Unfulfilled

There is life among the three.  Two
now brilliantly white.  Winter is hard.
Survival happens, unlike the front-yard bush.
Cold did execute leaves and branches.  Survival
keeps all three away from trucks and men with blades
destine to transport to heaven or hell
where survival is eternal.

One older unwiser, grounded along
the fence, survives with blossoms rare.
Verdant, fated to disregard, hides
among the choice beauties.  Summer will be long
alive without show.  Like a middle child amid genious.

There's nothing here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes me think to myself.

There's no thought here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes me question reality.

There's no reality here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes me look forward to the future.

There's no future here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes my past seem worth the effort.

There's no effort here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes me believe either side has anything going for it.

There's no belief here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes it all understandable, righteous, reasonable.

There's no reason here
                                                            ­                                          or there
that makes any of this make sense.

There's no wrong,
there's no right,
there's no up,
there's no down.

All there is
is me.
In the middle,
unaffected.

Though thy teeth be sharp, and thy claws great, waste not thy strength on me,
for thy beauty doth pierce mine heart worse than any wound.

Do not waste thy breath upon me, for I burn already a passion far greater than I can bear.

Oh dragon, hold back not thine beauty from mine eyes any longer, spread thy wings for me, let me see thy grace, thy majesty, thy glory complete!

Though thy scales turn away the sword, they cannot turn away my love for thee.
Though thy wings block the sun, they cannot block mine thoughts so bright of thee.
Though thine eyes stare death, I . . .only have eyes . . . for thee.

My whole **** life is a déjà vu

Yesterday, I could've sworn I'd lived the same moment
Maybe in a past life?

What if my "past life" is exactly the same as this one?

Then what?
Am I stuck?
Can I change anything?

Will I always have a sickening sense of vertigo when I see a 'new' face?

I've lived the new things, I've seen the new faces

Maybe I've been tossed into this life because I lived it wrong the first time

Something tells me I might just live it again

A love of mine smelled like
Summertime Strawberries
In the middle of fall.