Lay this poet down
When the time arrives
In a field of fresh cut words
On a bed of softened rhyme

Feel free to cover me
From my head down to my feet
In a poetic form to keep me warm
Perhaps a blanket of allegory

Place a silken sonnet pillow
Underneath my weary head
In a field of fresh cut words
On top a rhyming bed

this ancient brew
with a taste so true
makes me see stars
where stand the scars
of long-forgotten battles
this old exotic brew
brings back the memories
my heart grew fonder
in high moments so tender
your star shone bright
in warm tropical skies blue
and i knew i'd never ever rue
the day we made a solemn pact
to last us through the ages

probly a few minutes
and i was done
writing wasn't feeling the same
i stood on top like
bricks around disaster

i was looking up
i took my shoes off
threw them aside still laced  
i wasn't being funny
i know where this is going

where i write  
where i see cracks in perfect paths  
where blood taste like metals of purity
with every year burning
where these flowers like to live
die on vines from inside
allowing ivy to climb my back

i am a length of fence
in a yard with no dog
on a gate without reason
sitting on a post during live events

i am a fool for giving into seasons
romancing everything like a poet
following every inch of broken glass

nodding to my friends that i'm willing to mend
but waiting for them to laugh
outlined with chalk on the sidewalk
where blood stains concrete my convictions
flowing from the curb to the overpass

in the night like candles floating water
under tree branches ready to crack
formatting clouds to sky write, come with me
a man in the park on his back