I squeezed your hand,
Once to show I was pleasantly surprised,
After all it's been how long since I've felt this feeling?

I squeezed it twice,
To let you know I love you with a passion I've never known before,
But I don't think you picked up on it.

There is no hope,
There is no desperation,
Life flows like water,
Neither bad nor good.
If this is true,
Why can I feel?

There's a beauty in the ocean,
Like nothing else.
A deep feeling,
An echoing dark.
There's a feeling of foundation,
Like the marble columns of old.
A strength within the storm,
An arm refusing to strike back.

Abbott J Hardison
             e
             e
             z
I think I disappoint my family,
Every time I Be abbreviating my middle name.
                       u
                       t
At least I'm working to get my name known,
So when I sign 'J.' people will wonder what it is.

Go to where
poetry is aroused
that's where misery
drinks with company
and over-thinking
smokes with assumptions

That's where the heart
over-fills drinks
to the brim
with
"is this right?"

and wets papers
with poetry
that questions
its creator

I'm in the ocean,
I'm in the land.
For I reside in the feeble mind of man,
And all it takes for me to spread,
Is the fingers curling in a man's hand.
Who am I?

The reason for existence, I don’t know,
For life I am already tired.
From so much disdain to find,
In a gaze, the judging.

I move forward, between encounters
And life's disconnections,
Waiting for someone,
Who, in solidarity, understands me,
Without judgment, but with joy,
For the simple feeling of another.

The feeling is uncertain, fickle,
Reason, many times, certain
Until the opposite becomes clear,
Thus, we know little,
Except what is likely.
And we move forward, waiting,
To discover the improbable,
In the sighs and existences of others.