Haven't seen him smile right in
Quite the while but I know
He's a smart boy, so he must know
How to escape his little slump.

Peter does not know
The true size of his slump.
Only that She's got
A soft, pooling belly under
Plumes of purple smoke
Floating over her wax *******;
Perfect for forgetting.

He's trying to breathe through cold drizzle
Photosynthesize through linen tarp
I say he chooses not to leave the rain
And he nods.

The vessel that is set to carry out its mission,
Is the very utensil the architect uses to craft the map,
My the courses it charts with swift motions and firm strokes,
It dispenses the virtue of possibilities onto the surface,
Opening doors to a world beyond comprehension,
How the mind wanders to conceive dreams the heart can only fathom,
Endless is its creation aiding all who heed its call.

Left me high and dry
With no room to spare inside
Consolation prize

There's no end in sight
Your favorite *******
Returns the favor

Supernova explodes
Into a spectrum of light
The colors bleeding

Gone without a trace
Absorbed into outer space
Totally consumed

Beings of light
Trapped in material form
Roses which adorn

Untapped potential
Systematically reformed
Inconsequential

patterned love responses
spiraling outward from
the chest in search
of hearth and
hemlock to
soothe the brittle
bones of a
generation lost
to time.

I remember a feeling
once felt in
the spacious quality
of my life
in its infancy.

a 'coo' to my
mother--her face
beaming through
the unknown
harshness of life
yet to touch me.

father was out
working, adding
more and more
points of stress to
his life to provide
for the seeds
he sewed in the
soil of his youthful
ignorance.

adulthood snuck
up on me too and
now its too late to
go back.

these days
the only coup
that will save me
is the one
I perpetrate
against myself.
the one that
corrodes my beliefs
and illuminates
the extent of their
misconceptions about
the world and
what it means
to be me.

loyal are the lashes
that lick my flesh
serving the blood
that drips and
flows to the
soil of my own
wasted youth.

all I can do now
is look forward
to the unknown
that looms ahead;
terrifying and promising
failure and change
alike.

pray to your altars
and cry to the
invisible mute gods;

they will answer
in kind in the
laughter of children
playing upon
your spent life.

and so it goes--
life eats life
and mother's die
too.

use your voice
while you have
it--speak of clouds
and storms that
broke you, of winter
and the living
silence you've endured.

praise be to the
broken and the
weary of heart, for
in the breaking is
the great gift
of life

and what you
become after each
shattering is nothing
short of your
endless potential.

A call to brokenness
A call to arms

Recall our love
Recall our charms

We are not done
We are not through

I bleed for us
I bleed for you.

I try to do the best I can
Yet everything still falls apart
I end every day with the same problems
Working their way through my heart

Talk but you are distracted
We never find a solution
Stress poisoning the air around us
We keep breathing in pollution

Just keep ignoring the damage
Acting like we are fine
Blind to fact we are tiptoeing
Dangerously on a thin line

Me pretending that I don’t notice
How close we are to the edge
You don’t seem to mind the risk
Associated with the ledge

You listen
You attempt to understand
Why I live with such fear
But can’t change the speed you move at
Or switch into a lower gear

Don’t hear my worried murmurs
Cries fall upon ears rendered deaf
If you continue wheeling and dealing
Soon nothing will be left

Destroying me one piece at a time
As you throw your potential away
Hoping in time you will see the truth
Before it’s too late to stop decay