One time not too long ago
a sunset would avert my eyes.
Its beauty surpassed my idea
of reality canonized.

Soon, I adjusted and could stare,
and read what the world would tell;
but then a light, whose eyes I could not meet,
had intoxicated me like a Lenaea's spell.

Then the earth quivered as I fell,
awaking hours later and alone no longer.
The light-- superior than a mundane description--
was the warmth by whom my soul was conquered.

One thousand lives lay before me.
Smooth edges jaggedly intermixed
each one has its place.
Some are the corners of a frame,
others fill the void.
The voices unsolved each screech-- annoyed.

When they find their place silence reigns.
Engaged in a kiss only seen on a silver screen.
Lips locked so perfectly, so ingeniously engineered
Their places found through trials and plight
as tired eyes glaze over the chaotic table.
How can this game depict life's fable?

Here I am again,
watching the scenery loop
on the carousel's third lap. 

I'd rather not have paid the fair
but to have observed the hellish chaos 
from outside this whirlwind of horses. 

The eye of the storm doesn't exist here
when the stationary cavalry doesn't stop,
but I chose to enlist in your war. 

My last tour ended with a bang,
body intact, but inside was torn,
and I said I'd "never fight the good fight again."

But here I am
caught in the searing winds,
scars refreshed, sobering and familiar. 

How did I let this happen?
The Siren's song was so alluring,
with promises strewn on shores' crags. 

Oh Helen, you made me face a thousand ships,
but when my eyes returned 
you were merely a new mare on the merry-go-round.

I knew what to expect 
when I chose to turn on the fleets,
but my childish dreams convinced me you were different. 

Advisors had warned,
and instinct agreed,
but my trust has become my enemy. 

So here I am again,
surrounded, not yet able to retreat,
but the battle is almost over. 

This time I swear I'll never fight again.
You don't recognize peace until it returns,
and isolationism is the key to keeping it. 

I promise I won't,
but first I must wait
for the looped music to cease.

Eyes red, face calm
Body lax, clenched palm.

Dollish smile, extends long
Anger right, owner wrong.

Frustration grows, sincerely yours
Practicing good, eroding shores.

Instigated ire, complicated time
Virtuously joyed, conditional chime.

It has been a year since I first met You—
innumerable changes have been made.
Knowledge You knew before these words I wrote.
Regardless, my gratitude is in this ode:

Two fortnights less five, in the month July—
a night I’ll ne’er forget—in which Your birth was
two thousand and eleven years prior.
Seen in my choice of caravan—car not foot.

Trees in motion around me— rise and dive,
still nature now epic— vast, powerful waves.
An ocean angered, queued by Your great will,
staggered me— I dreamt then to float on that lea.

Now submerged in awe, my lungs fill, I drift.
Thoughts’ vessel stays empty, my mind lost at sea.
The storm passed, all was calm and all was clear-
o’er that water I rose, beached by blue skies.

The shore out of sight, but it I saw.
Blinded I had been. For years I was oppressed—
vogue logic stifled creative free thought.
You needn’t say, I knew then what to do.

I found a pad and inscribed wild scribbles-
what I rendered I knew not, yet I did.
Erratic lines became a map of fate.
Three stood on a gorge tall, I being one.

I found that land within rivers bound
While wading in dialogue I found it.
It being the thought which soon would blossom.
Hardly quick though, Your seeds need time to grow.

Unsure when to harvest, yet I knew then
to appreciate art of prose and verse.
To convey the feelings only I knew.
To know the powers one wields with a pen.

I’m alone in watching a coal burn
a solid object internally lit.
A tongue of fire
whose flames don’t lick.

A heart

The allusion, now clear,
yet the edges remain blurred.

Fire and flames struggle and fight,
without a lifting wind they’re weak.
Their culminations are short lived.
Deadened ashes.

Lust

Embers remain
after the excitement is snuffed out.
The slightest breeze kisses their cheeks
and they show new life.
Glowing unconditionally.

Love

I’m alone in watching a coal burn out
slowly
s l o w l y
s  l  o  w  l  y
f   a   d   i   n   g      a   w   a   y.

Even when the fire is lost,
the embers of love will burn on.

So grateful am I,
to be a part of all this.
A community--
the ace of a single suit.

Humility I must show,
for who am I among you all?
I am not Hercules, nor Achilles--
merely a mortal among gods.
And        you        are      gods.

Oh, how I wish to emulate thee--
your verses are flawless,
your ideas so succinct.
When I compare my work to yours,
my poems seem weak.

Are your Muses more granting?
Do you care more than me?
Cant be, my heart has been spilled--
on this page it bleeds.

Yet every poem I read,
by an author that's not me,
leaves me feeling embarrassed
to share the same space--
this home we call "HP"