A whisper is a word spoken softly. A thought is an idea screamed softly.
But while I may not have the words to speak to make my thoughts known,
I can't imagine I'll be looked down upon for this empathetic dream so lofty:
Speak a name with warmth, say a name and smile, love is freed and flown.

I can't always get the rhythm right and I'm not always the sacrificial soul,
I don't always eradicate my ego and I certainly can't say I haven't lied.
But I promise that I'm the genuine, the true, antithetically duplicitous role,
Even if you can't see it, even if you won't feel it--compassion is implied.

So, don't think you don't inspire someone in the world--you do.
Sure, you made mistakes in the past, but all your heroes did too.

Wind blows brisk upon the back of the evening sky,
Yet, we don't mind the cold within each other's arms.
Tomorrow we'll wake and find Earth's new touch shy,
Influenced by our sly seduction and subtle charms.

We'll woo her and find she distorts myriad colors,
Whisper sweetly in her and find that she blushes.
Ply her with wine and discover her freshest lovers,
Caress her softly and watch as her blood rushes.

A lip's touch excites the red clay amidst her ground,
Finger tip trails explode along her rocky spine.
Press your face close and hear her grating sound
So long as you are reacting to her proper sign.

But tomorrow you'll wake to her shy new style,
A human's unique gift, the ability to not remember.
Alas,  Earth cannot and will be shamed for awhile
Whilst looking back on that lust-filled December.

Yet I sit and ponder within a shallow light she that lovingly caused each lonely night. Internal commotion aside, reflecting on external emotions I hide—but let's not stand on principle here. I know what's easier to discover when lost, except that which I've found to be the most important. That frustrating thing that life's complications have cost. I know I cannot sit behind words, a silently debonair grin intended to swoon, especially considering you won't even see me soon. I'm just pent up love mixed with longing anger looking in no certain direction for the thing I want. And for the first time, I really think for the first time, I know what I want…how I hate the fact. Depressed and lonely is forgivable, but lonely and knowledgeable of what it is I've lacked? How embarrassing.

Regardless, I'll take a moment to contemplate and remember sun-lit fountains splashing frigid water on petite feet, clouds beckoning my mind, and vibrant gray orbs reading me naked. I'll knock on the sky and slip this note under the door—maybe you'll find it and know what it's for. I miss you, even before I was smart enough to lock you away in my memory…even before then, I think I missed you.

Black images stand starkly against the flash of lightning tonight. A brief photograph of a world separated by windows which allow cool air to flow amid humid stretches—a bursting, frantic flight of a remembered early spring. It traces with a whispered touch across the sweat patches that litter my body. Warmth emanates from me, this energy vortex I call a body, tantalizingly slow across the room.

If I could seep through the screen of my window, I would, and float lazily along with the bursting photons of the storm. Flashing ideas to bewildered souls peering out of their own confined spaces wondering if they'll ever find their way out; if maybe, tomorrow will be the day they open their minds a modicum more to  become enraptured with themselves—not just the storm.

But I can't seep…hell, I can't even sleep. Instead I'll sit and absorb, becoming one with the dust, opening my mouth to breathe but letting my mind do the shouting. And I'll keep sending thoughts to the skies disguised like crackles of thunder, because like waves of lightning, we start at the ground and work our way up—brightness above.

So, for the moment, shield your eyes, lower your head and hunch your shoulders. You are not ready. One day I'll explain—one day you'll find your own truth, but you will be dazzled gradually. For I am someone who can read the spots in their eyes while grinning at the beauty, turn a torrent into poetry, and capture thunder in my mind.

Eventually you'll open your eyes and laugh with joy at the sight.

But for now the storm is mine.

Pure intention flashes a violet hued smile
As I breathe in the seconds to find a mile.
An unfounded worry that brilliance found
Will be a lightning smear echoing sound.

So, away we go. An understanding soul
Realizing that simplicity implies a role,
That attraction contains but cannot hold,
And an innocent kiss is far too bold.

But, please, listen…Breathe. All is well.
My mask distorts hues so you can't tell
What is lost and what is attained:
I'm aware of what shouldn't be contained.

I take sure steps to encompass this emotion
While accepting my internal commotion.

The words feel the same despite a new surrounding.
As if the things I touch are never what they seem.
An energetic vortex that swirls around compounding
What I sense is real into the heady vapors of a dream.
Yet what I write stays clear, the breach of an illusion,
An alleviation of the pressure that's being imposed.
I'm resisting the effects of this pathetic delusion...
My mind is the protector that keeps me composed.
A mere thought barricades me from this vacuous veil,
A simple idea that induces the intellectual protection;
That which confuses, reduces, and invites me to fail
Is proved useless in light of my poetic connection.
I illuminate with words that which hides from me,
Hoping that I write enough to open eyes to see.

I'm caught in a dull haze. A rhythm less voice
Aching to find reason, to find words, to speak
To an unknown source that alleviates my choice
And might help to cull the havoc that I wreak.
A cacophony of logic, an explosion of thought
Amidst this curiously chilly night of summer;
If I'm content with lonely and all that I've got,
Then I've no desire to want anything from her.
Emotions ignite my mind and realizations incite
My tongue to speak and mouth to open wide.
It's an obvious lesson that I learn when I write:
My life is the follower and my mind is the guide.
I fear not the morning with its new decisions,
Since it's merely my life's chance at revisions.