I lay here, paralyzed,
under the vibrant evening sky.
Clouds float on by,
this, I've never seen.

Such beauty before me,
I've only heard of in stories.
It's mesmerizing to see,
almost unbelievable.

What's inconceivable to me,
is that we're the only ones here.
There must be more out there,
in each tear in the space time continuum.

Birds fly overhead,
singing songs to the dead.
Some words are better unsaid,
her bed will be empty tonight.

Night slowly approaches,
as darkness encroaches the light,
the sunsets on another day.
Paralyzed, I close my eyes,
as I lay outside my shattered car,
only a few feet away.

Hand shaky, balancing the easel
Paint brush tight within grip
I've never seen a rainbow
Come and go so quick

It seems as if the rain clouds
Parted only for a moment today
Grey desolates,
but fear not, the colours will make their way

Shoes paint the streets with difference
Among all crowds, the brush flicks
But drop your tools & raise your arms to the sky
For you must paint the wind with your fingertips.

Silence has opened it's mouth,
I unfold before it,
Strands come undone,
The story of a man gets swallowed,
The strength of my youth falls with the wind,
A veil takes the stars from me

I
    am
           unbearable.
You're
           un-
                 shutupable.
That's
           un-
                 believeable.
You're throwing
                             "You're
                                           un-
                                                  reliable".
­Sorry that it happened to you dear.
We shouldn't have gone this way
"We weren't together" you say.
Yeah, I'd comfort myself
                                           like this
                                                          from where you stay.
"Sorry for betrayal
                                 if that's what you wanna hear"
"Fine,
              we both know
                                         you'll pay"

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

He called and told
me, "I'm so glad you
answered the phone."
and it was nice to
know that there
was someone out
there who was
happy to hear my
voice.

A descending on parole
From the prison of misery
To the tragedy of creativity

If this life is false
then what is truly real
all these painful emotions
or this love that I feel
if we're not truly writers
then can we find our voice
if this life we know
it was never really our choice
and if what we know
is all just lies
then why do we
cover our eyes
if we're not dreaming
then we're not living
and then who am I
to tell you
another lie...