It frustrates me that I’m sitting here,
Staring at a blank page.
For I feel so much.
And I have so much to write,
On this empty page.
I have seen enough to write an endless novel.
So why is my page empty?
Not full of wooded trails.
Or life's many tales.
Not even the sympathies,
Of my many brothers,
And many sisters.
My page is empty,
Alas, the poet’s dying shame.

The hands on the clock are slender,
Like her fingers,
Who used to weave through mine.

Soft was her voice,
It could grace you like an ocean breeze,
Or it could work like a hurricane,
Make you wish you never left shore.

This new winter snow,
The color of her skin.
Thin as her kiss,
Leaving me warmer than I was before.
These days I find myself missing it more and more.

But she didn't leave,
It was I,
I had to return home,
She didn't beg me to stay, she knew I couldn't.

But I know,
Someday we will find each other again,
And in time, I will remember her kiss.

Never may the dream man wake.
He slept so somberly.
I used to think he feared the world,
But now I think I see.
Never may the dream man wake.
His rest is soundless now.
Now, never to see what he was escaping.
I thought I saw the picture, but never could I have foreseen.

Never may the dream man wake.

November comes in waves,
First, the leaves turn orange,
And fall from the trees.
Second, the last summer bird flies away,
And the city is left lonely,
With the haunting song of the crows.
Third, the winds turn bitter and cold,
And those who walk the streets dwindle,
Till I’m walking the city and find I’m alone.

Static filled blank,
Consuming void,
Fills my gaze,
And I revel,
Basking in newfound freedom,
Finally free of the venom,
Free of the poison and lies,
Free of the illusions painted before my eyes.

It's easy to break.
It's easy to fall.
It's easy to feel like you've hit a wall.
It's easy to hurt and put up your guard,
But just because something's easy
Doesn't mean it isn't hard.

my boots  by the door
wait patient  to be let out
the cat's less stoic