Hop, step and jump into the tram
long paces left right through the gangway
to the platform in the rear
there, my thoughts choose their own track


Who would not want to


do all one would want to


do if one could?


Bringing love generously
in the air, on land, and at sea
rescuing people out of stormy weather

no abroad, being at home in every land
running through the breakers and the sand
and laughing a lot together

sunsummers without a plan or decision
just a warm wind, just the soft skin
of an initially unknown lover

I saw you last night once more
golden waves cascading
down your shoulders
we lived in a tiny log house
on the ocean
like you've always wanted
a cozy space for us to write
the windchimes whistling
watching Disney movies on VHS
a cold winter night
our faux-fireplace on high
keeping warm with body heat
fields of vanilla and spring lavender
ocean salt in the air
my fingers on the small of your back
you killed me quietly and said
you wanted to break free
I didn't mind dying by your hand
I hated waking up

They call me ‘’zealot’’ just for wanting peace,
I do not know what to do, who to please.

there is a wasteland
the abdomen of a swollen sea watching precariously as i bite into bits of dark chocolate and don't stop until the entire package is on the floor like a drunken dancer or a torn best friend
a candor that i sold auspiciously for a pair of high heels that i never wear, they just sit in my closet waiting for dirt to be pushed into the canvas of it's sole
i'll only wear them indoors when it's raining and i can hear the synchronizing of the drops on the roof top with each step i take onto the hard-wood floor -tap tap tap tap
i'll do this until the sincerity is gone from the momentum
eventually next summer they'll be forgotten in a cardboard box that has "free" written with a red sharpie and perhaps it's next owner will be forgiving, will take the loneliness of the esoteric feeling of wanting to be worn and introduce them to the vinyl floors of a cheap club or the cold linoleum floors of an expensive resort hotel
i'd like for things that I've known to have a continued story even after it's out of mine, and they do

there is a wasteland
a woman that constantly licks her lips because they're dry but they're only dry because of the constant moisture forced upon them
the reduction of catch-22 as if the joke doesn't fall smack into your clothes
trying to find something underneath the bra strap, past the skin
but you can never get through, can you?
she pulls your hand away and you're left feeling rudimentary
lacking, like the lackadaisical manner in which the lights never hit you the way you wish it did

I sit at home thinking of life,
On the absurdities and all the strife,
Caught in a world that yearns
For beings to explore it.

How we’ve all grown addicted,
As no one could’ve predicted,
To our own little "ideal" worlds
That rest neatly in the palm of our hands.

We cry and complain,
How things don’t remain,
Just way the way we want
When we point our heads to the sky.

Away from our own little worlds,

We see grandiosity unthought of.
We see war, famine, disagreements, heartbreaks, rejection, and loss.
We stare for but a moment taking it in as our minds collapse in the straw houses we created.
And then just like that, we shun all that we see,
And look back down to that glowing screen and start to rebuild.

Not with something stronger, no.

With that same old material so readily available, to those who refuse to learn.
To those who refuse to face the reality of life.
To those who prefer hearing their own ideas on rerun.
To those who care more about having the appearance of a happiness than to actually achieve it.
To those who care more about likes and comments, pictures and videos, than meeting others.
We sit there smiling at that device that eats away at our growth, our character, and our resolve.

And in our haste to prevent ourselves from acknowledging hardships, we miss something.
In that infinite space away from our "ideal" worlds, exists the other half we no longer see.
The happiness, bonds, trust, friendships, kindness, and love.
The people that want to strike up a conversation, form relationships.
The people who desire an emotional bond, rather than a visual one.
We imitate this, attempt to recreate it, in our fictionalized lives, not realizing how much better the real thing would be.

If only we would look up to the sky.

Someone is suffering, what're you going to do?
If I have the capability to relieve them of their suffering then that is what I'm going to do
Regardless of who they are or what they're worth
It just doesn't get anymore complicated than that
When we started this, it seemed so simple
We were going to help people.
But what if those ideals can die?
What if those hopes can fade into the failure of the system?
You have to ask yourself "How do I protect the ideals I came here for?"

Perfect purity doesn’t persist, even exist--
Not even in children.
Who have to learn to grow a soul,
Share their toys,
Not emotionally blackmail,
And understand death and that pain to others is real.

Still I feel as if my own childhood’s eyes
Wouldn’t recognize, wide and impressionable
As watercolor lilies,
The woman with eyes fogged
From overpopulation of troubles.
Green grass to jaded.

Self-doubt blooms like the flower
It would be ashamed to be.
Rushing up like a seed that feeds
In the darkness, in, perversely, the gut.
Unknown in youth, it towers,
Then plateaus, in ego.

Vines of avarice mustn’t be allowed
To grasp for the old selfishness.
Placidity can’t be tranquilly accepted
When it slips cozily into the bed to invasively smother
hard-wished-for dreams and hard-won values.

Go the hearty and fertile ground in the middle,
For there we all have our hope.

My father died
And so did something of me inside
A mad rush headlong into love
Converted to desire of man and things
And scorched my eyes from further peace
I got no tranquility from this release

A chapter fell from my book
And as the words were left dripping
From that page where my father stood
A young man approached
A figure carrying ghosts
I thought then a friend, but now a foe

The need to turn and recoil
Left me bare and stoical
I wanted to turn my face away
And blind myself from grief
An urge to strike out hard
Left me low inside

His arms opened, he was still a friend
And forgiveness gave way in the end
A caged battalion of emotions
Cut away from deep inside
The hollow place in my soul
Like a blindless window seen from outside

The soft light burning there
Released the anxious grasp of old ideals
I can't regret these things
It is my tao from which
My new direction springs.

He stood on the hill with his cap turned backwards,
And it made no logic at all
Since the sun was hitting his eyes, but he didn't seem to care
For the orange line, over his face

And yet, when I approached closer
He seemed further away, and the galaxy was spreading across his face
It looked like a magnificent burn
Which he got
From dreaming
Too much

The sun turned black and the boy was no more.
Now, the only thing I could see in front of me was a shade...
Not like I could describe it, since it was a shade of fear seen from my eyes.
I wasn't looking with my eyes, yet with my soul alone.

A discovery far more greater than what I've known my whole life.

So I, naturally, search for Hope and Dreams
My Ideals, too
Yet
I only found Illusions
Lying broken on the crimson floor
As the Life and Thought beat it up

But then a darkness far greater than all of the others came.
Really, it can't be seen with your eyes, so you need to look with your soul.
Blacker than the venta black.
Just a deathly black.

It was Him, for sure. Not Him as the God, but the one who takes your hand at the end of your suffering.
And so, Illusion's hand was taken
While Life and Thoughts spit on the ground and disappeared,

Death embraced me and him.

It was far more comfortable than I'd thought it would be;
An indisputable peace found only within your heart.
It's an irony, but it shine so bright
With it's darkness
That we both knew we were finally safe.

And the boy?
Oh, well he sat on the ground.
Took a sip of time
Like he always does, from time to time.

He looked at me, absorbing
All of my questions
Changing his form to however I
Had imagined him at that moment

And just when I thought I had caught up with him, he'd transform yet again.

Then it hit me.
He was Illusions himself;
And just when I wanted to
Embrace him and make him confirm,

Just like Hopes, Dreams, and
All of my Ideals...

He broke at that moment.

And all I'm left with
Is this blinding darkness
Sparkling with it's sweet venom;

I realise life is more and less that I had ever guessed.

Illusions are not to be trusted.

Because Illusions always break.