a bed of roses;
ruffled polyester, scorned:
unlucky petals.

If the stars stopped shining,
The night would be like the deep sea.
Dark and cold.

If the stars stopped shining,
The light from the sailor’s lanterns,
Would reflect off the sea,
Like sunset on the Antarctic ice.

And the shipmen and their saxtons,
Could not find their way back home.
And there would be a little boy in the window,
Every night.

Waiting for his father to return.
There would be a woman at the widow’s peak.
Waiting for her husband to come home.

If the stars stopped shining,
Would lovers still love each other?
Because if the stars stopped shining, I don’t know if I would still see you.
In that certain way I’ve grown to love.

you can see my scars;
my face is riddled with them.
i often wonder,
how anyone could miss them -
yet, they always seem to.

it takes a good look, i guess -
to see how bad things really are.

perhaps they’re blinded
by the smile i put up;
a slick smile, it is -  
surgical -
like a scar…
a big scar,
that hides the smaller ones.

the other day,
it hit me like a truck -
while i was walking to the cigarette shop,
my vanity still in awe of
‘how anyone could miss them…!’  
a man, i saw.
an old man -  
with overgrown ****** hair,
and a yellow mustard duffle coat,  
walking my way.
a flash of traffic light
streaked across his face,
and a feeling took over me;
a strange feeling -
like i had seen a ghost from my past,
or perhaps,
my future.

as he passed me by,
he smiled at me.
ceremoniously, but still.  
as did i.
we timed it perfectly -
like an ambidextrous artist
were at work,
drawing identical curves
with their hands.
i noticed,
my smile had lasted longer
than i expected.

a few yards down the road,
i stopped abruptly…
and whimpered,
‘oh...’

a brick in the wall -
an ant crawls into a crack;
becomes family.

a fog, i saw,
in the mist of night.
humble, it led me
to the ***** of the beast -
who pet me, and held me, and licked me,
until it, and i, were one.  
my restless heart would not let the
beast be at peace…
‘what lies into the night?’, i insisted.
‘i must know. tell me now, i say.’
and the beast shook its head - nay.
‘travel not, nor inquire, into the sea of despair’,
it groaned, ‘it leads good men astray’.

‘but i’m not scared’, i said.
‘look at me… i’m you. i’m mighty.’
‘what could possibly hurt you?’
‘what could possibly hurt… us?’

‘you mistake me for my appearance, young man’,
the beast hummed from within.
‘i am but a vessel.’
‘i do not possess the might you seek.’
‘i was sculpted in your image,
and scores of such valiant seekers
who carrowed their poise for pride’.
‘but if you must -'
'i’m obliged to warn you, as they would -’
‘you may not forget what you see;’
‘you may not like what you hear;’
‘the sea is not forgiving to men
who trespass upon the realms of solitude’
‘hope you’re ready - ’  
‘it gets colder as we get nearer.’

and as we passed the bay of deadly sins,
where tales of woe would barren lay -
sure enough, i heard a faint
rallying cry from far away;
‘the captain must’ve lost his wits...’,
sighed the beast -
‘his compass must’ve failed to obey.’
a requiem followed the shipwreck,
as the shallow winds kissed the
waters grey.

Life, a tapestry, so vibrant,

Strands of joy woven with sorrows, abundant.

Some are dark like shadows,

And some, soft and bright like meadows.

The needles of fear,

And the yarn of tears.

Together, weaving a path,

Reflecting the aftermath.

Look! She still stands,

Emerging out of the tangled strands.

With the needles of sorrow and distress,

She will weave a new velvet dress.

Her neck, adorned with pearls,

Her lotus eyes, closed yet full of moonlit twirls.

A smile so bright,

Guiding her like a light.

Now, she reclaims the tapestry,

Decorating her with glory.

The fragile borders have been strengthened,

And her spirit awakened.

We ran
From something
Unseen. We were
Two, a man and a woman

River flowed red
He is steel. And her tears
Bullets. We are
Bayonets and gun barrels

The earth flourished
With steel, straight statues
Of trees and undergrowth
A perennial memorial

Buried, we were
Under the earth
Meant to last forever
Meant to simply be

Red silence
Enveloped the world
My brothers...
Glided between the trees

Creatures joined
Those of all kinds, prowl
Across the land
Around their brothers

The earth split
We are the valleys. Gashes
Along the veins of the earth
Runs red like streams and fountains

Wounds dried and flaking
Freely beasts roamed
Lands demarcated
Trampled, trodden

We are echoes
Within the canyons. We stalk
Like spirits, like steel
Behind fervor, behind craze

They lost
Time was forgotten
Time was reclaimed
Remade

We do not know time
We do not sow
We do not reap
We do not see
We do not hear

The world is never silent
But the underground is

How would you feel
If you knew that
The world was hollow
Held up by rifles...

You are what you eat
And you write what you read.

I have never read the greats
Except an occasional poem for class,
And I feel like a heretic for saying that.

I’ve never willingly
Read Shakespeare or E.E. Cummings
But instead:

I read the words of online poets
Consuming their ink—
Or should I say pixels?
I graze their crimson lining as they
Turn themselves inside out to
Let the whole internet see.

I rise with the wave that they weave with their words
And then when it crashes, when it crashes down
I go under as if drowning was velvety soft and I
Let it wash me onto the shore.

You are what you eat and
You write what you read.

Rarely do I read stilted lines and perfect form
So I write like a mess and a surge and a storm.