We seem to think that being hurt is an option
That we can close people out and take the weapons from them
But being human means that we must love easily
Without worry of those who may not see
The weakness evident in trying to beat
The humanity
Out of those who stand
For in a land of hate, love is strength
And in the midst of uncaring
It is those who know they will be hurt
Yet still weep with those who are weeping
And stand for those who are kneeling
They are the ones who will be strong enough
To still be caring when the tides come
Who will maintain their humanity when it seems hope is gone
For those are the ones who know the price of love.

I have to start somewhere
So I thought it should be at the top of a page
I know this isn't poetic
I rarely am myself
But I have to speak
Don't ask me why
I just must
It is who I am
I don't know how to shut up
I know that isn't eloquent
But does it really matter
As I said
I'm rarely a poet and this isn't a poem

I don't know
How quickly
This distance is closing
Between you and me
Sometimes I imagine myself
Following a line of string
Through a forest of densely knit trees
Weaving slowly 'neath the bending eaves
And hoping that I will soon come into a clearing
Where you are all I see
Holding the end of this bright red string
And that it would be that easy
But sadly it's not
I'm afraid I'm merely lost
Finding signs where there are none
Maybe you'll just grow tired and come find me
Sitting under a tree writing piles of romantic poetry
Just twiddling my thumbs
Which is just as likely.

How long is too long to be silent
I've been counting the quiet
And only now am I questioning
Why it's there
Perhaps it's the colour of your hair
Or the way you move your fingers through empty air
Playing a symphony on a piano that's not there
Or maybe I'm just being weird
Which is just as likely, if not more so, than the former
Yet you don't seem to notice either
After all, silence depends on the lack of input from all parties involved
Perhaps my actions are likewise stilling your words
Maybe you're as lost as I am
In this conversation of actions
Teaching us the thoughts of one another
In a way beyond syntax and inflection
By the way your fingers move, I bet you're a musician
And I'm sure you've deduced my obsession
With writing by the way my eyes
From time to time
Stare off to the side
With me following the life
Of a character that materialized in my mind
But of course that is all merely wishful thinking
In fact
I almost begin to gather my books into my worn rucksack
Signaling my surrender
When you offer a quiet smile
And I become content, once again
In our unspoken conversation

How do we fall?
This question quietly sits
In my head as
My eyes rest on your lips
It is astounding, how the air quietly closes around us
Entombing us in the time that exists between the words
That at this point seem superfluous given the state of my mind
I am currently in free fall waiting for something to catch
And I continue to grasp
Yet it is in vain
For the way your hair falls from your braid
Has dissolved all ground beneath me
How could you look at me in that way
That buckles my knees
I do not know how I am carrying on
For I am falling without hope of ever getting up