Your skin is the walls and
Your voice builds halls
That never end.

You remember the days when there were ways
Around. People around.
You remember the things, those important things,
All piled on top of each other.

You can’t smell the garden you planted.
You can’t read the book you’re writing.
You can’t hear your laughter, after.

The dust fell like a blanket
And you were too scared to move.
One crack, and you’ll never go
Back. Never leave as you watch the
Leaves dancing.
As you watch them all running.

Your room is the garbage can
Of your life.
But at least it’s not empty.

The green shades of spring,
Have not intimidated
The purple maple.

Reading my book against a stained-glass window.
I see you as you go
I see you with rose colored vision.
Divinely tinted
Red, pink, then blue
As you go out of view.
Back to my book- black print

Preamble: Compare and Contrast

compare and contrast,
the teacher asks us to
do this,
on a mid-term
exam and I am
                                  struck-up by a resonance combo, a commandment
                                  compare and contrast, somewhere an ineffable has
                                  ordered me to love poetry, in all/only honesty,
                                  in that uncertain way. without surcease.
                                    

                 ­                    functional verbs that a button pushed,
                                            a non-rhyme that sang out somehow
                                                “this is the writing life, this way, yours.”
                                    live and last.
  
with that single directive,
compare and contrast.
without surcease,
                   and your poem then,        has no The End.

I saw lies
Behind your smile
And truth
Behind your eyes
The ones that sparkled
Now lost their light
And a wry heart
Withered under the weight.

I live in two worlds,

one in my head, a fantasy,
a world created by my words,
a get-away, an escape from reality,

another, the authentic actuality,
a stark contrast to my verses,
in disparity with the picture in my head,

of how it's supposed to be

Looking up
With a heavy head
Thoughts wandering
Nowhere to settle.
The sun sets
The  crowded beaches
The snow covered mountains
Everything inspirational
Yet nothing to inspire.

The exhaustion
The frustration
Has dimmed the lights.
The eye seeks darkness
Even in the brightest of nights.

The dry eyes
The fake smiles
The wandering heads
Are yet to find themselves
In the lost crowd.
The rollercoaster
Inside the heart
Is yet to feel
All the emotions.

The heavy head
The wandering thoughts
The inspiration
The lights and the darkness
All's out there yet
Nowhere to go
Nowhere to be found.