hold me,
never let me sink.

hold me,
don't let me drift.

hold me,
I'm drowning.

hold me,
I'm slowly fading in surreality.

hold me,
I just need someone to assure me.

hold me,
I'm forgetting more and more of my existence.

I can't describe what it was like,
Falling in love with you was 'yike';
Getting to know you was fun,
Your face glimmering under the sun.

I can't describe how I feel,
But it makes me feel like an eel;
It makes me feel so sad,
But some part of me feels bad.

I can't describe what I think,
It makes me feel like a *****;
I don't know how that made sense,
But it made me feel so dense.

I can't describe what I see,
It makes me go like 'wee';
I wish I knew what to say,
It would keep my thoughts at bay.

I don't know where this poem's going,
It makes me want to smash my head like 'boing';
I had fun rhyming all these,
It made me feel at ease.

I hope this made you smile,
For it made me feel less vile.

~

Choices



Shadows move on sheet rock barriers
framed in time of late
Spaces filled with unknown visions
dance about with feet of clay
Gowns of nightmare carpetbaggers
thunder on the floor
Drippings in a mist of nervous breath
blanket my safe haven
and the sounds scream
in voices of past mishaps
Lost in lonely corridors,
wailing on aching skylights
permitting barely a moon glow psalm
to echo of their meaning
in songs from a distance,
of pleading skeletal desire

“I fear for I have no choice”

Doorways yawn in weary ovations
Slanted photos dot the landscape
Windows prove little relief from the cold
as heat pierces my cavities
Gaping wounds of frail memories
clutch at my last ounce,
measuring the words I am reading
Taking a breath, sweet, stagnant
Clawing for an exit only to find
it has stood before me all along
Baby steps, I have been told
Find that trust, slowly…make sure,
reach out for the hand
offered on a dreamscape message

“I fear for I have no choice?”

Eyes, so tired, weeping pools
out of focus since that day, open
(As if sunflowers float on silken wings
and glorious becomes an understood word)
slowly and tentatively,
blinking sorrow’s pathway free
to lead me to you
The imprint of that butterfly
marks my palm in red lines of love,
mapping my skin with a long awaited
smile, dry lips curve as I take your hand
trusting, for the very first time
realizing the feeling
which hath finally…set me free

“I no longer fear, for I have a choice”

You're a work of art,
You're a stream of moving liquid,
You're a light flickering in the dark,
You're a thunderstorm growling in the rain.

You're a painted canvas,
You're a gleaming neon signboard,
You're a puff of smoke filling her lungs,
You're a teardrop flooding her cheek on a cold night.

You're a verse from her poetry,
You're a definition to all her favorite lyrics,
You're a human version of her lucky sweater,
You're a permanent piece that lives in her.

You're a piece of night sky,
You're a reminder of everything she wanted,
You're a pillar of strength keeping her intact,
You're a perfect definition of all she wants and needs.

You're a gift of God,
You're a lump that fills her throat,
You're a smile that curves when she looks into your eyes,
You're a thread she's holding on to.

You,
You fill her with hope.
You,
You turn her dreams into reality.
You,
*You are love.

She will lose herself in a book
and find herself in poetry

She thinks that religion is a sacrilege
and that long showers are sacred

She makes love when she's tired
and never tires of making love

She is irreverent in her humor
and pious in her gravity

She is diligent in completing her work
and ambitious of her quest for leisure

She is the personification of romanticism
and the embodiment of compassion

She exists harmoniously in my mind

i think i started five poems just now
trying to find the right words
some days they flow with ease
some days they sound
strained
the backspace button shows
the most wear on my keyboard;
i wish there was a
backspace
for life...
i stared at the screen too long
and it went black
tired of waiting for me to
think of some clever combination of words;
i never set a screensaver
there's something weird about those.
i read a poem the other day
by a poet telling us
what it takes to be
a poet
but i think anyone can be
whatever they want;
who are we to judge
when we are always writing
about those who
judge us?
our species is endangered
in this age of mindlessness
we are the catalyst
for creativity
the embers of the fire
started by the great minds
of ancient times...
will we let it die completely
or will we succeed
at rekindling its
greatness?