Tempo of rhyme that has a distinct
             taste of perpetual numbness.
Where the rhythm of our moments
 counted down in  numeric breathes.

Antiquated concepts as in the fluidic
                         verses of where we are,
                                      Where we were,
                              and our culmination.
Momentary between noise and silence.

We are all constructs of visible passing,
within all are finite chimes
                     in the existence in eternity.
The chimes of passing never really ring,
        But shatter within, ending our time.

Well yet again its late at night ,
And yet again the only sound is the scratching of my pen against the paper of my lined notebook and the strange clicks emitted by my keyboard as I type this ,
Yet again I'm trying to write things that will evoke wonder and admiration,
But yet again I'm stuck in the trap of writing to feel not writing to help.
Yet again I'm trying to figure out what the universe has planned for me ,
but yet again I'm beaten down by societies code.

I thought I was writing
new forms of poetry.
I realize now it was not
at all to be.

people whom read my works
must be kind for not
boycotting my hypocrisy.

apologies

Memories,
What moments we hope to encase in amber,

Though revisited,
To feel as though we are returning home,

Though nurtured,
The times we were less alone,

Carefully we construe,
All we once ever knew,

Though the minds resin do not hold these moments,
For reconstruction distort preservation,

And memory in the mind,
is only as real as the ideal future

Simplicity
is difficult to construct
It comes naturally
or doesn't .

I stand on the edge
of the obsidian water
that has pooled together
Touching the tips
of my bare toes
of my bare bones

I am curious
to see what lies
on the other side
of the water
and my reflection
beckons me
but it is different than I

I am strong
I am the swell of the ocean
I am natural
I am a petal refusing to bow to the rain
I am exposed
I am content in my nakedness

But my reflection is inviting
as she waves to me
to come over to the other side

I am falling head first
into the pool
and I feel every hair
being ripped and laid
perfectly in place
and I feel my face
become malleable wax

And as I emerge
from the pool
on the other side
I am gasping
My skin is red and smooth
My hair is shiny and long
My face is smiling and demure

But my ocean is a puddle to be stepped in
But my petals are to be plucked at any given moment
But my nakedness is to be shamed and clothed

And as I look around
a myriad of pools
surround me
with people
who are just as horrified
as I am

because we are not who we are.