Ebony and ivory.
Intermixed clefs.
A landscape of sound.
Not paint, but vibration.
Stories woven in air.

Imagination ignited.
Tales spun from silence.
Love, a melody repeated.
Swooning, a chord held long.

Emotions, a full spectrum.
Darkness, a low rumble.
Light, a high trill.
Hard, a percussive strike.
Soft, a gentle sustain.

Symphonies, vast and sprawling.
Rhapsodies, wild and free.
Logic, a precise sequence.
Mathematics, a hidden structure.

A language without words.
Universal, no translation needed.
Across every boundary.
No wall can hold it back.

Species, all ears attuned.
Culture, a shared experience.
A resonance that binds us.
A bridge built of notes.

Eighty-eight keys.
Eighty-eight possibilities.
Each a doorway.
Each a journey.

From the quietest whisper.
To the loudest roar.
A universe contained.
In the space between.

A heartbeat in rhythm.
A breath in harmony.
The soul expressed.
Pure, unadulterated.

No need for explanation.
No need for justification.
Just the sound.
And the feeling it evokes.

A timeless current.
Flowing through us all.
A language of the heart.
Eighty-eight keys, infinite feeling.

I sometimes sit awake at night
unsure what I should do,
swimming through my thoughts
yeah, all the worries of the day.
I guess I like the solitude,
although I’m feeling blue
there in the quiet moonlight
softly, God opens the way.

In dim of night he reassures,
a peace rests in the air.
The things I want to worry of,
they simply melt away,
replaced by visions of what most times
I am unaware.
It makes me want transcend time
and in that moment stay.

But soon it’s time for sleep,
in parting, God assures one thing -
that amidst all the toil and strife
he’ll be returning soon.
I drift off without care of what
the next day’s going bring,
blessed by what I felt and learned…
by the light of the moon.

it usually leaps like a swordfish out of the ocean
and I’m able to harpoon it,
but as of lately,
I’m stuck with pond ****
and the tuna on my bad breath.

it’s nowhere to be found;
not in the parks,
the libraries,
the liquor stores
nor the circuit clerk’s office,

I tried fishing it out of the swaps of
spitfire and melancholy
but found nothing

I tried to ****** it with an excessive
amount of trouble and *******
but found nothing

I tried scooping the guts out of myself
like a hollowed out pumpkin and
splattered it with a wet slap
against an old newspaper
but found nothing

there’s nothing here;
no spark,
no imagination,
no ingenuity

what I’m I suppose to do?

as I sit here petting the black
velvet fur of my dog,
my toes won’t stop curling,
my nails are bitten down to the nub
and the stink of aging soars past
like eagles on fire

I have nothing to write about:
no unpopular opinion
no peculiar viewpoint
no bludgeoning over
the banality of
extinction

the only logical thing to do is
head out to see some local
band at a Chicago bar and see
where the alcohol takes me

I need the ammunition
I need the fuel
I need to make
something happen

the hard days of labor have diminished me
through attrition and lack of euphemism
but for right now, no matter how
saturated I am of feeling and thought…

whether I’m
drunk on sleep,
salacious on vulgarity,
grieving with quills,
vacant of *****,
dreaming of gout,
reading Géza Csáth,
listening to Sass Dragons,
burrowing under empty houses
or fixing the plumbing for the woman down the hall.

I still
can’t
coax
the word
out.

Conspire to inspire,
Inspire to admire,
Admire to aspire,
Aspire to set fire
To your demons
That conspire.

In the quiet dawn, where shadows fade,
Truth emerges, unafraid.
A beacon bright, it lights the way,
Guiding hearts through night to day.
In whispers soft, it calls the soul,
To seek the light, to find the whole.
Through veils of doubt, it pierces through,
Revealing paths both old and new.
With every step, the spirit soars,
Unbound by lies, it freely explores.
For in the truth, we find our wings,
And rise above the earthly things.
So let us cherish, let us strive,
To live in truth, to feel alive.
For truth inspires, it sets us free,
To be the best that we can be.

I’m a little stubborn...
but I don’t always have to get my way.

I’m a little naïve...
but I’ll only fall for something once.

I’m a little tough on the outside...
but I’ll still cry when I’m hurt.

I’m a little chubby...
but I’m talented in so many ways.

I’m a little short...
but I have a big, caring heart.

I’m a little impatient...
but I won’t rush you into making bad choices.

I’m a little quirky...
but I’ll always have my friends’ back.

I’m a little sad...
but I’ll do my best to pick you up when you are.

I’m a little odd...
but I’m funny and fun to be around.

I’m a little confused in some subjects...
but a true **** in others.

I’m a little lonely...
but I’m ok spending some time alone.

I’m a little awkward trying new things...
but show me how to do it and I’ll learn.

I’m a little hurt by negative words...
but isn’t everyone.

I’m a little shy...
but get to know me and I’ll blossom before your eyes.

I’m a little suspicious...
but I’ll still give you the benefit of the doubt.

I’m a little weak...
but I’m not afraid to try and fail.

I’m a little judgmental...
but I’ll change my opinion when I’m wrong.

You see, I’m not perfect in every way...
but I don’t have to be.

I’m just perfect for me.

In the shadows, a tale unfolds
Of inspiration, versus theft, so cold
A spark of ideas, like blood in the night
Can be drained away, without a fight

Inspiration whispers, "Take a bite"
Of my creativity, let it ignite
But theft creeps in, with a vampire's might
And steals away, the light of delight

Let us embrace, the inspiration's glow
And shun the theft, that would our souls know
For in the darkness, only one is true
Inspiration's kiss, versus theft's cold brew.