the mistakes i've made
have made me question -
the boy who wrote
his plan, as a freshman,
on piece of paper
so fragile, and brief -
it drifted away,
somewhere down the cliff.

sounded like the truth,  
but it’s not for me to say;
i better hold my tongue -
the lies are close; too grave -
to utter in vain with
but a forked tongue;
i must wipe the poison
off my plate.

there’s not enough blood
to quench the thirst -
of the beast that feeds
on the power of my lust;
i hope it finds
it’s peace, when i lay:
ashes to ashes,
dust to dust.

i better take my place:  
stand guard for the day -
at the palace of my mind,
where once, i would play;
a child of destiny -
fumbling to say the grace;
reading into his mistakes;

seemed the better way.

I cannot tell you
The remedy to your emptiness,
But I can share with you
That of a treatment of mine.
It can be hearing of progress
On any front
In the forms of beautiful ideas
And new expressions,
The world of us humans.
Of newfound love
In many kinds of companionship
Whether by person or by animal,
Or even by plant.
Of new discovery
Which betters our understanding
About the fundamentals of the universe,
Like walking in the wild;
Cherishing all that is natural.

Being a humble observer
In the courts of law
Under honorable nature.

Just by being an animal.

Years’ worth in our days swirl in our thoughts of lovely hands clasped in ours with no resolve of ever letting go.

Though the fates and sanguine melancholy conspire to break the bonds nothing can keep this sight from being enthralled

shall he, happiness dancing waltz with the sea, ever forget?

The tempest-swept shore of unyielding grace remains true to the beacon, be it in the peaks or prairies; a promise,

no matter how trampled still blossoms without the acquiescence of seasons, be they winter or spring,

until the day a tombstone is offered and a coat rack for weariness to hang,

no smiles will eternally be wasted on a frown as is with fear will be on Pennywise the clown.

We are here, and we are now until we become yesterday, our hearts unbowed

And yet, long after light has left times eyes, and last fogging breath has been drawn,

the echoes resound, love, unyielding, seared into the skin of eternity.

Strands of flesh, a promise, binding lives that once strobed like starlight, the universe chants with shared joys, sorrows, and dreams.

For every stumble, every fracture, every tear that pelted our time, we rise, reforged in the fires of devotion’s heat.

Love is no fleeting gale but the tide that shapes continents, despite the world’s cruel dissonance, harmony prevails.

And when the final curtain falls on this fleeting stage, let it be known we did not merely survive but thrived, kindled.

Into the endless waters I dive down deep
In this ocean of mercy, His face, I seek
Over mountain and valley, plain and hill
I have travelled and will travel further still
To finally find what I've searched for so long
And I will continue until I can't go on
I am lost in the sea of God's great grace
I am awash with the love that covers me
I am found in the arms of His embrace
And was lost, but now I'm found and free
To understand the mystery completely
Is to fill a small hole with the entire sea
Still, I swim on, all caught up in the flood
Still, I am covered by His most precious blood
Still, I keep walking, I keep pressing ahead
Strengthened in the life by which I am fed

In an attic at Night
I sit contemplate and listen

Sit on a windowsill
below the starry Night

Contemplate time
moments passed, beauty of past

Listen to my Heart
hear the soft pi-a-no
through Present Future and Past

I've thought deep and true for an idea,
Of a topic I can center my poem on.
There was none that surfaced,
So none shall it be.

No weight of subject to anchor us down,
No limits to hinder, no thoughts to drown.
In the vast expanse where stillness is known,
The heart of nothingness is brightly shown.

Akin to the sound of one hand clapping,
Like raging winds in the eye of the storm,
Let us contemplate on nothing,
Let us define the absence of form.

A blank canvas for something to exist,
The absence for the heart to grow fond,
It is a silence so deep, where echoes are drawn,
The root of the void where all things are gone.

Without, none, nothing, doesn't exist,
Synonyms, or a sentence wrongly punctuated.
One thing is for certain: this poem's been fun.
A topic to discuss, indeed I have... none.