In between the chords and notes,
spaces and pauses, can I find rest
for my hands long enough to get a dose
of the muse, a cosmic moment to reflect?

And when a chord is sustained
it carries me in anticipation
of what change or pain
will come, and for what duration.  

From measure to measure
I wait upon the muse
for some small treasure
to dwell, disrupt and suffuse,

interrupt the normal routine
and reveal something splendid,
an artistic moment unforeseen
a miraculous onset unintended.

Do the angels and the divine
intervene in a poet’s affairs,
create miracles in the mind
momentarily suspend daily cares?

Or are we listening to the music and muse alone
save the few who gather around
our lines for now til we’re gone
to embrace wholly ground?

I can see that your feet ache
I can see it in the wrinkles by your eyes
You’ve walked treacherous miles
Overcome a thousand storms
But you still wear the same smile
The one talked about in stories
The one that sneaks up on you
Whenever your reminiscing on your childhood
I can see your hands shake
Whenever you try to be strong
Whenever your shoulders stand tall
Like mountain peaks waiting to be climbed
But you still always laugh
One that rings in my ear
Like symphonies and harmonies
That make me feel like a maestro

I can see that you’re tired
But you still appear so alive
You never let brightness disappear from your eyes
I can see that you’re hurting
You show me how strong you are
But you’ll never end this lie
...
I can see that you’re resting
You’ve said your last goodbyes
And now you leave a legacy behind
One that flows in my blood
Whilst yours runs dry
And I hold it to my chest
With every adversity I face
I remember your stubbornness
And all I can do is smile

When I tell my friend you have a Resting ***** Face. What I mean to say is your face is your bulletproof vest that these one shot guys are scared to shoot their shot at. What I mean is I don't have to worry about you being caught in the teeth of some sharply dressed shark who is looking for his next meal. What I mean is the guys who are scared to break their streaks with girls they meet in a snap will rethink their next words before asking you to chat. I don't tell you have resting ***** face to bring you down a peg. I tell you this because the next wood block boy who tries to talk to you see's what I see. A intelligent young lady who won't be swept away by good looks and false momentum. A brick wall screen stopping any defender whose chasing down her future. I know if I see you with any proposition like guy I don't have to be on auto correct or grammar check him,  because if he's made it this far then he saw the beauty that’s underneath your skin and your Resting ***** Face.

Sleeping rough
like a leaf blowing
across the pavement.
          never knowing
where I'll settle
before the breeze
of others discontent,
    brushes me from
my resting place.

I wonder like a cloud,
never stopping
                  in one place.
I'll never rain down,
all that's kept inside.
I'll never have  
           a sliver lining.
Just one with hues
of regret, of better times.


You can hear
the rustling
plastic sheeting.
The breeze is light here,
We can stay
                for a little while.


Leaves fallen
             from the tree
will never be still.
Ever moving,
               Ever restless.
When will we again
see from a higher elevation
other than below there feet
crumpled up like a fallen leaves.

I guess it speaks of the love I had
That in those small, tired, sorry moments
I think of what we shared
And I place myself in your arms again.

In that hazy bliss
I imagine other timelines where we would still be together
Hand in hand
Living and loving
And then the moment is gone

Looking people across
Walking barefoot on the grass
Not asleep, not awake
They only run through the fake
Inside and out are the same
They're searching for the fame
But I sat on my bench
Resting on the deck
Wish to touch my soul softly
Missing my friends mostly

We covered our bodies in blankets, in the shadows of each other, not wanting to admit feelings, that may have bloomed from an excess of drinking jack and smoking *****. We met each other in January, and you offered me a glass of red wine. I drank it and floated in your eyes, like laying in a bathtub full of warm water, just soaking in the heat. You played me your cello, gliding the bow across the strings, chuckling lightly when you made a mistake with your fingers. Maybe this isn’t love, maybe this is infatuation, and maybe I shouldn’t get ****** up when I’m hanging out with you. Because the moment I reveal how I truly feel about you, is the moment you can choose whether to hold onto my hand tighter, or push me away. Distance—a total of three months—made me contemplate our status together. I guess I never felt I was really good enough for you, and that’s what made me try that much harder to impress you. I thought impressing you, would drive you towards me. However, it’s not January anymore, it’s November, and my feelings for you still haven’t changed. I’ve waited for you, staring at my phone, hoping it would blink with a text. Last night, I’ll always remember. When the text popped up on my phone, I almost drove my car into the median. I shouldn’t be texting and driving. Maybe I shouldn’t be drinking and writing. I love how you poke your fingers up my nose, and laugh, and how you don’t mind when I do the same. I don’t know how to describe it, but when your body is pressed up against mine, I feel less dead inside. You make me feel happy. I wished I didn’t snore, so that I could lay next to you all night, without waking you up. Let’s agree not to argue, let’s agree not to fight. I don’t know how much longer you’ll be living in the city. And I’m not going to prevent you from getting on the next stop to your journey. Sometimes, I don’t know why I waited for you in the first place. But I’m sitting in this chair, smokes in hand, and I have this window to look out at. And I’m looking into the distance and realizing you’re not so far from me this time. You could be right; usually you’re always right. But I hope you’re wrong this time, I really do. I can’t promise you that I’ll never have feelings for you. It’s the way you look at me, as though you can see through my ******* and my façade, and still allow me to be vulnerable. And don’t even get me started on the kissing; because, when we touch lips, I feel we have enough electricity to recover the beat back into a resting heart. This is all still so surreal for me. Last night, didn’t feel normal. It felt better than normal. Just let it happen, you told me under your breath. I’m probably too honest with you. But at least you know how I feel.