As tears pour out relentlessly,
a cold ember of desperation
fills my aching lungs,
desperate for a fraction of warmth
that the once lit flame provided.

The water pulls me in deeper,
scattering the pathetic remnants
of the depths of devotion,
that ache for you.

And as sunken eyes
akin to the bequeathed stars above,
call out your name through the
torments veiled by moonlit waters,

The silent sea cradles
what now are just chronicles,
of my drowning woe.

Playing with rocks,
Digging in socks,
Playing with spades in the sand.

The metal is hot
When the fire green fox
Steps on and burns up your hand.
There’s a hole in your chest.
Did you do your best?
There’s no one to fill in your grave.

Your now lonely friend
Will die in the end;
The one friend that you couldn’t save
Will be found at the end of his cave.

love to see your smile but only when it’s coated by my love
hate to see you violent but my love will calm the rough
jokes that make you giggle until you forgot how grave it was
to be a passing ship in a sea of storms
this was happenstance, yet we cannot ignore
the embers that burn, the tables we turn
the shells we found on our own

Aircraft blazin' fuel
Aboon, "done-with's" grave floods sight,
A calm midnight rain,








The mind racing. Why

Must the nurtured be blind eye
Wilie McTell? Pain.

The mind racing, on
A smile,
Lonesome star in opaque
Darkness, Freedom

From label. Freedom
From responsibility.
Freedom from action,
                                      Is this noble,
                         Or a jester's play in chess?

Oh, must I turn my fist to face aloft,
Straighten my clenched fingers, present you
Burning embers of admiration, that for so long
Have been stitched into my palm,
Gifted from a passive voyager afar,
Weary, to announce affection,
For a grasp can only
                         Last as long as
                                              Two hands want to clasp.

                                                         ­                      What is on your mind?







                                                Airc­raft blazin' fuel
                                                Aboon, "done-with's" grave floods sight,
                                                A calm midnight rain.

                                               A chance to breathe.

                                               Be my Sheppard.
                                               Lead
                                               Me to pastures of serenity
                                               To graze in, until my eternal slumber.
                         That's where I want to be.

The surface remains intact.
The heart remains intact.
Each culminating inch of frame and cell,
Vowed upon and burnt through to the cinder,
Is now frozen, ashen mass.
Yet, the mere image is once again—
It is truly built upon—
And, even with no ember, remains intact.

A bandage worn on the left eye
A flock on birds travel back the sky
The weather comes but never nigh
Unto such a place unknown

He would leave if he were able
Past the stone grave and table
From this land grey and sable
But he fears that he may forget

For none now left do remember
The calm and cool of September
Those memories are scare an ember
Within even his own mind

The sun now there grows ever dim
It’s royal colors stretched and slim
Though none remain who remember him
He will himself recall

His home before the fall