The summation of incredible moments of unsubstantiated ecstasy we both once shared
Are only to be realized on the aftermath
Of cold, solid reality that it is ceased on the resounding note of tragedy
Wells of tears unseen, piles of letters unsent, composition of melodies unfinished,
Unspoken desires to be fathomed silently on the backs of a lonely romantic, idealistic mind
Who dances solemnly on these fragile footsteps of a love,
That is forever lost, non-refundable, and unattainable.

This dismal face softens
And flushes with just a touch
Of life.

Turmoil broke like a fever
And trickles of security
Bled through the cracks.

I lit a lamp instead of sitting
Here in the darkness I've become
So accustomed to.
Lukewarm light isn't much
But it's enough to go on.

My heart never stopped but now
It's beating with a purpose.
Not one of affection,
Not one of intimacy,
But for the pursuit of living
I've been putting off for so long.

Maybe I'm fine. Maybe everything's fine.

Often, on quiet days, I wade through forest paths to the outer most regions of town. Close to the brink of wilderness where the humming sounds of cars and popping noises of God knows what can still be observed. Yet, the pure land surrounding has been blessed to be untouched and unblemished. Here, I retreat. I circle the bend and climb a hill until I reach an isolated plateau of nature reserve. Where natural phenomenon rise and cease in incessant and lullabic oscillation. As if to unplug my mental cords and to store away my worry, fear, concepts and systems. I reach a haven of unity. Although I own no land for myself, out here I can't help but feel this lost land of paradise is fully mine. However, I would like to do away with the notion of possession and self and here I can get closer to doing so. As if I were a small, beautiful water droplet being plucked from that cruel water resistant surface and to glide gracefully back into an encompassing body of water where the temperature is the state of my mind. And on occasion I notice another solemn being, clearly human, stumbling down the same path I had managed to carve and from atop the raised plateau, I can watch them. They circle and turn back, but I can't help but wonder if they feel the same as I do. And sometimes I think to approach them slowly and calmly and inquire about philosophical concepts. But I wish not to disturb what is so beautifully held in the essence of the silent forest. I would wonder what knowledge or truths these men and women had attained during this life and if it were to resonate with my own. Or possibly to share. In the town and at the refill station I dare not to inquire about such trivial matters but instead I nod my head or note the weather. But I cannot help but imagine and sometimes even feel that there is something deep within us and the space and entities surrounding us that is ineffable and profound. Yet it seems that it is lost in the thicket of ideas, concepts, and biased reality just like the sunlight in a dense, cold, unlit forest. And I have convinced myself that if we could clear even enough of the baggage we carry as entrapped souls that we could create a more beautiful, serene, and harmonious state of unity and achieve transcendent heights of being right here and now.

The solemn grey skies
reflecting the soul within.
Scarred beyond recognition
from wounds inside,
suffered outside.
Trying to fix what was broken
the gloomy soul strides forth.
Seething with an anxious desire to learn
continuing onwards, but all for naught.
Silent dew drops roll
down that calm mask.

when I tuck her in, sheets tight under her chin,
pillows fluffed three times wide ways and long ways
(we just might have a type A child yet!)

I notice her eyes. wet, round dinner plates.

there's nothing I need to ask. she has nothing to say.
nothing that hasn't been said in the glances we
exchange over a teddy bear we clutch,
arms slowly ripping from the seams.

she grabs my hand and squeezes,
tighter than I did when she was born.

just five years ago, I screamed,
tossed back my head, sweaty hair
clinging to my scalp like soggy noodles.

the doctor held her up, Simba style.
I closed my eyes gently and slept through the trumpets.

now we're here, in this bed, in this fear
that neither of us can speak.

when her eyelids befriend her cheeks,
and the dinosaur music box hits its last run,
I creep to the door, edging one creak against another;
then I hear it,
barely a whisper, but loud and clear:

*why do the good guys have to die?

The color of the night
Watched wide-eyed
Solitary comfort
Warmth of darkness
Stars as witnesses
Stripped of inhibitions
Laying supine
Neath the night sky
Night regaling me
Magnetic presence
Attracts my attention
Only me and night
The other half of life