I guess I'm just stuck in the old ways of thinking
that true love is still out there.
I know how I feel but I guess you had a different idea

There is a light that likes to turn on
when I lay my head down for the night,
toss and turn with my dreams now forgone
no matter the yawn, this bulb is bright

not with so much as ideas but, words
and small phrases that I rearrange
that will fly away and cause me nerve
so I spread their wings, pin and arrange

their beauty captured and put in frame
so finally I can hit that switch
and try to win at this sleeping game
I will wake up in a few, poem rich

and so repeats the boundless cycle
capturing metaphor butterflies
in this restlessness bed of idyll
sleep late, wake early, a compromise

I've been told to take a breath
And to soak in my young-ness
Without a shadow of a doubt
I thought I couldn't wait to get out of this mess
But the years keep on moving
And I just keep circling
Around the dreams I used to have
Wondering what happened to the soul
I used to carry
But I guess growing older
Means there's some things you have to bury.

This flashing prompt
Is mocking me
The villain
In my dreams
Waking me from
A restless sleep
Making me wonder
What beauty lies ahead
Or if this day
Is just a nightmare to be had

Teasing me
Tempting me
Out of my writers block
So much so
That I have to
Write about it

The little black line
Is toying with me
Making me
Type
Edit
Delete
Like a cycle
Spinning my mind
Washing my pages
Until the words
Are nothing but memory

Or committed to memory
Depending on how many times
I’ve typed them
Trying to get past this idea
And turn it into
Something of substance
This flashing prompt
Has chained me to the screen

I scratch the idea
And start again

This vertical line
Is taunting me
Asking me what
I have Left to say
Reminding me that
I’ve said it all before
Just in a different way
Assuring me
That the world will tire
Of hearing my story
And I can only
Type so much
In a day
Week
Month
Year

This Caret
Has crushed me
Like a soldier waging war
Before I can even get a word in
Winning the battle
Unable to reach my weapon
Attempting to defend my thought process
Staring deeply I remember
That I am hopeless

This flashing prompt owns me
Keeping me up until
All hours of the night
Beating me to the punch
Whenever something feels right
Placing seeds of doubt in my mind
Making me aware
that the well
Has run dry

‪She danced on graves‬
‪In dark reverence‬
‪Throwing a party for the dead‬.
Reveling in the beauty,
Of each delicate sculpture,
‪Her fingers traced the edges...‬
‪Memories long gone,‬
‪but in the souls
Of those who loved them.‬
‪Twisted smile‬,
‪Longing for the day‬,
‪When she too‬,
‪Rests eternally‬.

My home is a:
Warm smile,
Sacred tears,
Loving hearts,
Delightful books,
Innovative ideas,
Endless acts of kindness,
Sweet murmurs of prayer,
A guarantee for a daily sun rise,
And a night sky decorated with shining stars!

Hussein Dekmak