No matter where I go,
across desert sands through mountain snow,
through every foreign land I may roam,
be it together or alone
in far off lands to me so unknown
yet I know
No matter where I go
to me, this never ending road was always meant to be home...

There must be a scapegoat, a faceless soul we can blame
when events unfolding never crease the right way
there needs to someone to take the fall
for our shortcomings, failures, mistakes and flaws
let's name it timing
the outlandish ideal with a sort of silver lining
benefiting our dreams or disappointing based on your outlook at the second
placing our losses on timing's plate, so to us it remains indebted
the divine invention we haphazardly sink our faith towards
faulting opportunity for not opening closed doors
falsely accusing an innocent occurrence with words of curse in nature
we'll just chalk it up to poor timing, and bury it for later
the concept of allowing an unmovable force dictate our actions
selfishly choosing when the timing suits our satisfaction
poor timing, missing the chance of a unmatchable proportions
minimal effort to a particular cause turned twisted words contortions
to cleverly claim the culprit, when your very actions displayed a lack of determination
it's not the moment's patience
that forces your will to put the act in motion
yet we chalk it up to timing, a peculiar notion
a cloak of deceit and disbelief we wrap ourselves in, blaming an unworthy malefactor innocent as the sun is bright
so let's just call it poor timing, leaving our passion-less actions out of sight...

The absence resonated pure and true
the way it swept over you
distance was a state of mind
miles were merely lines
sketched across a map, tracing directions from you to me
ink now filling the gaps were we used to be
lines non-discriminantly cutting towns in half
as we chart and graph
every possible angle to reunite
bicker and fight
over the most plausible neutral ground
eyes feverishly searching a map, with no home found
the absence is my companion, the only constant that remains
fidgeting hands writing your name
again and again
until the ink from this pen
becomes strewn across the lines of latitude and longitude
that originally created the thoughts of you
your hands slowly fade from my memory, the empty sheets engulfing me seem to take your place night after night
the absence turns out the lights
forces these wandering eyes to rest once more
perhaps time was our deficiency, unrelenting the clock runs without pause
as we pick apart the flaws
that chip away at the building blocks of a life's base
I only feel the shortages and absences when I struggle to recall your face
your voice now just an echo, drowned out by the daily clamor
the incessant ticking of a timepiece only silenced with the hammer
breaking the reminders that your lack of presence eats away at me over time
I sit silently in the confines of my own mind
tracing and erasing lines
all leading back to a memory of your face
the absence merely resonates within me, echoing in the empty space...

My outstretched arms mimicking the limbs of maple trees
That nearly swallow me
In their abundantly evident presence
Their stoic past remains etched in their bark vividly prevalent
Their branches reaching in vain attempting to harness the slate gray sky
A sky not effected by the plight of men and trees, desperate as we tear and pry
Yearning to grasp enough of the intangible frays of clouds drifting
Praying to uproot ourselves into a place more uplifting
These wanting limbs will remain wanting, for decades to come
Beckoning aid from the moon and sun
As stars watch from afar with no emotional attachment to show
Everyday the limbs strain and grow
Closing the distance, progress earned from weathering the storms
Until they can reach no more
Falling from the sky's grace
Roots anchoring them to a life destined for solemn existence stationary from rise through death and all
I stop reaching not waiting on the sky fall
Digging the ground uprooting myself with hands gnawing at the earth liberating a trapped dream
I stopped reaching for the sky because it wouldn't set me free...

The faint hint of tension left the air pungent
a mordantly eerie undertone that I couldn't scrape from the sky
even with a sharp stare from bright eyes
there was a subconscious pause in your voice, the type of momentary disillusioned understanding of a shortcoming
the sudden realization of a lassitude onset left these battered feet aching to stop running
the tread was fresh, anxiously beckoning to simply go
an inner utterance gently murmuring no
perchance the time was not sufficient
quite possibly these watch hands that had seen better days, now judge time slightly different
their past experiences dictating the liveliness and youthful ticks of yesteryear to a far more relaxed tock with decades of chasing it's counterpart
I became the minutes to your hour, fruitlessly chasing you round the rotation to greet and depart with your change of heart
the seconds became the tension
building anticipation as I watched them sweep
feeling the next moment we'd meet, pain-stakingly creep
until I find myself here again air thick with tension, hanging still and pungent
I remain for a minute just watching the seconds keep running...

Salty air kisses my face in the darkness of the night
only the distant flashes of light
make the waves glow, the illumination of a calm moon nowhere in sight
the early autumn air rushes across my exposed skin
the lapping of the waves, mesmerizing pulls me in
warmth of a running engine purring under my feet
the cold metal roof becomes my seat
the black backdrop of the sky my ceiling
chilled hands feeling the light raindrops running over my palms
peaceful, unnervingly calm
as the storm rages on
every bolt of lightning unique and spontaneous
struggling to find something in my life that pertains to this
humbling feeling of isolation and solitude
i'd love to say i thought of you
as the low thunder rumbled seeming to run across the sea
to these very feet
but i'd be a liar and you'd feel significant
we were simply flashes of lightning, nothing different
blazing a night sky with our spectacular glow and intensity
flashes of memories
never striking in sync or together
i never understood the weather better
then how well i feel it at this moment
i was lightning in a bottle, you were never meant to hold it....