The past fades, it must,
alas! you fade to dust,
oblivion be your death,
you are but a phantom,
words be thy breath,
mine in writing them.

Vicariously,
you pull through,
A man merely has one
yet this one gives life to two?
One as elegant and lovely,
her immortality
deserved to be made true,
words be thy breath,
mine in writing them.

Dreams be thy eyes,
mine sinking in them,
hours, days, months,
passed and to come,
Our kin never dies,
never did, never will.

We are all immortal in our own time. Today I feel the warm caressing touch of life across my beleaguered face. Death does not escape me, but in this moment I am alive. One is immortal, if one has yet to understand what it means to die.

|small gee for god; big bee for byron|
Strikes a chord with you, does it?
This shambling poverty of thought,
Insta-rated and underwhelming;
Thank god for Byron.

|keats versus shelley|
Sparing no injury to his phthisicky frame,
Keats lies atop a make-believe of cherry trees
Searching among the clouds
For wealth, health and a Grecian urn,
While Shelley does Venice
And blows himself a hookah.

|o poesy! for thee I grasp my pen|
Panning the wayward sky for inspiration,
A hope, a word, a beginning;
A versification so ecstatic as to transfix the senses and pierce the heart,
A lightning phrase capable of uprooting all commonality,
As outrageous a miracle in the minds of men as crucified immortality.

|requiem|
Unlike the wilting rose which has no higher calling
Than to bloom and die upon the stem,
And having relinquished its last perfumed petal
Retreat from memory again,
I fear that I shall linger,
Tethered to this eternal moment
By shudd’ring will and breath combined,
A brighter shade of myself than what of me I have left behind.

the first time we met
you were daisies.

fragile
thin
soft
sweet

laughing in rain

running in wildflowers

resting there too

...then you were gone.

the next time
you were roses.

robust
sturdy
reserved
beautiful

running from the world

playing broken pianos

living in empty castles

...then you were gone.

the third time
you were violets.

delicate
cheerful
royal

drinking bitter petal tea

watching stars

dressing in diamonds

...then you were gone.

a fourth
a fifth
a sixth

i find you again
again
again

it's all different
every time.

but you never remember.

not me.

not until your last moments.

...and so it repeats.

eternally

a blur that breathes, intensifying and abating
made of ramblers, all wound up in cloth
things that move and things that do not
I block them out
I see them not

molecules entwined in a vigorous waltz
weaving great tapestries
of grey and grey and sometimes white

a graceful procession
of bellies filled with tears
sheets of cold, ice grey
falling as spindles, cold rain
abating
to come again
abating
and returning
again
and again

warmth enveloping, folding and filling
the spaces between my skin
the sun shining through the gaps
where old concrete ghosts collapsed

I find myself in someplace else
a young forest paved with a legacy of sand and gravel
and anceint crushed stones

and so I look about and notice
without the shadows cast
from towers wrought of iron
that I am left alone in a city filled with nothing
but a bird's solemn chorus

A deathless life is not blessing but a curse
With it you'll have the power to witness your love's demise
And hear every infant wailing as they are born
Curse it is! You would see the land erode and the ocean become a desert
Mountains move right before your eyes
My dear, time will never be a luxury for you.

We're more than this, you know.
More than just flesh and dirt.
You and I, we're special.
We are to be a thousand different people, with a thousand different lives, in a thousand different stories, in a thousand different times.
The universe is endless
I guess we will be too.
The mighty will fall
and the weak will rise
and You and I will watch
as the years finally, go by