I want someone who can hold my hand as it slowly ages
Someone who can take the pains of what time steals away
And make it worth it
Just to wake up to her face
Watching it reflect the wrinkles being drawn over the passing days
And always being able to see the beauty that first enamored me with her
I don't just want a love that lasts
I want a love that ripens with age
A love that grows as our hair grays

They say, your palms tell stories
With flesh as pages and indentions as the vocabulary
Yet I wonder where I lie in the palm of your hand
Am I that scar you got when you were six
Trying to cut your handprint out of colorful pages
Or that callous you have from caring for your garden
And always holding onto things, and people, far too tight
Now that I think of it your hand is a reflection of who you are
I love how it tells a story with every line
How it speaks of your beauty with every imperfection
But most importantly, I love how it fits perfectly into mine.

There is beauty in the clouds that fly by
There is hope in the poor mans eye
There is mystery in the sky
Because you placed it there

You sewed the night together
And set it apart from the day
You knit the land
To interweave with the waves
Being pulled by the moon you set in the sky
Being questioned by the gleam you put in the toddlers eye
You created curiosity
So we could search
And made a masterpiece
So we could find you, the maker of the stars
You are magnificent
In your grand splendor

There is now hope in my life
There is now light in my blinding night
There is now a sun in my clear sky
Because you placed it there

How we fall decides so much
Though inevitable is the crash
Rebuilding depends on such
Where we look and what we clutch
If we are frantic
And panic to find something to grasp
Then we will collapse
In a heap of destruction
But if we observe and look
For ways back up
Then we can prepare for the coming ascent

The blade is drawn across her porcelain skin.
She screams as her weak attempts to heal herself fail again.
One for every imperfection.
They line up like tally marks
Counting off the cruel delusions
That haunt her in the dark.
Their stones broke through her
Like plates crashing on the floor.
Now the red cracks are spreading
As she fails to reach the door.
And in the quiet of the night she shatters.

The end of the gun is pressed against his head.
He weeps As he remembers all of those who fed
Those indecencies that have devoured him.
There is nothing left
He is an empty husk
He took out everything that they didn't like
And placed it at their feet asking is this enough
And It never was
So he kept carving to become something they were pleased with
Something they could actually look at
Until he realized they had taken all of it
So He had to take the chance
That this gun was the way to gain their acceptance
This was what they always wanted
And he would give it to them
The last remaining part of him
And with a loud bang he shatters.

This is our generation
Filling our emptiness
With the realization
Of our weakness
We are makeshift puzzles of perverted desires and empty holes.
Never quite being whole.
Placing idols and obsessions as our foundations.
Eventually it all falls apart,
But out of the dark
Rose a cross.
Bringing hope for healing
And completing
The holes that had been there since the beginning.
Light floods through the cracks
That acted as maps
To our wandering souls.
Once tracing the way
To destruction
Now leading to a rebirthing
Into the life of one made whole.
There is hope in the road less taken.
For in it one finds home.

I want my last words to be remembered.
I want them to be so grandiose that it is like a gunshot through future generations.
I want it to reverberate beyond the time that my mortal coil is shed
And live on in the hearts of man
I want them to be cross stitched on the pillows that line retirement homes.
I want them to be the ashes from which a revolution is born
The fertile ground from which peace may grow.
I want them to be the muse that inspires creative thought.
I want to live vicariously through those few sentences that leave my mouth alongside my last breaths, but then I think better of it.
I want my last words to be a whisper,
I want them to barely make it past my lips.
I want them to sooth hatred and calm anger.
I want them to lull the aching soul.
I want them to point the way my spirit will leave.
To the father, who is waiting for me.

The air of brotherhood once flowed so freely between us.
Midnight hours coming with no notice and little care.
Silences that stretched through the night,
A conversation which spoke the most profound sentiments of fellowship.
Though you may quickly wish away those days,
Or rather read them with regret.
I am not so quick to vilify the part you’ve played in this story.
Though the blood between us has froze,
and though the pain you have caused is insurmountable,
I will not make you a villain, like you have made me.

Where does the devil hide
Is he the monster in the blind spot of our eye
Is he the one in the shadows under the bed
Is he the one that scatters when we turn our heads
Is he the half heard voice calling your name
Or the half seen figure outside your window pane

I've seen him though
I've seen the places he hides
He is in the tears of the young girls' eye
Being coaxed out by the insults screaming in her mind
He is in that small voice
Making us question if we are enough
And then coming to the conclusion that we're not
He is the whisper of doubt
When we search for someone to save us
Making us ask if we're even worth being saved
He is the notches in that young boys wrist
In the bruises that line his face
He is in the comfort
That keeps our legs from running
To reclaim the lost
In the insecurities
That lock our jaw
And arrests the words of salvation from our tongues
I have seen where the devil hides
He is right in front of your eyes

The artificially colored television set is playing "It's a Wonderful Life"
It is my fathers favorite, which isn't much of a surprise because I believe it's a fathers kind of movie. As George Bailey meets the girl who will one day be his wife he is a dream filled man.
Filled with ambition and enough money in his hand but he never reaches his dreams.
I remember I used to dislike it, the whole thing.
Even though we just watched it once a season for my father.
Truth is I didn't understand it, or probably more correctly I couldn't.
As a child, dreams seem as close as the moon
Which in our hope filled eyes is never that far, just a couple more summers away,
But those summers come and go and the moon seems to be running away
Staying just past our fingertips,
But as we are looking up we forget the ground
Forget the happiness that we have already found
And point at those who got a lot farther than we ever could
There comes a time when you have to look down
And find that you've been living the dream all along
I think that's what the movie means
Finding that reality will always be better than the dream
And I'm sure one day when I'm a father myself, it will be my favorite Christmas movie
And I'll make my kids begrudgingly watch it knowing that they can't understand
But one day they will
One day their dreams will escape their hand.
And when that happens they will still be able to look up and say it's a wonderful life.

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

The lights go out. Darkness swallows me,
Then spits me out for I don't quite fill it's exquisite palate.

I have realized that all of the songs stuck in my mind are about you
Now, I don't want to put credit where credit's not due
But you might as well have been the muse
Of these tunes
Playing on repeat in my mind
You are like my favorite song that I play over and over
Until I grow sick of it
But then again, that's a poor metaphor
For how could I ever get sick of you
Your voice is the haunting melody
That I want to spend my life striving to harmonize
Your heart the tympani beat
That drives my feet
Leading you across the room
Your hand in mine
Like the needle in the groove
Singing out the beauty therein
The glow of your cheek and the gleam of your eye
Is the song eternally stuck in my mind

Oh how stars fall
Or rather not
For though it may seem
As if these celestial bodies
Could become dislodged from their places in our sky's
Rather what we see is fiery dust
Flying through our hopeful minds
Being glorified as these magnificent beings
So the things we place our wishes on
Though we think they are permanent fixtures of infinite strength
Thinking as if those shooting stars will fly forever
They are instead greatly brief in their existence
What we see is the end
Of their long flight across space
So perhaps it is a good picture of a dream
Living a far flung life
Until it reaches reality
And what may seem
As a streak across the sky
Is really it's descent to the ground

I have not the propensity for pride
For all possible paths I have taken, away from my God
All forbidden fruit I have tasted
With the requirement set I have fallen short time and time again
So now that I stand by his grace alone
May I not cast out those who falter where I once was
Rather show them the path laid out for me
To stand where I am today.

As if the stars were falling
And I, a speck of the skies
Feared for my minuscule life
I can't think for those who once held me up
Have let go
The ties I thought were so strong
Have decomposed
And I am falling like a meteor
Being tossed from its celestial home
And I am bracing for impact

I have been a hero to some
A villain to others.
I am woven throughout many stories.
I am sometimes the voice of reason,
Other times the voice of regret.
I have played a part in victories
As well as quite a few defeats.
Sometimes I lose myself in the unintentional damage I have done,
And try to dig myself out with the damage done to me, but it always falters.
I think the problem is
I am quick to forgive those who harm me
But can't forgive myself for what I've done to them.

My beautiful sister
Don't ever let the world tell you that you are less
Anything less than the truly dazzling blessing you have been to me
Don't ever let someone convince you that you aren't good enough
Because you have always been more than enough to help in times of need
And don't ever let the weight of the world weigh you down
For I will always be there to lift you up
You are so much more than you would ever admit
So much more radiant than the mirror will ever be able to reflect
Stronger than all of the stones the world will throw at you
So next time someone tries to pull you down
Keep all of this in mind
You are truly beautiful
More so than I could ever describe.

In your eyes I find the echoes of my dreams
My hopes being amplified back at me
I find those unspoken wishes
Sent away with the smoke of a birthday candle
Those desperate whispers I pinned on the tails of shooting stars
The hopeful notions I tossed with the coin into the well
You are the personification of every wishful adjective I tucked away for a rainy day
I am losing my mind
Yet I somehow know that you hold it
In those searching eyes
That hold me so dearly
Let the years pass
For I know that, while we may break,
The hours will only magnify my love

I like order
I know that's not odd, it just needed to be said
I like to connect the dots
And make pictures out of the chaos inside of my head
I like to write lists
And alphabetize all of the things separating me from sleep
I like to organize
The pervading themes that I conjure in my dreams
I like to file and store things away
Only to be brought up on a cold rainy day
I like to bookmark
All the brilliant things I could possibly say
I like to highlight and underline
All of the empty spaces between reality and me
I like to document and record
All of the differences that I can't see
I like to graph
Demographics that don't include me
And I like to study
just how odd order can truly be.

What happens at the end
When we reach the last bend
When the hills and valleys spread
And become less drastic
When we flat line
When we have reached as high we could reach
And can only grasp
At slipping memories
Is that what we really call peace
That's what I'm told is at the end
We hammer R.I.P into the gravestones of our fallen friends
And leave flowers to aid in their sleep
I mean are we just the sum of our life
Because by myself I know
That I wouldn't add up to anything worth measuring
There is no greatness in me
I am a minuscule dot on a minuscule dot on just a small smear
Of what we call reality
So what is the use of a insignificant being such as me
Questioning the vastness of infinity
It's really absurd actually
I mean I'm not trying to be poor pitiful me
But I am literally nothing
In comparison to the almighty
And there isn't an ounce of greatness in me
That isn't from my king
So what happens at the end?
That's the real question
Some say we cease to be
We try to define life as
How  far our conscience minds can reach.
Then there's those who desperately
Wish that it is a dream
And cling to this fleeting hope till their knuckles turn white
They hope That this pain can't reach beyond the grave
But I am so afraid
That in the act of dreaming they are losing sight of the reality
That peace doesn't lie in the grave
Or carved in the eroding stones in the cemetery
But in the savior that took that stone of death
And rolled it away
That took everything separating us from him
And nailed it on that cross
So that we could run to him
That is what I believe is at the end
A loving father with arms outstretched wide
To embrace his prodigal son

This chaos is choking me
And here I stand trying to make something of it.
The world demands order
Yet I am unable to connect these dots into a comprehendible picture.
My thoughts burst through the floodgates.
Leaving me to bear the full force of this raw confusion that is sweeping over me.
I want to be able to rearrange this disorder into something eloquent,
To be able to state it in a way that will make an impact,that's all.
I want to make a mark that will last long after my body is dead and gone,
But the marks that we make are too often scars.
The constellations we arrange in the skies too often fall apart.
It is a cruel cycle that I shall now become a victim of,
Yet hold on
Hold on and grasp those broken heart strings that I leave behind
And use them to tie the stars together and show the world the beauty I see in you
Collect the lights I found in your eyes and paint a picture
That will immortalize the way I look at you
Our time was short yet it seemed like an eternity
And I will always rest in that small infinity we shared

Please paint the walls of this empty room
That I have built up just for you
Plaster these halls with that bright sky blue
That I see each time my eyes rest on you
Splatter the walls with that light pastel pink
That I see you breathe out each time you speak
Drown them with that somber maroon
That fills my head when you leave the room
And douse it in the deep dark rouge
That spellbinds me when you say "I love you"

Here am I on my knees
Crying to the heavens
Tearing my shirt over the sins that are drowning me
My sorrow knows no bounds
For I have failed
I have tripped and fallen down a *****
That there is no hope
Of ever returning
Yet you have reached out
And pulled me off of my knees
You have clothed me
In the splendor of royalty
You have set a crown upon my brow
And now allow
Me to sit at your feet
How can a sinful creature such as I
Hold the eye
Of such a glorious God
How could the maker of the stars
Hold someone as wretched as me
I come to the throne humbly
It seems the least I can do
To return each breath of life blessed to me back to you
Direct me through the nations
Spreading the word of your glory
I can not comprehend how I could ever contain such a message
It spills out my mouth like an everlasting stream
These words shine bright
With the message of life
For every sentence that contains his name
Shouts forth his infinite praise
May the fire of the Holy Spirit set ablaze
The nations in Gods holy ways

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 am drowning in a sea of anxiety...
Wait maybe I should put that differently
I am buried beneath worry
Well not so much that...
But I am definitely distraught
And at the very least I am very confused
About what you do to me
I mean here I am minding my own business
Trying to convince myself I am content in my loneliness
And then you show up
Seeing my efforts as all in vain
I'll have you know I was fairly happy pretending I was happy all along
And by fairly I mean not at all
But I had learned to hide that foot note deep enough
That no one would know
But you did didn't you
You saw how hard I was trying
To maintain the face
That I put on to cover the me that I didn't want to be seen
I tried with such desperation
Because truth be told I find it ugly
I have spent a vast amount of time
Looking and investigating the inner parts of me
And I really find it disgusting
Yet when you gaze through my facade I feel comfort
That you can look at me and not be afraid
Or revolted at what you see
Which confuses me more

I have to speak
The words are building up and are becoming stale
I have lost something essential
Yet I can't recognize what it is
I have become weak
My knees buckling, skin turning pale
A thought has been planted
And it is spreading like a ****
"What if they don't like me"
It branches into all past rejections
And has become a large tree
To be truthful
I can't handle it
There seems to be more scars
In its gnarled trunk
Then there are stars
Caught in its reaching branches
It is of my own building
I watered and fed it
With self-pity
And now I have the gall to reject it
It is me

She was resting her head on her inclined hand
Searching outside of the window for that slowly fading land
It was once so easy to recall on a whim
When she was that long gone idealistic kid
That place in which she could shape the clouds by hand
Paint the sky's with a gentle kiss
Holding civilians made of stuffing and cotton
Tied together by dandelion stems
Living in kingdoms built of sticks
Collected from the dark forest
That lay behind her childhood home
That land that was always close at hand to run to in times of pain
She slowly draws back from the clouded window pane
Only now realizing her loss
Yet in this moment her hand is disturbed from its rest
By the minuscule fingers of her little kid
A girl with hair glowing red
From the sun filtering through the chilled late August winds
In those eyes she saw it
The thing she thought she had lost
It wasn't as far as it seemed
That kingdom beyond the sea.

I want to sing you to sleep
Underneath this dark sky that cradles us
Let these drifting notes lull you
And allow yourself to descend into the comforting embrace of the constellations
Let them dance across your eyes
And put on grand plays to enthrall your mind
Sink slowly as one falls in love
And lay lightly on the bed of light
Prepared for you on that etherial plane
Drift away to the words of this lullaby

Where will you lie if you are right
In the ground with all those who have died
Those who's names are inscribed in the marble above
Their acts may be printed in some book
Or their love may be remembered by those who held their hearts
Remembered by yellowing love letters
Scribed by shaking hands
But if you are right it is worthless
Though knowledge may comfort us in our death
You will receive no solace in being correct
For you won't exist
Your mind won't be there to comprehend
The justified emotions of being right
But what if you're wrong
What if the discarded message of salvation
Was more essential than you could have ever known
What if there is a father who will weep
Knowing that you threw away his grasping hand
And rather chose to harshly descend
In a sorrow so deep and unknown that our earthly minds can't comprehend it
So if you're right there is nothing
No consequence
But if you're wrong

He sees her
The clichés that
He was always quick to dismiss
Now fill his head.

He meets her
The butterflies in his stomach
Take flight
Leaving him breathless.

He falls for her
As the words hang on her lips
He tumbles head over heel
Knowing he would never find the ground again

He asks her
As the butterflies reach his throat
He  chokes
But she still says yes

He dreams of her
The light of her eyes
Has burned the sight of her
Into his mind

He waits for her
At the foot of the stairs
And can only stare
As the princess makes her way down

He is stunned by her
His lips refuse to part
To allow any breath to replace
The one that she had taken away

He leads her
From the hall
He wants to rip the stars apart
Just to find her heart

It was such an easy love
Pure and new
Unscathed by scars
From trials they were bound to go through

I am a member of the human race
And I am just starting to know what that means
I remember a point at which I prayed to be different
To be able to view things from a distance
Because being human means being hurt
And then in turn
Hurting others
It means to speak free
And then think that means
To have the power to demean
To use those words to destroy
I wanted so badly to be above it
But I'm afraid I could never stand so tall
Yes, I am human
But I'm not broke
For I have hope
I speak free
Yet my words mend
And not because of me
But because of the one who lifted me up on my feet

Sometimes it seems
That happiness is so far out of reach
I don't know where to start
It has become a quest
Yet I always find myself stumbling
The way I pursue this dream
Is quite obviously clumsy
Sometimes I wonder if I appear
More like a newborn deer
Rather than the confident lion
I try to emulate
Though standing strong was never my forte
And adventure foreign to me
I only now see the desire to be happy
I know it seems ridiculous
But the path ahead must be better than where I've been
So this is my quest
And I believe I see the best place to begin
At the end of your fingertips

I watch, the way in which you move
Seemingly floating through a crowded room
With space lying in the pupils of your eyes
Yet you remain present
Ensuring that all you see and all who see you
Know the true gratitude, that saturates your lips
I look at you and see a moon
Reflecting the essence of stars
Into this stifling room
I rest with my arms in my lap and my hands on my chin
Attempting to close myself off from the pressure of people
Pressing on my consciousness as if in an attempt
To suffocate it
And I know that you feel the same
Or perhaps only similarly
The point being, you are as aware of this lack of space as I am
Yet as it is causing me to clench my teeth
To want to recede into a point of singularity
In which I can avoid encroaching on anybody
You expand,
You fill the space with your breath
Forcing others to recognize who you are
You're magnificent in the way a force of nature is
So unknowable that all we can do is observe
How truly wonderfully odd you are

A young boy calls to his father
Longing for the comfort of his hands
To hang onto every word as if it was treasure
Just like what the pirates fought over in that distant land
That his dad often told him about
He looks to his mother
To calm the fears he had come to hold
And her soothing nature
Told him it was ok to let go
Let go of all the anxieties and worries he had picked up though the day
And all of the insecurities and names he gathered along the way
He knew that he was safe here
This resting place
Where he could be himself and not have to put up a face
This was his home in the loving embrace
Of his parents

How do you start a poem
I've never quite understood
Should you slap the reader with a shout
I mean that literarily (don't actually slap someone)
Or tap them on the shoulder with kind words to get their attention
Should the lines rhyme
Or stand haphazard as confused thoughts
( I sure hope it's the latter)
Does it need a strong moral message
Or can it be random rambling
( again, hopefully the latter)
Is it meant to be free
Or ordered to fit a certain need
In the end I don't know if this is a poem
But it is what I meant for it to be

If life fit in a line, it would be a horrible poem.
Not that it’s too messy, for some of the best poetry speak of tragedy as romance or vice versa, and I have never heard of a greater mess.
Nor that it is too scattered, for some of the best narratives lie in the tales of drug-addled minds.
The poet must fictionalize life and love to make it readable, and even then I am often uninterested in reading it.