Hark, my aching heart.
'Tis the last of its kind who beats fervently
Pounding at seams too rich and too thick
To expand to the beat of my longing
Stitched tight are the lines that divide,
You from me-
Indefinitely.

Being bored,
meaning you either aren't doing anything,
have to wait
or did your task for too long.

I am waiting,
but aren't we all in life?
One person may be waiting for the bus,
the other for a cure.
Next one may wait for their first kiss,
first love and last?

Others wait their entire life for happiness
and die in regret.
Even though they have happiness right introns of their eyes,
they are blind.
Why you may ask?

They wait for bigger and bigger opportunities
and they never come.
They fight, they loose, they fail
Fail to see what is really important and right infant of them.

That they have food to eat, healthy children.
The sun blesses every morning each person
And what do they do? They ignore

We are all waiting in life for something,
but make that something worthwhile.

There are things about you
I want to understand,
but just cannot,
and there are things about you
that I understand
without understanding.

You are to me
what a rain is to a dry land,
what a fragrance is to a flower,
what a moon is to a dark sky,
do they ever get bored
of your repeating appearances,
no,
in fact that one night
when the moon decides to sleep,
the sky feels so lonely, as if
it has lost its core.

And I am like that sky
I always want you,
no matter what shades or shapes you grow into,
because never once I tried too understand you,
but rather I always tried to feel you, a moment more.

He wore crooked windows
Beside morning coffee
And her spilled milk

The softest whispers of
Past ideas, and inclinations
Postulating long ignored dreams
Of long dried progenitors
Upon which we now look down

From the mouths that pour out banal well wishes
To the frozen digits, attached to architects and engineers

Most come to understand the past lies in fragments

Crucial details overlooked, time and time again
Lost amid a sea of bleak optimism
Futurism has its place, along side the winds
The ones that bring the same tired tides

I've drawn myself yet another line in the sand
The definition is as lucid as I could possibly be
Maybe a reflection of identity
It keeps shifting

Stepping forward, though unsure why
Commandeering tidal waves
Building bridges between figments in the skies
Attention drawn
To the edges of half way signs

"Onward and forward", the dead still proclaim
Long after the earth is packed
After death, so many still remain, if for the moment
Apparitions, spiritual possession of discourse
Tearing away from the pale, and digging deep into the fresh crop

You'll be gone soon enough
Into the standstill, though
The dead see it differently

Cosmic mistrust, a classic case
To free yourself from the very shackles
Blood had prepared you for, oxygen raised you for
Natural order now spurned
Floor to ceiling, ceiling to walls
Connected them seamlessly

What are you still fighting for, now?

I've been choking on the fumes of violets
Intoxicating voices, soft and sweet
I feel every ounce of it inviting
It won't be long before its everything

I don't want to be the one to bring me down
But I'm forgetting how to breath

I don't know if you're even here
But, can you hear me...

I'm walking on the gentle roses
Blinded by my own second sight
Questioning if any body knows it
Each footstep leaving not a sound

I don't want to see you cry
But I've been suffocating

And I don't know if you still hear
But if you hear me...

This was a misstep of my mind
Please, give me something real
Instead of the flowers I've tried to find
If you hear me

I know I've said too much ****
And yes, I must seem sure
But I think its come time to admit
I need something more

Can you hear me