I spend too long
Staring into the sun
The flicking tongues
Of radiation
Spilling into space

these writings,
these ramblings,
these, incoherent thoughts,

are many things to me.
i write for several reasons,
and I post my work for several more.

this, is my therapy...
this allows me to go back in time and, re-live moments, to re-think thoughts, and most importantly, re-evaluate my internal response and outlook of the situation, feeling, or occurrence.

my writing focuses upon my internalisms, my thoughts.
very few of my pieces are outwardly inspired. Very rarely is my writing based within my physical perception of what is happening around me.

I post and share, for several more reasons; some purer than others.
I share because I don't want others to suffer as I do at times, and perhaps, something in my writing will inspire a change in thought or feeling, or at the very least, allow someone to relate, and realize they're not alone.

I share so that someone, someday will recognize the true weight and reflection of my writing and be able to identify how, and why I am how I am, and help me better understand myself and the world around me, and minimize, or even eliminate this endless battle, and help me find the only thing in life that I truly yearn for:
peace.

i share also because i feel that my experiences and thoughts are common property. my creations, once made, are no longer mine to keep to myself. these words, these thoughts, these feelings are yours to do with what you please. love them, hate them, learn from them, or ignore them completely. Just as speech is common domain, so is my inner speech.

lastly, i share Because of my struggle... this is my selfish motive. I am addicted to the validation of seeing you all read my inner thoughts and react to it. It tells me I am not dreaming. It shows me that what I feel is, in fact, real and that I am not just a figment of my own imagination.

Why am I writing this?
to show you i am not merely a writer behind a mask, or truly a writer at all.
I am just a human, a person sharing my existence in the form of written words.

Thank you,
And may you all find a true, everlasting peace, and love within yourselves, and each other.

Between the stars,
There are particles afar,
Between dreams for each,
Ghosts appear beyond reach,
Between flames a'glow,
Sparks fly for us, we know,
Between shadows and light,
We're all shades in the night,
Between water and air,
Mists can form anywhere,
Between notes and song,
Music can linger along,
Between breaths that meet,
We share kisses so sweet,
It's between you and your next wife,
Time you got a life!

You give me the feeling,
Of Dido on the funeral pyre,
And I am the wood

You have me as some beast of the wilderness
Fears God in the spear and the teeth of metal
And I cannot help but run towards it

You are a sickness that has developed in my head, an idealism that may do nought but destroy me

You are terrifying and controlling, destructive and wholly
Consuming the flesh of my brain and in pain Perpetual

And you go on not caring.

Standing upon a terminal of the Pacific,
I am as calm as the waves.
As the sun falls
The colors gradient and gasp an infinite breadth
Of nothingness between the bowing photons.

I am dreary and blue,
Blue as lapis,
Listening to the waves that make no sounds--
But the sifting sands on the edge of the earth.

There is haze on this day,
And the light asks me to see it differently
Than all the days before
It calls to me, an empty voice, saying to me

That it carries the birds
And the winds
And the gulls
And the sins
Of my friends and brothers who live amongst the hills
And dine amongst the trees
And cry together between their sheets

Of metal and mold
Plastic and cold,
The earth gives me a shiver upon my skin.

In this everything,

I am lost.

In this moment,

I am skin.

On the border of the horizon that cuts
The oceans and the air
Ships without sails fight the gales and win,
Coming to rest in their deliverance.

here we are
reading over other people's
heartache,
love,
misery,
wondering if it
ever gets any better
for us

for Sally, Bex and Tonya, Denel and my beloved

<>

gods do not seek forgiveness,
or comprehension,
desertion, desecration, ascension
or condemning condescension

but how how they crave
just a good conversation,
to get a word in edgewise,
a nice chat,
entrée à, la tête-à-tête,
entre deux, deluxe-amis

a casually talking,
absent of
words of need and beseech,
reason and causality,
and no I or We pronouns,
sans enunciations and annunciations,
false hopes for incarnations, incantations,
set asides for life's grievous aches
all human requests, and some of God's commandments
for now, set aside,
annulled

just a talk,
some repartee,
but mostly an open ear lent,
an early morn quiet listen
over tea (he/she) and coffee (me),
paying attention to
both sides of an interactive story

as recompense for my willingness to be,
his engaged counter party,
my mourning gloomier cloudiness,
quick exchanged for instant,
rising sunshine warming glorious

my vista
of a bay dancing
to Tchaikovsky Swan Lake ballet music,
deftly inserted between
an Agnus Dei and an Ave Maria

mood music he said,
and we chuckled,
he/she was god and orchestrated
my tastes,
Adele et Dudamel,
comprehending my undesirable apprehension,
by granting my needy wish for
poetic inspirational composition contentment

all exchanged,
for just a good listen,
no judgements, in either direction

I am the god of love,
the one who makes you weep,
when you study your beloved's rising chest,
each uplifted breast heaving,
a confirmation blessing,
that her life is present
for at least the next second,
ready for your magi adoration

be not fearful,
this day we talk only,
as I pass by,
I have no business to conduct,
on your island of sheltering redoubt,
but to engage and unburden
for even gods
are required to confess,
and aging godheads do adore
a human shoulder
upon to rest,
a great invention,
(If I may say so myself)
and to whom better to address
than my only love poetry
poète personnelle

here he off-guards me
with a favorite injection,
Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings,
music so sweet that it never fails
to weaken my knees,
sweeping my eyes unto weeping
priming me with this first coat of
sounds so elementary soothing

he half-bows before me and says,

forgive me human, for I have sinned

in Dallas and Nice,
just this past week,
with forays here and there,
doing god's work

read your bitterness and struggle,
anger and forgiveness all in one crust,
furious curses and wails so plaintive,
my heavenly musicians weep from jealousy,
at the cries emanating from the fired fury song
of human hearts torn and love plundered

I am the god of love

and

the god of pain and all that is the

anti-love

(and to make me better understand,  
Schindler's List score, so sweetly,
he plays for me,
to clarify the atmosphere,
that death and love -
and the courage of understanding,
so oft go hand in hand)

write me a love poem for me,
no hymn or sonnet do I require,
for love is essence of forgive,
there is no perfect union,
that cannot stand,
with out this emotion of
conciliatory intermediation

tell me you understand
that the scales
of bereft befallen,
disparate chance interrupting randomized,
must periodic perforce
sometimes weigh more,
than the good of simple

balance tip that creative god spark within,
of which you write,
away from my bloodied, unsightly hand

write me one more love poem
a frisson semi-sweet and cleanly neat,
of good things sad,
but worthy of remembrance

you are not the first for this bequest to receive,
other poet's before and after,
will Jacob-wrestle with my angels,
battling to find the...

no matter

"my love to thee is sound sans crack or flaw"^

let your love poem
to me
be of whole healing,
for these disarrayed feelings
cannot forever persist,
the perfect balance you desire
is not on your Earth existent,
unobtainable

these cracks and flaws must and will come


and yet

love poems
will be our common language

and then he/she left,
leaving this poem behind,
born from my mind, yet,
carved on my skin,
written with the nib of my rib,
sealed and signed,
future undefined,
but dated upon my
cleansed hand's lifeline,
hand held outstretched
as if to say

“and yet"