Lustrous but also lackluster
We are gems yet salvaged
Formed inside of a shelled world

Waves waning and whining
Sailors nauseated on our waters
Drifting towards an aggrandized land
Where they might find us oysters in the sand

They'll tear them open,
In search of what only we bear
Camouflaged amongst the cultured,
Or even those with nothing there

Darling,
We are wild,
Yes we are rare
Open up to me,
We've so many layers to share

Your metallic smile,
Your iridescent articulation
Everything happened so naturally
A miracle to be in the same location

They won't crack us,
For our muscles will defend
Our valuable and vulnerable interior
From the worlds vinegary intent

Your soul is like a diamond,
Worth so much,
Because diamonds are actually worthless,
On the outside,

But this diamond is not like the rest of them,
Like the ones that have been hidden,
From the world.

No,
This one,
Is made rare,
Because,

like diamonds,
They bound things of love,
And this one,
Was created from love,

she is a rare, delicate flower and you are the only one who knows about her. you are the only one who can protect her.

Sometimes it's not always morbid.
Sometimes I write when I'm happy.
Sometimes things make me feel good enough to write about them.
Those times are rare,
and right now is not one of them.

Grass is Greener*

Someone with one foot in, one foot out,
These days what relationships are about.
Find something meaningful, magical and rare,
Stick with that person, don't go anywhere.
The skies the same color wherever you go,
Fall for one person, dance to and fro.
Make it count, you only get one life,
Don't fill it with heartache, difficult love, and strife.
See happiness in one person and be true,
Stay together, do the work, see it through.
A lover, a best friend, someone in to confide,
The grass is not always greener on the other side.

Everyone is a light.
Most are like chandeliers,
Fanciful yet pretentious.
Oh please, one lamp is enough.
But then there are some
Very rare, very precious
Candles, lighting the path
for others,
Even if it spells their own demise.
And these are the people
That will earn respect,
Reverence,
honor.
And these are the people
That will not die drowning
In their own tears of regret.

Love is so sad.
Love is not a melody
That drifts all through
The wind. It’s a soft
Hum that intensifies
And becomes maddening.
Love is hard and rare
It gets worse as it goes on.
People live their lives for love
But really, it only helps
You forget the rest of
What is wrong.

*(r.e.)

The best days
Are not the Best Days
Or even the good days
They are the unremarkable
Inconsequential
Days
When you take a step away from yourself
And observe the rise and fall of a moment
From beyond its swell
When you are driving fast
Through a slow-moving night
And the headlights are smearing themselves on the roads
Like they’re trying to redecorate
And the radio is singing Yellow
And you turn your head out the window
To find a moon hung there
Blue-tacked to the infinity of sky
As thick and yellow as your grandmother’s smile
Or when it is winter and the sun has set
But the world doesn’t want the day to be over
And so pulls a musty, mustardy-grey blanket
Right up to its neck and prays
That the time for streetlights
Will insist on running ahead of it
Or when the shadows grow long in summer
And they fall like dust on the sand dunes
You run down to the sea
And try to hold it in your hands
Until the tide prises it from your clenching fingertips
Or when the sunrise is pink
And the cloud caps skid
Like ice-creams on hot plates
And you can’t help but bask in
The creativity of God
The painter
Who’s masterpiece could simply not be framed
And hung on your kitchen wall
And for a little while you want to be able
To lick the colours and candyfloss
Until someone says that little rhyme
About red sky in the mornings
And a shepherd’s warning.