As I watch the water explore the air faithfully,
I wonder where it comes from.
It rises
and it falls.
I want to be able to approach its origin,
discover why the water is compelled to
rise
and fall.
There simply must be a source.
This violent display of
rising
and falling
cannot exist without reason.
Alas, my searching is futile.
The rising
and falling
continue in spite of my ignorance.
Will the explosions of water always
rise
and fall?
Will they perhaps cease
if I find the very reason they faithfully
rise
and fall?
Or will I forever be impelled
to passively watch this persistent
rising
and falling?
I’m slowly beginning to give up the search
and started just hoping these monotonous eruptions
stop.

Accidental introduction
Slow destruction
Deceptive beauty
Slow destruction
Accidental introduction

An invasive species
Not something with which to be reckoned
It can not be reversed
Not something with which to be reckoned
An invasive species

Superficial beauty
Brief Enjoyment
Ruinous existence
Brief Enjoyment
Superficial beauty

Tendrils of beauty
Tendrils of expiry
Self contradictory by definition
Tendrils of expiry
Tendrils of beauty

Taking everything needed for continuance of self
Removing what is needed for existence of everything else
Choking a red-faced, forlorn life
Removing what is needed for existence of everything else
Taking everything needed for continuance of self

There is no escape
The reach has extended too far for reversal
All that is left is acceptance of destruction
The reach has extended too far for reversal
There is no escape

There is no escape

a barren Land to be
with tail trembling beneath.
the Silence echoes,
like the noise a toddler makes in the next room
when it’s time to Worry.

the tornado Heart sees not its Destruction,
but grows with time,
takes the fuel it Found for its source,
and picks of speed.

It’s Coming.

the only preparation for a storm is to accept Defeat
and just pray, cross your fingers, and hope
that the roof Holds.

My fingertips graze over that
which I have yet to grasp.
Like a book, I see
the cover. I know
the summary.

Its hype is nearly unbearable.
I feel that without it,
I have yet to feel.
I feel that without it,
I have yet to feel.

A perk and a pain
A bliss and an absence.

Searches are futile. Empty
discoveries abound. Failure
is nearly inevitable. Authenticity
is scarce.

It possesses some power with
which it virtually rules over all.

My curiosity contends my logic and
my overwhelming antipathy conflicts my yearning.

I lack the longing that
follows a loss which
gives me pause.

As my ****** heart stares
at the void, a quivering light
emits from the candle of fear,
brushing the untouched walls, illuminating
the potentiality of destruction.

There is no day in which logic
does not step between my heart
and the void and start to board
up the place.

It is too risky, logic declares,
this place is uninhabitable.
But the naive, ignorant heart implores,

Just wait.

Letters of the day.
Perhaps Apollo snapped his string
And shot into the beings below:
Synecdoche.

Illuminate your ink markings,
said He,
My eyes long to see images leap from your words.
Write creatures, Write.

Interpretation was weaved together,
And the god was satisfied.
For these words began to walk,
Then dance all around him.

As the edges of his mouth curled upwards,
As the parts synchronized,
As the genus became the species,
As the species became the genus,
A new definition was formed.

The world celebrated the melodic movements
Of mere symbols.

Today’s world must continue the dance
Carry it through screen and paper,
So Apollo remains amused

As all watch the words sway with the wind.

It seems adequate
It always seems adequate
bring up the right foot
now the left
scream

why can no one hear me?

I’m on the floor
and I’m drowning in a
Shadow
again.

if I had at least attempted
to stay in the Sun,
then this beast of
Frustration
would stop mauling me.

Irony would scoff at me if I
asked for help.

A sky slipping into dreams
Can steal every notion of reality.
Those penetrating colors
ensnare senses.
A bright, dark blue
deeper than the ocean
A silk scarf, once white,
stretched across the deep
A color so rapturous,
it does not deserve a purple title.
How can you believe
that only light sheds felicity
when tonight is the hue of Joy?