I thought about me, long before I became me. And though I am here, I believe, this is where I was meant to be.

Although I often try and speak
In subtle tongues
I have no other language than this
Or so it feels
At times it feels

Let the wind and rain on this dreary day refresh your mind, and seep into this, the very corners of your soul. That way we can drink in the storm together. Instead of our midweek coffee, hot, we'll brew this Friday morning cold, and sip until the weekend appears. Polite and unfolding, as the packet of paper and its peers, for the cream is sweet enough for the cold brew itself. And so I ask of you. Would you drink in a metaphor or two with me, just for a break? In order to take away, from the truth of day which has yet to grow but an hour old. Let the wind and rain suppress all thought, as we sit beside, in the room of old. Breaking, waiting for the will-less voice which always seems to sleer and say...get back to work you sleepy, seeping, sipping souls. Take your supposed spice coffee calling called cold brew and go.

Since I discovered this place
Since I took up that old mask again
To hide my boyish face

At least for an hour or two each week
I feel at home
Almost not alone
In a place where I may not belong

Firm collar
White as snow

Crisp and with an edge like steel
Cutting, not cold

Unblemished is he?
No

Considered rough,
Perhaps

Although in a certain way, he walks
Straight past his friends and his foes

Not aimlessly though

For where poise meets focus
There is also dignity

And a calming aura to be found
Amidst the calamity

With a hint of conflict
Though he speaks

His words are bound
To fairness and justice
To the law and to love

And though he spoke once
Not arrogantly

This is the sound of a constant man
Who is capable of change, and yet, is found

In a pattern which drowns out the breeze
Like the whippoorwill that’s lost its tree

By this you'll know, that you've seen
And crossed the path of a pensive man

Intent on this, to understand

Her
Him

And all around

I'm not afraid of birds and beasts
Of men, of death, of passing time
Not often at least
How I catch myself
Although such fears can certainly be
Very valid in the viewer’s mind

No, I am afraid of something else, of something like this:
"What will I find when I get to that place, to the end of that line?"

And therein within, at the end of all things
When there is no tape left for me to rewind

I find my fear which is in fact, that I'll be left
Trying to understand and satisfy both of our minds

How actively and willing I’ll always be to compromise
But, that one day, I'd become this way
Like the only one who prays each day
To walk the narrow, bitter line

For years and years
That way to be
Simply stuck to you, and stuck with me

Trying to bend and break most faithfully
Until I meet my own demise and internalize the eternity

That, is the fear, which frightens me

Because a wise man says not change their ways
But change your own, first in your time

Which I can do because I’m me
But just being a wise man doesn't means
That I'm not a human
And that I won't desire change equally

For such a fear is real to me
Because I've witnessed, time and time again
The bitterness of inequality

When I am here
I feel more near
Than two stars in the night sky

Right beside each other
Partners almost
And yet light-years away

Though not by choice
But perhaps design
As we could be, as we are in voice

Ever trapped in this endless cycle
Like the slow glowing impending
Endless time

Like the space between most every breath
I'll be nearer to you after this goodnight
And yet no more than a distant star

For we are but two
Of the many bright orbs
Glowing in the grandest of sky's

You keep on spitting it out
From your couch "my friend"
Because you know where I'll be

Working furiously as ever before
Until all of the flaws are ironed out
And there's nothing left of you but your mouth

Just sit back and relax as you always have
And then comment on what THIS is really about

How I did what I said, and I said what I am
When I jumped up and stomped on the top of these clouds

Hopefully then you'll discover quite quietly how  
To have a sensible song tucked away in your mouth

She’s always walking away
And at a pace that’s too fast for me
And even though I walk alone
And rather quickly
She is always walking steadily
Away from me

The heavy patter of the rain
Reflects the pattern of my heart
In weariness
In longings last
How I've waited for this storm to pass
Most patiently
Slowly pouring out
With a cooling voice
Till I calm myself
And yet so much more than the afterstorm
Which I must create
Everytime I've felt
The need to be
More than this old me
This rainsoaked version of the self