To be just a face in somebody’s yearbook,
tenderly remembered by some eyes,
or maybe.. softly forgotten.

To be a passing stranger in the street,
Filling the background as if following
The imaginary script of someone else’s life.

—Coexisting in pages, or between the lines,
of multiple, existing storylines—

Playing the loyal friend sometimes;
The bubbly crush or the terrible villain
once or twice.

Whatever the role..
..we end up just lingering.

..craving.. desiring.. that funny, ephemeral feeling.

We end up just
    lingering,
          Yearning,
             Daydreaming,

to be part of
A day, a page.
A chapter, a year.

By my life’s imposing conclusion;-
My poetry will all be an additional storyline
It’s words remembered; my memory but forgotten
Surely the beginning of someone else’s inspiration
-Of course, in the middle of their new found saga
  
     And by that, I shall be content.

This world is moving fast.
One thousand miles per hour.
Quicker around the sun.
Faster around the galaxy,
And fastest into the universe.
No contraction. Just expansion.
We agree, it's infinite in time and space.
Is there a nucleus for BOOM?
Does time go in only one lateral direction?
Was there more than one BANG for the buck?
More than one universe?
Creation isn't an asterick,
Exploding in all directions,
Like the rays of a sun.
Time may have no beginning, no end.
But stories need a beginning, middle and end.
My story does.
The universe doesn't. No story.
Not without a start and an end.
Just a middle, with crises, conflicts and looming decisions.
This is the illusion.

Legislators of social stigmatization
hand out identity before child birth,
reluctantly judged by your pigmentation,
you're given a name
and a pew in a church,
assigned to a gender with implications,
while ATM balance determines your worth

Bugs will certainly inherit the Earth

Disguised as your neighborhood
privacy invaders,
cops kick in the door
at your mother's front porch,
enforcing law written by legislators
for a routine seizure and search

Police brutality couldn't mask the depravity
of their warrants nomenclature
Capitalist crusaders terrorize Americans,
but can't keep the bugs
from their Earth inheritance

Men will shroud their evil nature
Malicious intent hides below the glacier
Camouflaged vindictive behavior
is electing dictators across the equator

Truth serenaders lobby for
congressional persuaders
to pardon these murderous
capitalist crusaders,
fitting agendas with tailor made suits,
who infect Mother Earth deep in her roots

Antibiotics couldn't heal or stop this
infection these players gave her
Pray for fire and fury
to burn away worry
when bugs surely crawl from the dirt
to inherit what's left of our Mother Earth

i couldn't stop staring as the coffee dripped from her lips
she hooked her thumbs under her belt loops, resting her palms on her hips
i admired the curls that fell atop her forehead,
feeling the glowing sensation as my cheeks burned red
her name was sweet, like chocolate on my tongue
and the only thing i could compare her to was our everlasting sun

-PJM

Every footstep is a
                metaphor
of our journey.

Until our last breath
           everyone a line
of creation.

We're sentences always
                    adapting to
our changing storyline.

Another day and they say "it's a new begaining"
But is it really, it feels more like an ending
An ending of time
In a life that doesn't rhyme

An unending march to the uncertain
Like the droping of life's stage curtain
Another day closer to the end
But I'm still waiting on my life to begin

I'm tired of this life's storyline
I want a different out come this time
I want happy, not sad
I want the good, not the bad

But there is no off ramp
And my disease leaves it stamp
I feel like a lost ***** *****
And my life just goes on like a vamp

Over and over the same music plays
A sorrowful song, for long anguished days
But I want a change in the beat
An uplifting melody to get me on my feet

Will you be my new rhythm
An escape from my prison
Are you my golden key
Will you try to set me free

Will you hold me tight
When I'm a sad sorry sight
There is no cure from my depression
But will you help the darkness lessen

Or will you run for the hills
Or jump in the sea and grow gills
Just to get away
From a disease you can not sway

And leave me counting the days
Till this clock like heart's hands stand still
And in death will I finally feel real?

Remember, being young, you used to love those posters
We’d look at them for hours, got addicted to the game
Of trying to be the one, who found the most new details
We searched for all the features that none had seen before
And every next disclosure would shed a whole new light
On the storyline we thought had nothing new in store

Where along the way did you lose your sense of wonder?
What was it that blinded the eye for detail that you had?
Was it time that rusted your fixation on what’s known yet
Was it life that happened and robbed your curious mind?
‘Cause though still friends forever, the magic slowly faded
The picture got familiar as if holding no more surprise

Now just take a moment and imagine that we’re standing
Looking at that poster that you still know by heart
The one that tells the story of two best friends forever
And spells their lives out since the time that they were young
All the ties that bind them, the obstacles along the road
All the precious moments that gave colour to their lives

Imagine that this picture, etched inside you memory
Holds one little detail that you've never seen before
Would its revelation bring back your imagination
And hold the hidden power to change the story line?
Would the boy hidden inside accept the great adventure
That a few small brush strokes invite him to pursue?

This time, let me tell you the thing that you’ve been missing
The detail that’s been overlooked in all the years gone by
The painter of this story line that sketched our lives together
Signed this valued work of art with the truest signature
If you’d open up your eyes and see the artist’s message
You’d read there in my handwriting “please let me be yours”