The two of us play the same
note with the sounds of our lives.

Our timbre, however,
makes them unlike:

the wisp of a butterfly;

a supernova.

O Love,
Why do we hesitate in our fear?
What do we seek to preserve, for
What is worth more in life than the
Life itself?

While the spoils of the lives
Around us fade to nothing, the
Fruits of our union - our shared life -
Are self evident. It is the adventure
Itself that we reap.

Alas,
We search instead for a map
Of a road that has not been cleared,
When the compass heading is
As clear as the waters of Nyasa.

So come!
Let us move ever onward, and ever
Upward - for the road has yet to be tread,
But the destination is certain.

Let what is true speak into our hearts,
So that our hearts can guide us in
What is true on our voyage.

My eyes shift back
Into focus after staring
For so long

I blink as I wipe the drool
Off and look around

I sit in the comfortable recliner

As I notice the room, the chair,

The clock tells me how many years
I've been sitting here,
content to

Watch the dancing lights from
The T.V.

But all that's there is static

When doubts and fears are like an ocean,
I clamor to the sand -
A billion tiny grains of  deafaning voices.
I use them as soap and bleach
Against my skin to wash away the waves
Which crash against my soul.
I dig the sand with dirtied palms as far as I can go,
Deeper into the liars pit
Until I reach what lies underneath, of
Which I find regret.
So I lock my fingers into a cage and press
Into the regret, and choke it
At the bottom of the pit I dug myself,
But like spit through teeth
It shoots on through my grasp defiant and proud,
Where it buries me in its place.

Being as self conscious and
Insecure as I
Means fixing your hair before
Climbing into an empty
Bed
And sleeping alone,
Discontent with myself
In the dark.

I am of no use, is what it tells me.
That I have nothing special, and that
I am nothing compared to those around
me is the truest lie I was ever told.
It allows me to be soluble
in the lives and achievements of  others.
The individual pieces of me dissolve
into insignificant, infinitesimal specks
that serve no purpose, and amount to nothing.
Anything I do - any talents I have - will be surmounted by those
who are more than I could ever wish to be.
Alone I am whole, where the love I keep under my
sheets and between my arms tells me
she values me.
But out there - out there in the world
I am of no importance and
infinite expendability.

My girl is a superhero:
With one foot she snuffs the smoldering
Cigarette **** her depression lies in, and
With the other she staves  the weight of a
Terrible job;
With her left hand she creates and makes
Beautiful things from a beautiful mind,
And with her right she craddles me,
All the while flying on the small vibrant
Wings of a robyn.