Is it only I that sits alone
Waiting for the coming of the next bus
On a desolate stretch of road with no one
Among us, with only my thoughts to keep
Me company

Is it only my life that serves as a reminder
That I am truly at peace when I have no one
Beside me, in my arms, to talk to at
Midnight under the blankets at 3 am
In a haze of agony and bitterness

Maybe, it is only me
And I am with myself knowingly
Waiting for the road to end, and the bus will never
Arrive for a bystander like me, but the doors
Of a better life are open to the man looking for acceptance

I'm God's lonely man. And I need redemption.

I do not only love you.. for that simple word could never be enough to convey your worth and value to me, as anyone can come to love, but you are infinitely more than just anyone..

I gaze at you, and my eyes find home; they find peace; they find safety, it's as if my soul is at rest, and I am at ease within your visage; the violent stream becoming stagnant and calm, my lungs escape their proverbial prison, and I can breath once more..

Through an unfathomable weight mired by strife and misery, my life was engulfed by a darkness I never once hoped could be calmed, nor absolved.. in you, with each step closer towards my being, I found an unending warmth, surrounding a heart which calls my name..

Not even my greatest demons stand a chance against the light you bring into my life.

Sweet resonance begets dreams, alive; through each word you find, in every breath you take to show my worth to you, it defines my existence; and in you, I see and feel myself. In you, I find every one of my dreams, awake.

"I long for your gentle touch and your warm embrace. Your hugs, your arms around me where I feel calm and safe"

To think such beauty would behold that from me, I can not deny that there must also be beauty within myself. In all my time, I had never imagined such a truth to ever exist.. it tears me asunder, and I am left struggling to believe what simply is, and fearing what could ever be..

You touched me without touching me; without knowing how, or when, or why, your presence was born unto my own; and through all the substance in the subtleties and nuance of your day, I find and garner substance within my own.

You've become the calm to my storm, when all I knew best to strive for was merely the strength to keep my neck above the waves; you reached out to my very soul.

I do not simply love you. I tremble at your presence, not because I feel fear or remorse for myself. I tremble knowing, you've finally arrived. I tremble knowing the depth of my feelings and intrigue of you can not be surpassed or compared to anyone before, or forever after your presence in my life.

I tremble now, and inevitably always, because the only thing left to fear, after having suffered a lifetime among ghosts of myself and death itself striding along as my only friend; the last and only thing I could ever fear anymore, is losing you, in any way.

I do not merely love you.

I Love Your existence, because by your gentle touch and fluent tenderness our hearts have entwined, I have come to realize the last thing I would have ever imagined, even upon my final moments in this reality, and life: through your persistent admiration and sweet echoes of loving candor; by such beautiful intent and conviction from and for you, I've come to also love myself.

My walls break. My fettered heart has become truly free, and I weep again.

Now, finally, through joy..

Backed and sponsored by the cabinet
Our heads on the server and internet
BCI experiments while we're under the duvet
Foot-soldiers follow orders on their handset
Rockwell is not paranoid
They've seen us on the TV,
iPad, iPhone, and Android
The BCI app that makes us annoyed
Please God, destroy that satellite with an android
My doctor is like Sigmund Freud
Give him the anti psychotic steroid
For making money off the unemployed

The truth lies in the dirt
Feathers sifting brown flour
Sunlight prisms dancing
And I let you

New green, her ritual comforts
While I lie contorted beneath you
The scent of wet soil
And I let you

The ****** bud reclaims her power
Rhythmic earth turn, turn
Spring, thy mirror of veracity
And I let you

Blinded by a heart grown
Veiled in misty mornings
The great lie, just out of sight
And I let you

Out of a hard rain now
No death by my hand
Nature continues her march
And I let you
Go

It was not in the applause that I found his love
nor in the merits of worldly truth
It was not found in the praise of those above
Nor in any earthly proof

I did not find his love in the City streets
Or in bodies of flesh and bone
Nor in man's great selfish feats
Or on any earthly throne

No, I found his love right on the mountainside
And in the river that runs right through
I found it in the forest hills
I found his love in you.

I found it in the ocean waves
And in the stars above
And in all the master’s divine creation
I feel my savior's love

Throughout the years,
you have made pictures of yourself
available for us to see

and through a number of them--
have shown unedited,  a clear and
horrendously honest view,  directly
into your deeply-struggling soul--  

and even if you may had just days  
or hours,  previously
conveyed a look of almost carefree
   happiness and beauty..  

Those chosen few  that
graciously gave the glimpse  of how
bad it can so often be for you,  
also.. unbeknownst to you,  

   gave light
of how tremendously valuable
and rare you really are.

And like a dyed-in-the-wool stalker,  
I saved screenshots of the ones  that
moved me to tears

years later..
and they still affect me that way

and in fairness, some the ones  also
to where you were truly glowing  
in all  of your natural beauty..

  on the ying' side
  of the bipolar swing.

You are rare and unique..
so very very one of a kind,
(and I have every right throughout the
years to say that to you here and now)

--that there is a  worth  within every single
part of it all that is wholly beyond measure--
you can feel it sometimes, little beauty
I know there is no way that you cannot.

One day  the ravens will no longer be
able to steal that wholly accurate,
beautiful self-view so easily from you,

..and you will be able to live that
wonderfully-accurate view out,  daily--
having now found it's way down in to
your very, central core..

.  .  .  

Sorry, young love.. I know how much  a
beautiful truth such as this, hurts.
You reveal so much of who you are
through the raw innerworkings  and
conveyances of your poetry and music.

You would not be that so very beautiful way,
if you did not believe that Love would
eventually find a way..

  yes, beauty..  even for you.

From an ornate podium
the orator spoke words--
..extraordinarily elaborate ones..
as if,
as if

But those who know..
we who have  laid low,
down in to the trenches
as grunts, both  outside
and inside  

of the wire..

Those who have  quietly
done their legwork..
who have accepted their
difficult fate  as that   borne  of
and in to,  a training..  an equipping,
lay low,
lay low

.   .   .   .  

The throngs
at the foot of the podium--
mesmerized by their own  need
to be mesmerized,  never even
noticed the children
who  in their innocence,  peered
out from under the crowd's legs

to better see the 'magnificent' podium..

The oldest of which, ran back to trenches
trying to describe what they saw.
Two of the quiet, unassuming-ones
made their way back to the podium,  
and in blocking out the orator's voice,
(which  to the  knowing,
was  as that of a clanging bell..)

now observed up close, the inner-workings
of the elaborate podium
and sat in  wonder of its expenditures--
wrapped around such  slipshod,   weak
and hastily assembled framework..

And in having become interested in the
structure's groundedness to what one
would hope would be  a solid-built
foundation, placed onto solid, earthen ground
They instead gasped as they saw its
legs floating upon nothing..

"What the **** is holding this thing up..?"

War-trained and battle-hardened,
they remembered their superiors speaking
in hushed tones that even ******, with all
of his blowhard oratorical *******,   at least

had a semblance of the podium's fastenings..

Albeit, partially assembled by our own country's
stupidity within certain provisions brought forth
in the Treaty of Versailles,

but this
but this

This oratorical misleading of the broken-ones
this empty illusion of a presentation,  borne
not  from a suffering  leading to true regeneration
but instead, a distractive short-cut into the Realms
as if borne in power,   as if..  as if.

    .. But the realms.. they know.

It is only those down here on earth,  spirit
cloaked within the deceptive misgivings
of the flesh-- so aching to establish itself
apart  from the necessary legwork,  needed
to humbly become a part of stream's flow:
borne,  solely from the inner wellspring--  deep
within the bowels of Love's True Ache..

It is here.. on earth..  that you will find
the reward you seek..  oh wondrous orator,
oh magnificent 'smither' of fine words..

your podium, a whitewashed soapbox
floating upon nothing..


--And therefore meaning nothing
within the substance-based parameters  of the Realms.

When Love's scalpel  comes
towards my beautiful Gloria--

  she leans in to it

What is it that makes  this one
  believe
at such a tremendous  cost
to to herself

and yet, so many others
turn and run..
turn and hide?

I was built-- from the ground,  up
to help  hold ones
such as yourself,  up

as the bright   healing light  
of loves ache

dismantles  the intricacies  of our
once-necessary, life-built  
war machines..

yes, my beauty--
down to the very  core

of  your  foundation,
where you can finally  
have the chance

     to become  rebuilt:

from the ground's  true bedrock,
up