How could you ever understand
The pain that you inflicted upon me
The dreams you left me with
The rerunning of shared moments

You walked away with a smile
While I stayed in the same place, empty
Stayed in the same feelings, hopes
Stuck in place, wondering why

You laughed, you soared, you ran
While I am paralyzed, trapped, clipped
Weighed down by the memories and emotions
You gave it back to me when you were done

You made new friends, new memories
I withdrew from mine, from myself
I hit replay every hour, every day
Holding what was left in vain

You looked forward, head held high
Mine dropped low, looking back
I called you my everything
You called me a steppingstone

How could you ever understand
When you can't even empathize
How could I ever understand
When I can't even let go

I write this poem
For three to see
for two to like  
and the one who will lie awake is me

I work and toil and pick my brain
for the right words to fall to the page
for only you to see
my pretty words and not my tear stained face
behind the screen

My works Ive raised up from sprouted seeds
Now live on digital pages,
srcolled past, theyll be.

My writing was meant to live on beautiful pages
That will bring the love of wrinting to new ages
of children and dreamers, soñadores ,
with stories to tell

But for now,
three people will see them
two people will like them
and I am the one lying awake at night
full of unrealized dreams.

Here on this ledge
where many come to sit
in solitude, or with company
they leave behind pieces of their grief,
fragments of their love, seeds of their hope
stopping to take a breath
swallowing their words
for a minute of silence

and every time, I plant these things
with the little dandelions,
that make you sneeze
so there's something to blame
for the red eyes

because nothing blooms here
without carrying
someone's story
for you to read, for you to feel.

When a mountain
   I dare not climb
the ropes and tackles  
  are in abundance

In great shape
  my body and mind
Not a weak link
in the expedition

But when a mountain
  I dare to climb
the ropes and tackles
  are often misplaced

Out of shape
  my body and mind
Weakness as a
  spell does bind

Hopes and dreams
  of tireless youth can
be all but forgotten
  in the spiritually aged

Strength   the glittering
  cloak of youth can
fade in weakening
  jaded resolve

But in me common
  traits dissolve
The bucking steed
  will never be tamed

Pigeon-holed the
  misfortune of other
souls   has not been
  allowed by my resolve

But this determination
  is not without cost
The foothills of youth
  are far removed

by erosion caused by
  unstable belief systems
washed away into
  the Sea of Ambiguity

A distant mountain
  I often see
(distance   the deceiver
  of proportion)

Challenged at the foot
  of the formidable sight
halfway climbing
  only to slip and fall

Does this mountain
  need to be climbed
Do youthful dreams
  need to be fulfilled

When these dreams
  are all you ever had
you wake up falling
  or climbing higher

Driven by dreams
  and gifts and talents
that rage like a river
  in the driest desert

calling home what
  must come home
holding on to what
  must be fulfilled

Obstacles that have
  become landmarks
seem to fade
   into obscurity

like threats that
  always remain empty
laughing at what
  used to bring tears

I remain standing
  through all these trials
not unscathed
  and a bit weather beaten

halfway up another
  formidable mountain
making up for lost time
  from a major fall.

When a mountain
   I dare not climb
the ropes and tackles  
  are in abundance

In great shape
  my body and mind
Not a weak link
  in the expedition

But when a mountain
  I dare to climb
the ropes and tackles
  are often misplaced

Out of shape
  my body and mind
Weakness as a
  spell does bind

Hopes and dreams
  of tireless youth can
be all but forgotten
  in the spiritually aged

Strength   the glittering
  cloak of youth can
fade in weakening
  jaded resolve

But in me common
  traits dissolve
The bucking steed
  will never be tamed

Pigeon-holed the
  misfortune of other
souls   has not been
  allowed by my resolve

But this determination
  is not without cost
The foothills of youth
  are far removed

by erosion caused by
  unstable belief systems
washed away into
  the Sea of Ambiguity

A distant mountain
  I often see
(distance   the deceiver
  of proportion)

Challenged at the foot
  of the formidable sight
halfway climbing
  only to slip and fall

Does this mountain
  need to be climbed
Do youthful dreams
  need to be fulfilled

When these dreams
  are all you ever had
you wake up falling
  or climbing higher

Driven by dreams
  and gifts and talents
that rage like a river
  in the driest desert

calling home what
  must come home
holding on to what
  must be fulfilled

Obstacles that have
  become landmarks
seem to fade
   into obscurity

like threats that
  always remain empty
laughing at what
  used to bring tears

I remain standing
  through all these trials
not unscathed
  and a bit weather beaten

halfway up another
  formidable mountain
making up for lost time
  from a major fall.

One day
I will stop looking at your photos
I can finally delete them
Forget about them forever

One day
I will stop looking at places
I can stop romanticizing them
Stop thinking about dates

One day
I will block your contacts
Your socials, your emails, your texts
So I can stop checking everyday

One day
I will smile again
Laugh with friends and family
No need to fake it anymore

One day
I will throw away your things
Toss away the gifts, the letters
Clearing up my home

One day
I will meet someone new
Who will love me, accept me
Better than you could ever have

One day
I will stop loving you
I can finally let you go
So it can stop hurting

One day
Someday
Just
Not today

A space-age fortress of glitzy build
stands empty. It had once been filled
with shining futures of tinsel, milled
of bronze for a time that all would thrill.

How empty the future past now seems
behind the glass of wasted dreams:
Once polished steel now dimly gleams
and old high tech lies there unredeemed.

Its giant clock now standing still,
the hands unmoving, like hopes that will
remain as frozen in amber that’s filled
with flies of dreams: placebo pills.

We knit idyllic hopeful schemes
and fashion them as garments made from dreams

It is not somewhere over the rainbow
beyond Mother's breath or
in the devices of ancient
or modern hands bereft

we touch it in our pathos
and empathy from
time to time
through a shallow fading
gravel bed
filtering a bitter water table perhaps

whilst the tender leaf of spring feels it
in the autumn of unconditional
acceptance of the inevitable
morning frost
cold relentless rains
and colourful leaves
falling to their death
in beauty

so far removed from our bipedal posturing
and upright positioning at the computer
desk knowing there is no mystery here
no wild cry in the night
only electronic and organic
bleeps and drones and

aw! there… I heard it again

a lost chord
a missing link
that the wild
creatures understand
of what we sometimes feel nearer in our shared limbic
brain seldom penetrated through
our domineering eyes planted firmly in front
of the gray dross from an eternal fire

we spend our given time on
this planet trying to douse when the rest
of creation knows the need for its
purification and leaps willingly into its
all-consuming heart as we
live in fear of the unknown
and of fear itself

keeping us estranged from the cosmic mysterium which provokes us to awaken
to the wondrous eternal
which will
alter our deluded consciousness
to see what has been seen through the
unknown eons to help us take to the fire

we only catch a whiff of in the twilight
of our hopes and selfless dreams
so we will rise through the
dry brown leaves of our once tender
green vision of an ever-changing universe
which whispers louder and louder in our darkness
until we cease our chatter and
learn to listen to the serene silence
of an eternal vibration heightening

morphing less organic much more
ethereal spiritual crawling further and further
from the pulse of the earth
as we shed thickened skin which
once replaced thin soft unprotected flesh
needing protection from extraneous
sources to cover what should have been

eternally naked bare to the elements
not limited to a frail carcass which
will ultimately be left behind as we
transform into our individual eternal temples to
join in worship with the rest of creation
to be the living offering
at the foot of the
eternal voice ineffable
not waiting to be obeyed
in mass procession but

as individual as one spark igniting
a plot of trees newly released as mystery
revealed ever so slightly in the wake of
the burial of earthbound mind steeped in
temporal ancient tradition fermented in
oak casks which were made to remain
and grow in their ****** state

as we hear distant yet distinct whispers of
the origin of our human calling above and beyond
Thoreau's distant drummer’s near silent tremors of the
most ancient rhythms now mostly echoes as we
march to
and follow our own drummer
leading the way back home

as we at times seem to distinctly
hear original rhythm's calling
as we try so earnestly to
respond like a dying sea
longing to once again sway
to the beckoning moon

often keeping in step
with our
own inner drummer who
is always trying to keep
time by asking

"are we prepared to give
in to what we will
inevitably meet in the end?"

All my little wishes feel more like curses
Shooting stars, 11:11, I haven't done birthday candles since 16 because I know for sure they're cursed
But I never stopped making those silly little wishes
I keep them close and private like an old superstition
Maybe 29 is the year I grow out of it
Since everything I want and wish is a curse
It never works out and I'm disappointed
So when you ask me what I want in life
I don't want a **** thing anymore
The things I crave are so basic and human and wishing for them and wanting them for this long feels like deprivation
It's not that I'm negative all the time
It's just that getting my hopes up is getting old, and so am I