I've been told that
if I see something beautiful
(a flower, for instance),
I should leave it alone,
let it grow and bloom.
But, I'm only human,
and I've spent a long time
holding on to nothing.
So I say pick the flower,
hold it, smell it, love it,
and stop wasting your life
wanting something that is
right before your eyes.

As a young man in love,
I was selfish.
I walked with you,
I shared food,
I slept with you,
It was my insatiable thirst;
Desire, and
I needed to gulp it,
At any cost,
For survival.
Perhaps you felt likewise.
I didn't know.

Now, being older,
That
Which I do
Out of love,
I do for you.

How did Love,
Of all things,
Become so entangled with selfishness?
The poets used to write pages just to admire their beloved’s hair;
Now they just write lines lamenting their own unfulfilled desires.
Love used to mean
Wishing someone happiness
Wishing a wonderful life for the admired one;
But now,
Love means cursing your beloved,
Or feeling sorry for yourself,
If love is not returned.
How do we get back to real Love?
How do we get back
To admiring each other,
Caring for each other,
Wishing the best for each other?
How do we teach
(and learn)
To truly Love each other
Without requirement?
How do we teach
(and learn)
That Love,
Real, True Love
Does not ask for anything in return.

I wish that all mirrors could be windows,
Having had quite enough introspection.
I want to live in the world the world knows,
The world that is more than my reflection.

Trapped behind walls seeing nothing but me,
These mirrors have cost me my perspective.
If I’m all there is, who am I to be?
Solipsism is no man’s objective.

I peer through the glass right back into my face.
I don’t even know if I’m seen behind.
Windows are mirrors to the human race,
But the reflection in mine makes me blind.

I wish that all mirrors could be windows,
But scared the world won’t like what I expose.

Melted into my cushion below.
Wood before me, ceramic circles.

Cold vibrations buzz in the air,
Carrying tales.
The same... but different.
Repeatedly blasting my eardrums,
Gripping my mind in a chokehold.
Pounding in messages all the same.
Dreadfully, droning. On and on.

Where is it coming from?
The icy daggers that pierce me deeply,
Killing my hope?

In front, on cushions of their own.
Countless figures lined up with circles.
Shadows, smiling and laughing. Repeatedly.

Same stories. Same atttibutes.
Distinct figures externally.
Each internal voice... the same.

My ears lift like feathers.
Flying in hopes of warmth.
Only to meet the same,
Inconsiderate.
Icy.
Instruments under each figures nose.
Eating their flesh on ceramic circles.

As my wings fold, I sing my song.
Warm but filled with color.
Scented with lavender.
Tasting of pepper.
Rainbow vibrations warm the table.

The figures become clearer.
My friends, family, strangers all near.
Talk of themselves everyday all year.
My words distinct. Reach every ear.

Strange questions and tales; none true.
Alone at the table but surrounded I sit.
Wishing to hear my words returned.
My wings stay chained, my heart cold.
How many jokes have I told?
How many smiles have I seen?
How long has it been?

Speak for them. To drown them out.
Leaving smiles on every mouth.
Have no friends and get no help.
Speak to them, talk to myself.

Hello, death?
Yes, uh, hi. Calling because I wanted to clarify things.
When I said I wanted to die, I meant alone,
not with friends.

I don't want them to get caught in my selfishness,
Nor do I want their families to feel loss.
So yes, at least keep them safe; I'm fine with dying, I guess.
Anyway, until next time, death.