkle in your eyes,

and burst from your contagious laughter

                                                     again.

I am loud,
Demanding attention.
I know when I am being charming
Because I try.
I put on my impressing face
And do my impressing hair
And speak my impressing words.
I tell you my embarrassing drinking stories
And everything else about me
That you probably shouldn’t know.

I am not good at being quiet
Because that’s not who I am.
I am not the sweet girl
Who will leave you with a smile
And a touch
And a glance
Or a single word.
There is nothing of this fashion of romance
About me.

I am the girl who will point out your flaws,
And take you outside to see the stars,
And remind you how human you are,
And what a wonderful thing that is.

I am the girl who will talk about science,
And music and theology and history,
And point out constellations, laughing,
When you don’t know the big dipper’s name.

I am the girl who will make witty references,
To classic literature and science fiction,
And will tell you stories of how I once,
Made a gingerbread replica of a lighthouse.

I am the girl who will stand on a table,
And sing at the top of my lungs on the highway,
And act like a chicken or quail or velociraptor,
Or nuzzle your face like a lion to make a point.

I am the girl who takes too many shots
And then coaxes you to bed on a Russian liver,
And knows all the right places to bite, and tease,
And follows with exceptionally coherent pillow-talk.

I am not a thin silk scarf on the wind.
I am not a thing hard to capture.
You would not spend a perilous journey
Through a wild, perfumed jungle,
Searching for my slender garments
Hung beside a pool
As I wail to the breeze.

Rather, I am the bird who flies overhead
Making too much noise
Distracting from the trail ahead.
A bird whose plumage proves
What an interesting life it must be…
What a colorful life for me…
Perpetually strange
The lone comic relief.

I am many things.
But I am not quiet.
Of this I am sure.

The days grow long
The nights grow longer
Things get tough but,
When I look at you...

Tears I shed
One after another
Life gets hard
This gets even harder
But, when I look at you...

In bed I cry
Fight after fight
But, when I look at you...
If it wasn't for you...

Fast motion time
Slow motion life
So much to do
So little time
Stress after stress
So much to address
But, when I look at you...

I don't even have to look at you
When I think about you...
It all goes away.

embroidery is your means of communication
sophistry is your way at edification
your veracity is a misrepresentation
rejection to you is manifestation
veiling your faults in meaninglessness
your poetics show your indecision
your own impulses have created an addiction
evasion from the truth has become your nightmare
affection turns to desolation after boredom sets in
your disconnection with happiness has always been
you float in a cycle built from the misfortune of your past
yet you wear your beauty and pride like a mask
one day your castle of fabrication will come crumbling down
and this time I wont be there to catch you
before you hit the ground

goodbye


© 2006 joshua deathdealer

now is the time to paint that pretty picture in your head again,
                                            the one with rainbows,
                                                   creeks,
                                                       and butterflies.

  so when you face the reality,
                                           your ready for the lies,
                                                   war,
                                                         and hate.

                                              for the world.