Maybe it was the lighting,
But as you looked towards the rooms sky
I swore to you that the glistened dew stained
Your cheekbones, auburn.

It was the dimming glow that bothered mine.
I don’t know if was the environment,
Or the moon of currant, bleeding a signal that made
The mutts howl alongside you.

Your eyes, now faced with fears that knows
It can take over and plaster this town.
Fear subsiding into your crescent gaze
As you avoid looking at anyone.

I know you won’t hear me.
But I want to help you.

I want to take it all away from you
every last ounce of discomfort, bring it to me
I will bear it on the back of my shoulders
never letting you see the way it weighs me down
if I could take it all tomorrow, if it were gone tomorrow, you wouldn’t have to worry again
I’d hold it without a hint of pain on my face
I would breathe for you, be the breath in your lungs, give you the strength you need for today
if I could take it all tomorrow, I would take it all away, I would put it on myself without hesitation
I’d take the soreness, the fatigue, and weakness
without a second guess, it would be gone tomorrow, you would feel no more pain tomorrow

When we are breathing,
we share in our breath.

People are self-seeking,
and unless we play with
pragmatics, we can’t help it.
Yet we are helpless in
how bounteous we are.

When we are breathing,
we share in our breath,
and when we die,
we share in our death.


-
by Aleksander Mielnikow (Alek the Poet)

Crying and comfort, hugging and gifting,
thoughtful with time, and being uplifting.
Embracing each chance to do what I could,
and doing it because good feels good.

Giving advice after I’ve lent an ear,
and choosing to serve who most needs me there.
Save each damsel in distress if I could,
and doing it because good feels good.

Being a friend in stubborn defiance—
I’m the one in whom they place reliance!
Some may not think I should act as I should,
but I only do good that feels good.

People don’t seem to get the irony.
Such goodness erodes some humility.
There is no deed, good or bad, that you would
do if doing it did not make you feel good.

No man is an eye
Land and water make each other
Ever intertwined

Waves lapping gently
The wind whispers a sweet song
No one will hear it

somehow you always expect the universe to wait for you.
that the trees will stop growing and the sky will stop raining.
maybe the rivers will stop flowing or the snow will stop falling.
you wither away,
just waiting for the moment that the sky will bend to hold your hands and pull you to stand a little straighter.

you let yourself fall apart while the world moves on in hopes that it will stop.
the earth will stop spinning,
the seasons will stop changing,
people will stop leaving you behind,
wind will stop blowing away the ashes of your broken memories.
you hope against hope that the trees will weave themselves together to make you a safety blanket.
maybe the mountains will rise around you and protect you from the barrage of the outside world,
but it never does.

time goes on,
people grow older,
they grow more independent.
nothing in the universe will wait for you as you grow tired in an endless battle over your own subconscious,
an endless battle to win back the privilege to control your own life.

you find yourself lost time and time again,
wandering down an abandoned road,
caught in a sea of loneliness,
waves crashing against you as you fight to breathe and fix your life.
you suffocate with lack of authority over your own being.
your reliance on the support will be your undoing.

but still,
you blame it on those who are too busy fixing their own life to deal with your madness,
those who are already caught in their own war and let themselves suffocate to let you breathe,
leaving you behind.
a sole survivor who is waiting in line to suffocate for another,
an endless cycle of selfishness and selflessness.