You think that I'm weak
and don't see what you seek.
Wise eyes can see through trees,
but can't stop a deer from stepping into the street.
An arrogant doe not yet peaked,
stares into the headlights,
whose dangers she can't see.
What matters is that they shine on you,
negligent to the fact that they blind you too.
Bathed in light a deer will never move,
lost in their bright Narcissistic pools.
Flying above, I can swoop and save,
but first you must be willed to look away.

I had a dream that felt quite like reality

To begin its tale I start with the day,
which opened the same as any other--
with my eyes fixated on a cigarette in an ashtray.

I put a light to another so he'd have a brother.
Hopping in the shower the lights and I shivered,
blanketed by warmth the cigarettes became a vase with a flower.

I faced the glass but refused the image mirrored.
No good would come from stalling to dress,
for a package, not mine, needed to be undelivered.

Soon I sat in a park with a friend and a board of chess,
he said, "You need not be here I know your worth,
others need to know you neglect them less."

Unsure what he meant, I still rose and went forth,
to the world of friends who tend to dislike me.
Back turned I heard young laughter and exited the mirth.

Walking in a desert forest, I grew to be rather thirsty.
I ignored the mountain lion that was out of place
and took shelter under an oasis's bourgeois.

Sweating in the cool shade, memory thought to erase
any action I took before I lay to rest.
As I looked down I saw a garden from space.

I had fallen asleep back into reality

I accomplished a feat I never thought possible,
staring into a mirror not fully sure if I should,
I looked into my soul avoiding my vanity,
the glass transparent of opaque clarity.

Scared of what haunted even a laureate,
whose pilgrimage is an allusion taken for granted,
the serenity was sand scooped by my hand,
and each second's passing left its ridges more empty.

Soon, the shadows of lives moved, awaking my mistake.
Now noticing the lapse of minutes lost,
I made sure no one noticed my mind's vacancy,
then looking to the mirror, I see its prisoner's turned back.

With work in my past, I sit at a bar,
kissing the whiskey date in my right hand.
A man, as fatigued as me, takes his place
ten paces to my left—the corner seat.

A box is slipped from his jacket pocket,
which contained the well packed words of many lives.
The luckiest one was pulled from its cubical
by a weathered, unsteady hand’s fingers.

Praising his release from prison, with anticipation building.
The light in his face breathed life into him.
The tape—whose cogs turn forward—
plays the cigarette’s song; the cursive words spill out.

Audibly visible, I watched the smoke intrigued.
“Finally, a break from my daily building—
the one who confines my colleagues and me—
now, I can breathe a breath of relief.

“We spend each day waiting to die
never knowing peace, for we know our fates already.
We work each day praying for release,
but family comes first—it’s for them I work.

“We’re always being told we’re unique individuals—
yet we remain clones, individually wrapped.
Seen only as commodities by those who rule.
An invisible hand selects the slaves that be.

A breeze cuts him off, I wait.

“At least my servitude comes to an end,
so soak up what you can, while you can.
I may seem infinitesimal to the likes of you,
but you see your self in me, it’s true.

“I’m you in a minutes long microcosm.
You and I will never know true freedom
because all we’ve ever known has been prisondom.
The only liberties we know are delusions of solitary thought.

“When we’re released from our shackles—
that brief moment before passing—
they say we suffer a blissful ‘death rattle,’
but I say ‘nay, we don’t display disdain for that peaceful sigh.’”

Then, snuffed out in an instant,
the tape recorder ceased its spinning.
I stared waiting to hear more of the smoke’s wisdom;
however, he hadn’t had time for even a “Goodbye, and enjoy life.”

What do you see when you look in a mirror?
Well, I know you dont see me.
If only we could all be so lucky;
for when my eyes fall upon that glass--
in full fledged vanity--
the only wish I have is for my mirrored elimination.

So why do I stare into the eyes I've known for so long?
There is no more knowledge to be gained on my own.
Stop looking
Avoid Narcissus
Learn from Dante
Evade mirroring landscapes.

There has only been one time that I could stare
and learn from that spectral pair--  
not those brown ringlets of life,
but the world after-- in which  I died in strife.
My soul was bare and my fate was there,
but with clouded mind I can't remember if I truly cared.

How do I thank the one
to whom I owe my entire existence?
From the smile I share, to my wavy brown hair,
to the blood flowing through my veins

To thank her fully I think I'd need
each one of a beach's grains of sand--
one for every bit of love she's shared
lifting my soul from frequent despair.

Though that still wouldn't be enough
I'd then need every star in every galaxy
to then shed light on her beauty
and even then they'd be a pale analogy

So I call on the oceans and the seas,
who have separated many, for generations,
on how to cope with the distance
and how others survived such separation.

When we're apart you must feel idle,
alone, and often unthought of--
but truly you're a lifeline, that to me is vital;
therefore, never discount your worth for a second.

So I apologize for the sleepless nights,
spent waiting for me to come home and those spent worrying,
and sorry for leaving your nest so suddenly,
even though you'd wished you could stop my flying.

But I thank you, for never thinking ill of me,
and for nurturing who I turned out to be,
and for unconditional love, though I'm unworthy,
and most of all, for being my mother, and ever so motherly

Samuel Coleridge might be proud of my Kubla Khan attempt.