The ocean is always deeper than what we can see. Maybe to hold a place for sorrows. No matter, bind me. Hold me down with a stone carved with the words to a funeral song. Sink me into the water until my skin resembles it — a deep, dark place for sorrows. A deep, dark place for a grave.

The ocean is always deeper than what naked eyes can see.

A dull, exhausted flame

deep beneath my skin,

hiding within a sheltered

part of my heart

that clings desperately

with its embrace-

begging not to be extinguished.

The flame flickers,

pulsing with the beat of my heart,

waiting, urging to blaze.

Ignited only from this lost part

of my soul

finding its way back home again.

The lost part of me wanders

in the desert void of distractions,

sails through the endless sea

of demanding expectations.

It beckons it's siren call.

But the pleas are muffled by

the mountains of piled sand,

swallowed up by the crashing of

the tidal waves.

I am the conduit
When feelings hit, they strike deep
Like lightning, unfathomable strength More fleeting than the jaded moments
It comes to fade like shallow breaths
But the scars remain
Reminding me of a forever, lost

Misspelled shadows
A creeping psalm of hope
I am the line crossed
I am the light lost
I am the entity that can't be found
Scorned by solemn apathy
I become the withered and unbound

Ransom unjust fate
Just to feel okay by yourself
You are the silence I seek
Courageous and unfettered by longing
My love seethes in empty corridors
Wandering past each frame of mind
Doorways leading to crippled lines

Threads unjust, no beginning or end
This woven featurette is yours to weep
Watch me dance hollowly on screen
Stepping over each piece of glass
Like the ghostly waltz of yesteryear
Find me there, underneath the crown of hate

I am the conduit
I am the fateless misery you strive to hate
Strike me down, fell my cause
Bring me to my knees
Misery seems to be my favorite mistake
The taste of your lips a listless waste

A wise woman once told me
Anger is no trustworthy emotion for a poet.
Thus has my hot heart's spring gone dry:
Pain and fury sapped it,
Soft tissue stripped and bitten from without
And within, leaving only smoldering bones,
Teeth dulled and nails blunted;
Calcified soles to carry me
Through desert darkness,
Where at last brittle, broken
They fail. No more strength
In clenched fists,
Nothing
But hope in a desert of light,
To join there those equal to anger,
No longer its slave.

How ill-prepared
Are we
For the
Inevitability of
The end