My breath
has long fleeted my lungs;
My body
is crippled tirelessly by pain;
My mind
begs for this moment to cease  

This is the moment to yield

Yet I press on...
Through the exhaustion.
Through my faltering muscles.
Through the wall of debilitation

My back is against the wall

Yet I will continue on...
Pass the limits of possibility.
Pass the boundaries of condition.
Pass the ambiguity of self.
'Till I have defeated my enemy
'or I stand before the gates of Valhalla.

My rival hits the floor

Regardless...
I can never accept Defeat
When its only separated from Victory
By a thin
           fine
               line.

I ascend its threshold

The wind sweeps the leaves from their home;
Chilling the air and silencing heat.
This is the season of passing
Solstice of winter sleep.

Though the cold wards many,
I do not own such luxury.
My mind sits restless,
focusing on carrying my weary feet...

This weather invades my heart,
as it is shrouded over me,
by stingy fridged lips
sapping the strength from every beat.

So as my joints stiffen,
As my lungs freeze,
My resolve dissipates
fading into the darkness that kisses my heels.

I must keep moving...
"till I hear the death bell's ring
or I reach my randevu.
Spring

They say the best Warriors
make the best poets.
For art can not be made for the sake of art,
but by the reflection
cast forth by the creators soul
                        their experiences
                              their emotion.

Though my hand has yet  learn to write
my heart does not need such lessons.
It has studied well from adversity of strife.
                                                                     of love
                                                                        of life

It is forever scarred in the shape of art
Joined by a community
Who's souls bleed to paper
in the form of poetry.

Poetry that takes many shapes
Holds many secrets;
Constructs beautiful stories
that express their agony,
                  their joy,
                      their thoughts,
                          their perspective.

If this is how poetry breaths.
How can I not be a poet?

As I join this guild of artist
I will  learn this art
                this wondrous expression
                           this mystery
For how could I not?
When my heart is there
and my mind races toward it
As too, the hearts and minds of many before me
                                                                    many with me
                                                                              and many... to come.

My hands tremble,
The cold nips my skin.
It consumes me.
Comes forth, sunken within.
I light my cigarette
And gaze into the day's light...

I leer on,
to familiar scenes.
They pause for a moment
then unexpectedly change.
I take another drag
And wonder on...

Thoughts relapse
Memories become vivid
Pain and pleasure gray
A thousand things at once
I finish my cigaret
It is night...

The sky so blue.
Sun tinted by shades.
With nothing to do,
Just lounging the day.

The guitar strings;
Music gently flies .
Like the brisk of wind.
Sweet summer; July

The hammock sways
in blissful breeze.
A day of days,
a heavenly dream.

And where am I,
on such a lovely day?
I'm just chilling...
Like a chinchilla