A caged tiger am I
My running days through
My eyes are now lifeless
My soul has died too

The fight gone from my spirit
I slumber through life
I peer through the bars
When I wake in the night

The time has come
Should I lie down and die?
Or should I keep surviving
As the days pass me by

Of one thing I am certain
One thing I know is true
One day these bars on my cage will rust
And I will slip right through.

As I close my eyes,
embrace my mind,
and slowly filter out the light.
The only light that's left there is your glow.
Its haunting me inside my dreams
and finds its way through all the seams.
The patchwork, for protection I had sown.

I wonder, is it guilt or pride,
two words
my mind finds ways to hide,
two words
whose actions led to so much pain.
And then I think about that glow
and all the truths forever known.
I see that things will never be the same.......

but alas that glow it will remain.

Every twinkle of every star,
Another point upon the canvas.
A speck, a dot, oh my perception!
It cannot understand the vastness.

A light, so strong, raw energy,
Reaching me across it all.
Ten trillion miles and countless years,
All culminating in this call.

A thirst for greatness, every dot,
My aspirations feeling heavy.
The twinkles there are my call,
A reminder to set me free.

What lies the love bestowed upon,
By each single burning star?
What inspiration can I derive,
When I am here, so far?

I feel their strength, though remote,
Hidden through seeming innocence.
For here they seem nothing more,
Than each tiny, finite resistance.

But alas their size, nay, my perception,
Grants not mirth but awe.
For I know them as they truly are,
Power, glory, impunity; nature in the raw.

They inspire and define me,
For they reveal our insignificance.
But then again, that one perspective,
Grants my will and steely confidence.

And so I gaze, daring but to dream.
I know them all as they are.
Where I one day will be:
Floating, flying, free and far.

Stunned by the oyster beds
Arrow-smiths lost their pledge,
the silted whispers of the dying
sighed as peacefulness.

Indulging in the pleasures of Luna,
Nocturnal eyes see beyond
Moonlight

The night is an enticing incentive
Luring us to dare be a part
Of a velvet heart that sings
The lullaby

"That which we create in the
Midst of others' dream is pure,
And most of all, true"

At the end of each note
Is a prelude to another
Evoking creativity that stems
And can only be nurtured
In the night
Yet flourishes in daylight

At the night's darkest hue
Patching syllable after syllable
Evoking stories that have
Begun to be to told

Indulging in the pleasures of Luna,
Nocturnal eyes see beyond moonlight

the history of melancholia
includes all of us.
me, I writhe in ***** sheets
while staring at blue walls
and nothing.
I have gotten so used to melancholia
that
I greet it like an old
friend.
I will now do 15 minutes of grieving
for the lost redhead,
I tell the gods.
I do it and feel quite bad
quite sad,
then I rise
CLEANSED
even though nothing
is solved.
that's what I get for kicking
religion in the ***.
I should have kicked the redhead
in the ***
where her brains and her bread and
butter are
at ...
but, no, I've felt sad
about everything:
the lost redhead was just another
smash in a lifelong
loss ...
I listen to drums on the radio now
and grin.
there is something wrong with me
besides
melancholia.

How stereotypical can one person be?
Our hearts are like birds and its wings are the sea,
Relentless yet soft, as the sirens sing: "Free."
And salty yet sweet, ore the distance we'll heave

A sigh as a sign from our lips: "Nevermore."
If minds are our boats as our boats near the shore,
The ocean's grown sour, our sails are torn,
The wind-maker cries at the siren's song: "War"

Our intricate, gossamer sails we weave,
If heartbreak is rain and the sky starts to bleed,
Unravel and all that is left: You and Me
Will fly and will love without wings, but two feet.