She smelled like the dirt,
The deep rich of earth,
The water and the air,
The carbon and the mirth.

She looked like the sky,
Her head lifted high,
Clouds in her features,
Birds passing by.

She tasted like the stream,
The water cold and clean,
With the fauna and the falls,
She was all in between.

She sounded like the night,
The wisp of bats in flight,
The chirping of the crickets
Before the morning's light.

She felt like trees:
Strong, but in the breeze,
Swaying to the music
Only heard by me.

The green dies.
Never totally, but effectively.
The shadows reach across the land,
increasing their span.
They spill and run off edges like paint that never dries.
Yet you can step in it and never leave a print.
...Or never have one in the first place,
never leave your mark, just crush the foliage:
**** whatever life is left.

The air steams your breath:
A lesson in mortality.
Look! See what makes you tick?
Let me take it, freeze it, condense it,
put it on display, and leave none for you:
the one who made it...
just to make a snowball
(which is really just a fight waiting to happen.)
(Who stockpiles ammo with no intention of using it?)
(Who bites their tongue with nothing to say?)
Too many snowballs grow to be an igloo:
fallacies you can live in for a while.
It's better to just be rid of them.
Let them fly, let them fly...
Relinquish your breath back to its element:
say what must be said, even if it kills you.

It's all the same in the end:
the land will thaw,
the shadows recede,
the snow will melt,
the air will fill with argument.

Why make so much noise
if you can just throw the snowballs
as you make them?

I'll tell you my frozen friend: shelter.

At least then, we can hide for a while.
Mold it to our will.
Sure, we could let it accumulate naturally.
Unformed and unmolded, it's just a burden:
unfocused feelings, drifts of words,
letters, and sounds.
It's better put to use as shelter than mud.
At least igloos are useful for a time,
(Mud still has to be dealt with in the spring,
Why start early?)
and snowballs are at least manageable:
little bites of envy, jealousy, suspicion.

Woe betide the sun who made THIS winter!
Leave US in the cold, why don't you?
Shower US in discomfort!
Leave US to deal with blessing after blessing
in the worst way possible!

It's in our nature to throw the snow,
to waste our respite, to fight with words.
If we don't, in our igloos,
we're washed away every spring
when the thaw takes our shelter,
our words,
our breath,
our loves,

our lives.

I'm trading tender for splendor:
The loss of sweat, not-so-tragic.
I'll build up my blisters for whispers:
Spells recited in habit.
Dollars can buy what I seek:
It doesn't take many to have it.
The strange, the odd, the mystique:
The flowers painted by rabbits.
The song played by the beach:
The harp without hands to grab it.
Nature has cradled my needs:
The order created by savage.
We pay for all of these things:
Even chance has stated this adage.
I know this from my own beliefs:
The months living as addict.
They blurred, and flew on the wings:
My "needs" growing emphatic.
The basement was surely my feet:
My mind, alone in the attic.
The empty, the holes, the replete:
Filled, trading my money for magic.

The little smile you give to me,
When I give you mine:
It's kind of like conspiracy,
Shared in our two minds.
The little giggle that you let fly,
When I let mine fly, too:
It's like laughing gas
Has come to pass
Between us: me and you.
You know what's coming,
And so do I.
No reason to try and hide it.
The smile grows into a grin,
No trace of guile inside it.
Defensively, you try to cover
Everywhere you can,
But you're helpless and you know it,
You can't hide from Daddy's hands!

A squeal of laughter breaks the still:
Anticipation let go in a voice so shrill.
The giggle becomes a full-force gale.
Were both laughing now:
A full-force wail!

Let's play a game,
We'll start from the top,
Just like it's something new.
We'll call this game
"Son and Pop,"
Or maybe just,
"Gonna Get You!"

Chances gambled.
Seconds ticked.
Across the room,
Eyeballs flick.
Paths intersect,
Feet move quick.
Hi, I'm guy,
And your name's chick!
You have ****,
And I've a ****!
Let's get together,
And see what fits...
Throw *** at each other,
And see what sticks,
Share gasps together,
And then feel sick.

It's never black or white,
Up or down, night or day
In the twilight of the plight,
In the banal and malaise.
I can wish for better sight
In the mist, in the haze,
But I'm left with waning might.
See the dimming of my gaze?

But then, AWAY...

Lift the veil with burning blaze!
Evaporate the mist
As if the sun had come to play!
Push the pastel and fluorescent
Past the limits of distaste!
I see the best of light's forays
In the spectrum of your face,
And through the tears of blinding beauty,
You are the color in the gray!

Run.
'Cause I have to pursue you,
You got me with voodoo,
Who does it like you do?
None.
Overcome with the new you,
Swept in the word,
Of a curse,
Of a homebrew:
Fun.
I knew that I knew you,
But all that I've been through
Is enough to give into.
Come.
Come with me and we'll run to
A place where the sun dew
Is run through with rainbows
And all that is come due.
Want to?

The most difficult thing I could ever do
Is dare to write this rhyme.
Words from pen, and ink in line
Fail to catch this moment of mine.
The look, the smell, the touch I feel,
Are all but lost in time.

I saw an angel look at me.
She knew she caught my eye.
But once I stopped to wonder,
The moment had passed me by.
I ache to gaze that lens again,
But when? Know not I.

And ache I do! 'Tis true! Unfair!
It seems the story of which I'm defined,
For I know that never,
Not in this life,
Would she deign to be mine.
How could such a mortal man
Pine for things divine?

This isn't the first time I've seen this angel,
And surely not the last.
...In a different vessel,
But still I wrestle,
I fight to drink her laugh.
I breathe the air when she is near
To taste her heart beat fast.

But not for me,
Would it seem
It beats for in the least.
I've pondered this in anguish,
Over hours, days, and weeks.
Yet still I nourish hope
In the face of my defeats.

And so I wonder how it came to be
That she would cross a path with me
And glance a short eternity
To tease me with my heart's decree.
Was it chance by some degree,
Or torture aimed accurately?

Neither thought doth hold much sway
For swiftly she is swept away,
And I will ache another day,
And pain will find another way
To force a man with no beliefs
To wish he had the gall to pray.

I had a second chance at heaven
And I threw it all away.
I once again felt my happiness
Sour into hate.
On this page are the words
That exemplify my rage.
I once was great
But now I'm lost,
To this misery and pain.
My path: a fog, through trodden dirt
To a cemetery gate.
For what dark fate
Does this soul
So very anxiously await?

My boots are caked with mud.
The smell of iron permeates,
Along with moss, the smell of dirt,
And most certainly decay.
Never mind my mortal soul...
What kind of demon lies awake
In the midst of human fruit,
Over-ripened in the day?

The splitting corpses seem to beg me,
"Stay away, stay away!"
Burgeoned fruit spills forth,
As the rinds peel away.

The tortures yet continue,
Testing will and sanity.
Stumbling forth into the mixes,
Pestilences use the meat:
Fruits of flies spill their guts
Under muddied, weary feet,
And in the soup, in the gore,
Coagulation races feast:
Clots of blood battle vermin;
Scabs crunch like autumn leaves.
To this yet, there is more
On this journey I have seen:
Fire burns, and humans ****,
And mix the ashes in the breeze.
What soulless cur,
What kind of beast
Inhales with pleasure
When he breathes?

Smoke and fire burn the horizon.
There is nothing left of peace.
To the camps I was swept,
In the tide of the deceased.

Hard at work in heat,
Tattered and flayed meat
Toils in agony,
Swinging hammers in defeat.
Blood-slickened handles
Slip from fingers weak:
Wood and metal sings
At worn and weary feet.

Rusted chains sling,
Slicing through the heat,
Slicing through the smoke,
Slicing through the meat.
In the distant, murky background,
Drums of war greet,
As flesh and bone and flame
Dance to the beat.

Chastened bones respond,
Breaking stones in the beyond.
The work of hell waits
For no man very long.
Gangs of chains tag along,
Making quite the fiendish song,
As the billions in the lakes
Add their agonies to the throng.
The shrieks of charred lungs,
And throats ruined long,
Build the thickness of the air:
An anguished plague of smog.
Keep the fires burning;
Add another human log.
Respite is just a word,
An idea like winter frost:
Once before, it had purpose,
But now, its meaning, lost.

Abandon hope, is what they say...
But not for very long.
In the fire, in the rock,
They find their words are gone.
... Long forgotten, but for the lyrics
Of the Devil's favorite song:
A timeless tune, that my soul
Had been singing all along.

Men have scoured the earth
In search of lesser women than you.
Wars and famine,
In veneration,
Have been stricken in pursuit
Of the likes of half your substance.

Lain waste, the kingdoms of men,
And religion alike
In the name of madonnas
A mere fraction of your awe.

Tearing hell through this earth,
Here you stand before me:
Never prostrate, but exhilerant!
Sparks flowing from your hairtips:
A woman scorned!

All for the adoration of a poet:
The subject of your wrath
For his perception.

When your patience wears short,
And the day seems too long...
When the night's first report
Sings a disappointing song...
You'll want to leave your ship of port,
And I'll remind you:
You are wrong.

Fickle be the weather,
For though the wind seems too strong,
Save your vigil for the sunrise
And don't believe that I am gone,
Because I'm here, and I will tell you,
Stay your sails,
For you are wrong.

It is a difficult decision,
Without crew to spur you on,
To depart on frigid waters
And ignore the siren's song.
You may fear that I'm not with you.
You may feel that I don't miss you.
...but here's my only issue:
You are wrong,
You are wrong!

It's an oxymoron:
A blind man's vision,
Rehabilitative prison,
The poor politician.
It's an oxymoron:
Assisted suicide,
The creation of destruction,
The modest man's pride.

Her fingers dance along the keys.
Delicately at first, then with more conviction,
As she grows more assured.
"Something inside this one is broken," she says,
The disappointment plain on her face.

Then she moves on.

After a time, sometimes a day,
Sometimes more,
Another comes by,
Finding the notes to her dislike.
"This tone is not where it should be."

And like all the others,
She moves on.

The instrument has been there waiting
For a long time.
When the shop closes,
And no one comes to peruse,
I sit down with myself,
And strike the chords aloud.
They sound beautiful to my ears,

As my heart-strings always do.

To those of you who know me,
You know me not at all.
To those of you who don't:
These are my beacons in the fog.
These words have been my anchor.
They've been there to break my falls.
I've illustrated my escapes
From within these empty walls.
On these pages are the prices
That I've paid for life's surprises.
I've lain waste to pens revising,
Re-copying, refining.

Not all of it is exciting,
Nor sad, or uninviting,
But I gain pleasure from these words,
And from the simple act of writing.

And so for this I'm pleading,
And maybe even needing:
Take pleasure from these words,
And the simple act of reading.

Nature sees what nature sees,
And nature does what nature does.
Minds believe in memories
And sometimes hearts believe in love.
When hearts and minds do both agree,
Conceived are dreams converged as one,
But love of life and logic leaves
Our livelihoods left out of luck.

Deceived are these who dream of things
Composed of money, grease, and blood:
Mechanical beings, with cogs and springs,
Like clockwork do this planet run.
In tightened shifts, devices click,
And slowly start to smog the sun,
But smoke and fog made synthetically,
How many does this bother? None.
Machines, you see, they do not breathe
The air they leave beneath for us.
They call this craft their politics,
And leave us here to pay in blood.
One by one, by one, we wonder,
Where the humans lost their love.

When will men begin to see
What nature sees how nature does?

I hear the moon is nice
This time of year,
And since it lacks an atmosphere,
There would be no storms to fear.
Sunny days and vistas clear...
I bet I could see my house from there!
Just leave the doors of the house shut tight,
And live alone, there in the night,
With all the world, there in my sight.
I'd have the view to keep me right,
And stars as friends to salve my plight.
Whirling 'round in endless flight,
I'd dance with Earth in points of light,
'Til Earth and Moon next reunite.

Rise and make haste
To the display of human waste!
Stand amazed at the hate
That I deserve in my disgrace!
I have taken
What is precious,
And I've given it to waste.
I destroyed
What is dear
In a fit of sightless rage.
This scrabbled page
Is all I have
From our halcyon days.
I know for sure,
That forever,
Life will never be the same.

I am ashamed.

Eddies and curls
Swishes and swirls
From fingertips
Relief begins
To make its trip.
Hold the flame
To the tip
Butane leaked
In its slow drip
Fuels the flame
Lit by flint.

There it goes!
There it goes...
Above the chin
Under the nose
Between the lips
To stain the gums
Over the tongue
Into the lungs.

The cheeks, they flush
Feel the rush!
The heart beats fast
To clean the blood...
Clean the blood
Of toxic gas.

The heart, it stills,
The lungs, they slow.
Down the hill
The windpipe goes.
One last gasp
Of poison still,
And the brain dies last
To seal the deal.