you touched my cheek
as the sun melted into its grave
and I swear the clouds wept,
bleeding copper and violet

your voice—
a frayed lullaby
threading through
my breaking

the world
slowed to an ache
and in that hush,
even the wind knelt

you smiled
like it wouldn’t be the last
but I saw the sky
forget how to breathe.

{ A convergence of Aldous Huxley and Robert Heinlein,
      where waiting for Godot was traditionally done.}

Transmissive functionality fixed rate
to find words for any mindstate

words to physiologize and reify a wish

to be touched back, felt reaching
through the laminated plane flat re-
ality of thought,

through the space betwixt
us, me and you, in the meandering stream
feeling it's way toward the storied yesterdays,

minding many material reasons, whys for how,
whens for now,
then for earlier or later, waiting is time…

at terminal velocity.
Waiting is.
========
Grok is a technical term, you know.
Time is a technical term, too.

When all things worked together, once,
then fell apart
to form mere fanciful guessings,
informative immaterial instructions
for users, musing using local particle facts.

at terminal velocity eventually, we fall
with the evening smoothing
into airless, fretless

soothing irrelevance,

empty states without perspective ups or downs.

Post haste waste reclamation, I'd say it all again, if it gets to here.

I have some penultimate words to say,
Some final thoughts to escape my brain,
So, for a final time,
I’ll give you a piece of my mind.

Sometimes the subtleties pass us by,
The simple things of daily life,
While we complain about the mundane,
We forget the blessings right in front of our eyes.
From the birds who sing in the trees,
To the blooming flowers, pollinated by the bees.
All of these,
Help us see how pretty life can be.

I’ve learned some lessons over this year,
Those lessons I’ll take to heart,
Like sometimes “friends” leave you behind,
And it’s okay to hurt, but not to break apart.
Most people follow the crowd,
And that’s fine with me,
I’ll follow my own path,
To be renowned.

I firmly believe that each life is a story,
One worth reading,
Good, bad, or ugly,
There’s a lesson to be learned,
And you can think critically,
As the pages are turned.
After all, no one wants to be forgotten,
Or perhaps, some do,
I find that a tragic fate,
True doom.

It’s time again,
To quote a song by Alec Benjamin,
This one being my favorite,
Titled “I’m Not A Cynic.”
“I’m not a cynic, but today’s just not my day,
I’ve tried to spin it about a thousand different ways,
But from every angle, oh, the outcome is the same,
I swear that I’m not a cynic; my glass just has no water in it today.”
This one holds dear to me,
Because sometimes my sky is gray,
That doesn’t mean I’m a downer,
It just depends on the day.
I know my mood is mine to control,
But faking is a poison.
It’s okay to let the emotions flow,
I find it a positive notion.

This year has been a journey,
Far more challenging than the last,
I started off in the clouds,
Now I’m stranded in the past.
Friends have moved on,
Or perhaps, I pushed them away.
Who knows who I’ll be,
Junior year, on the first day?
I know life is a bunch of doors,
But a problem arises,
If you’re not willing,
To take a step.
However, if everyone stood still,
Life would be rather boring,
Wouldn’t it?
So I’ll take a step onto the water,
Hoping I don’t fall through,
Praying I won’t fall through.
Then I’ll take another,
Perhaps, it’ll be easier,
Than the first.
Before I know it, I’ll be walking,
Then running, to sprinting,
Clinging desperately,
To anything that I can take with me.
I clasp my hands on the doorknob,
And open it with haste,
And step through with a smile,
Not regretting a thing.
Though bittersweet nostalgia,
Might try its best to blind,
I’ll make better memories,
To shield my watery eyes.
Years down the road,
Wherever I may be,
Hopefully I’d found,
Some sense of security.
I’ll look back with pride,
At my sixteen-year-old self,
And applaud my bravery,
To take the first step.

Near the end of April,
And sophomore year is nearly down the drain,
I think overall,
I’m in a better place.
Ups and downs littered the road,
But I swerved and curved,
And through these poems,
I lightened the load.
Another thing ends tonight,
Sitting here as I write,
The conclusion to the final,
The final piece of my mind.

Wherever the road may lead next,
No matter how far or how scary,
I’ll follow it and reflect,
And make it to my ending.

Together we stand around the fire,
the warmth from the flames fuels my anger...

and that's okay,
it's cathartic.

I feed the flames to watch them grow and rise high above me.
I can feel the warmth devour my skin...

and it's okay,
it's cathartic.

and as the fire flickers and wanders,
I begin to wonder...

if all these memories really must go?
maybe I'll set them ablaze until only ash remains...

but how would He feel?

but I begin to wonder as the fire flickers and wanders...

if all this love really must go...
maybe I'll let my shattered heart melt...

but how would He feel?

and as the fire flickers and wanders,
I begin to wonder how this empty and adverse lover must burn...

as the flames flicker and glow,
inviting and enticing...

He would say no...

so into the fire I go.

as I feel the warmth on my skin,
I can begin to smile...

as I burn alone, leaving my memories and my heart break behind...

the flames begin to die, and my life is reduced to ashes...

it is cathartic.

but not for Him.