Don't waste your days away
write bad poetry
I mean absolute garbage
and draw stick figures
with squiggly lines
and paint with your fingers
and laugh when you ****
and blame someone else
for the terrible smell
and sing and scream
whenever your driving
to wherever you may be driving to
and stay up too late
and get up tired
and nap
and sleep through church
or at church
and snore really loud
and day dream
and live dreams
and when the nightmares come
enjoy the fear and the rush
and the pouring sweat
on your forward
as you wake up screaming
but don't look out the window
because there isn't anything
out there that is more scary
than your imagination
and make a deal with the devil
and cheat him his dues
and leave a rubber corpse
on your death bed
and live another day
and out run the sun
and give a butterfly the moon
in exchange for
the hidden treasure map
painted on its wings
and hang that map in the sky
to cover the hole
where the moon used to be
and don't worry
no one will notice
because they look exactly the same
and ask the stars politely
not to tell anyone
and don't forget to say please
and thank you
for stars never ignore a request
for a favor that is asked
with a manner of grace and kindness
and build sandcastles
to close to the shoreline
and watch the waves
wash the towers and walls away
and listen to the mist giggle
at the mischief it has done
and fold a boat
out of the song
no one else can hear
and give your hopes and prayers
to the wind
and sail away
and find yourself
and lose yourself
and give time and love
your full attention
and no matter
how bad things may ever get
or how good things may ever be
I will always be a fool
and a dreamer
and a magic bean believer
and I'll write you bad poetry
really bad
absolute garbage
whenever you need
because I can't think
of any better way
to waste my days away

When we sat at our desks
heads hung low over papers
and computers, furiously
pouring out our wildest dreams
and deepest feelings into words.
For others to read
For the universe to fulfill.
We were poets

                             But when we stood up
                      and joined our loved ones
                      in daily conversations and
                          laughter, at dinners and.  
                          picnics and concerts
                    and enjoyed the adventures
                   of shared experiences
            and similarities and differences,
                      We became the poetry.

When we left the safe cocoon of
solitude to meet people and
make friends and fall in love
with souls with eyes we'd
never forget and bodies
we never knew we craved.
Pieces of us we didn't know
were missing but now couldn't
live without. We became poetry.

When we shakily dotted that final "I"
with wrinkled hands and laboured
up the stairs to lie down next
to our soul mates. Heads filled
with experiences and memories
of adventures, weddings, birthdays
lessons learnt and loved ones lost
passions fulfilled and legacies built

When we laid down in the arms
of our loves and watched the moments
play in our eyes one last time
and waited for the show to stop
and for the curtains to close
To take the final bow and close
our eyes for the last time
while our breaths
left our bodies and our loves wept
while looking down at the shell of what
we used to be.
Holding it in their arms.
There in that moment, my friend
We became the poetry.