I used to write poetry,
quite prettily,
With flow and effervescent soul
Firm of form and splashed with
The color of a thousand heartbeats
Of dreams and tears and please-accept-me's,
Humble offers of a crumbling spirit
And you could hear it in my words
If you cared to put your ear to my shell,
The ocean in my broken heart churning
Threatening to swallow me whole.
I used to write poetry,
But times have changed,
seen me turn orange and
fall from my branch.
Dry and brittle on the forest floor
I feed the worms.
I feed the roots.
Summer is gone, and winter bears down.
I used to write poetry,
Now I chisel away pieces of
My stony disposition
And fantasize of the warmth
That once kept my heart aflame.

Circular
Cyclical
Unending
Spherical
.......Cycles.
Rinse. Lather. Repeat. Rinse. Lather. Repeat. Rinse. Lather-let's NOT repeat....The cycle goes on, unless we defeat
warped, twisted, distorted mindsets-
lest we forget
that our weapons of warfare are to demolish strongholds...
mindsets.
We can't be walking around blinded and undecided-
not in THIS spiritual climate.
No more Rinse. Lather. Repeat.
We must decrease and let Christ increase...
that's the only way that we can defeat
The Cycle.
~K!Co!

Our ancestors' DNA
altered our own

I bet
My ancestors
were runners

Maybe they
ran from lions
ran from fire,
ran from fear

Sometimes
I have the urge to run
I would be sitting in class
And it would suddenly hit


My fears are indescribable,
Unspecified

I run
from conformity
from reality
I run towards habit,
I run back home

Reverting
to my old ways

Falling
in the same hole,
black hole

I run
because I don't know
how else
to silence my brain

It yells so loudly sometimes
Sends impulses
Stronger than lightening
And my muscles shiver

I can't stand still
whilst self destructing

I need to know
That I've tried

I have tried
To fix myself
In the only ways
I know would work

Even if they are
The same ways
That ruin me

The clouds paint the blue canvas white
No matter where you are it’s easy to see
That it’s picture perfect and just right
The reflection shines on the blue sea.
The sun paints the blue canvas orange
No matter what you are it’s a lovely view
The hours go on and the clouds rearrange
The flora sprouts life anew.
The stars paint the blue canvas black
No matter who you are you need to rest
For tomorrow when the blue canvas comes back
And shines on the beautiful forest.

If not to touch the earth
and know your sun kissed skin,
if not to chase your shadow
through every place you've been.

If not to stand on mountains,
howling from the peaks,
if not to lie in fields
as melodic whispers weep.

If not to dance in forests
where tangled roots take hold,
if not to bathe in oceans
while eternities unfold.

If not to touch the earth,
upon me you would shine
and for that fleeting moment
I could call you mine.

I once was bald a long time ago
Those days were gone for so long though
I had grown my hair all summer long
It is strong
As it is beautiful.

I feel a chill down my spine
Wandering down the endless path
Till it reaches
My roots
The feet that touch the ground
Below
me

the ground
Where pieces of my hair
lie
My long beautiful hair is
  falling
    falling    
    ...
      falling out.

Every strand drops to
the ground

It won't
Stop
Dro
pp
ing
  Falling
Losing



I'm bald
I'm freezing


Warm Me

Black.
Humble.
Momento Mori.

Remember, we are all but leaves on the tree of life.
And come our season, we too...
Will Fall.

I've got this idea
Not much more than a feeling, really

There's a kid, sunken into a dark green couch
It's old.
It's been reupholstered more times than anyone cares to remember
But its comfortable, so no one cares
He's hardly moving
Its hard to see what hes thinking, his expression a blank slate
His face is glowing with the rays of the sun, soaking in through a picture window
It paints the wood paneled den with hues of burning orange

The heat kicks in, and warm air creeps out from beneath the floor and swirls above the **** carpet, faded and worn

He  just sits there, staring out the window

Outside, the grass has lost its color and now lays like a blanket over the frozen ground
All along the bases of leafless oak trees and amid their skeletal branches, squirrels roam freely, filling the cooling air with soft chatter

Birds as well, perched amid the darkened branches
Standing, watching the world turn

The shadows create a perfect contrast, growing as the sun sets
Dark fingers that reach out to pull the world into the quiet arms of encroaching night

The wildlife seems unconcerned as they wander aimlessly, sating any curiosity that arises without a care

He wants to join them
He wants to be just as free
But the room is warm
And the couch is soft
So he sits
And watches the world turn