i need to find some strength
to get through today
cause the more that i wait
i might make a mistake

cause everything happens for a reason
and flowers never bloom out of season
it never goes according to plan
with my feet still stuck in the sand

it's all just target practice
i miss and miss till i got it
i never really aimed correctly
but once in awhile i get lucky

most of the time i'm tired
of all these shots i've fired
and i don't have what's required
and the date has now expired

Alone at last
Convince myself it’s all I’ve ever wanted so that time will more easily pass

Haven’t thought for weeks
My face remains dry
Forgot what it was like to not drown every night

Then there’s the light,
Exposing reality and reawakening my fright

Just want to escape
Run away and be free forever more

Want to be alone forever,
Isolated from all
Their blades won’t pierce my skin
Nor will they rip apart my heart, I’ll spend my life waiting for his sacred call

Wish it would come soon
Life has become a burden, my shoulders can no longer ensue
Show me another way
Guide me away from where I lie broke, helpless, and empty, screaming on the floor

I know your plan is greater
Please help me to see
That you truly want the best for me and this is all apart of your vision, guide me to be free

the steam of the shower holds your face
like a pillow.

pushing out the smog, clutter in your head
billowing around you and thawing out
the raw thoughts that you try to freeze over.

the endless patter of hot rain that
cleanses, but also
hurts
in that it's one of the only
honest sounds you'll ever hear
(outside of love.)

the moment you step out into the humid, mediated
atmosphere of a cooling room
the water dripping off your arms,
your hair,
your face,
making you anew.

but as everyone does, you wipe the mirror clear
to see your face, and know that despite life,
it's still you.

it changes you, yet proves your you-ness more than anything else.

I sit beneath the willow
As all my thoughts run free
Skipping through the meadow
Of true tranquility

I sit beneath the willow
As winds begin to blow
I feel the stumble of my thoughts
Into the valley's low

I sit beneath the willow
As rains begin to pour
I hear the gurgle of my thoughts
Till thoughts I think no more

A cloudy sky is all I see
A mind of dull torpidity
I sit beneath the willow
I sit beneath the willow

These feral thoughts lay scattered
And lay waste to an endangered mind
It seems thorns only mattered
When they were blooming and I was blind

As I’ve seen, dreams are a virtue
While reality is a cross-
The former nails the good and true
While the latter is a mere loss

These virtuous thorns plague me
When I go lay the cross to rest
While these thorns pillage kindly
And seek a curse to heal the blessed

If dreams are ash, then a soul is fire
Onward still! We will burn before the dark
As thoughts are a haze and minds are liars
Yet, burning thorns always carry a spark.

Sitting here, on the floor of my room
Alone, as the night closes in all around
Thoughts often stray to the darkest places
As if one with the shadows all around

I fear, though what I fear, I also fear to say
To name that dread thing which lingers just
Beyond the borders of my sight in odd hours
When perhaps I ought to let sleep guard me

The hours keep on creeping along, like drops
Of a cosmic singing burst out across time
No hour meant for life, or death to be alone in
No better rhyme than this to put to poem then

As my breath is the one, prana,
And the life's pulse, pala,
Reaching angelic source, Sura,
So is this mind, manas,
A flowering unfoldment,
Unendingly reaching
The Eye that would it see,
Unbeckoning unto Thee.

As well, this Bodhi, a temple,
Of the four and fifth, nur,
So entered by Atma,
A Ray of Thy Sun, thus being
Winged and as such with wind,
Flying only in Dharma's dance,
Is returning to, Brahma, You.
There yet, by Thy Grace, go i.

bought a second book to write between the pages.

Sometimes I make corrections
On words that are only wrong to me
Sometimes I try to write the wrongs
That no one else can see.

Sometimes I tear the pages out
And scatter them in the fire
I rewrite those words over again
Late at night untill I tire.

Sometimes my dust cover slips away,
And my hardback seen beneath.
With brused wet edges torn away,
Like a wolf that shows its teeth.

I do not want the world to see
scribbles, drawn in many stages
So I bought myself a second book.
To write between the pages.