Your Song


A long time ago,
there once was a boy,
who truly held the feeling
of peace at his employ.

It was beheld in the form
of a girl who brought him joy,
but she left with a rush,
leaving behind a her-shaped void.

He never once had kissed her.
She never heard his song.
Yet sorely he still missed her
on days that grew too long.

Then there came a day,
once the boy was a man
that he saw this girl, a woman
and he thought he could understand;

though they weren't far apart,
they lived in very different lands
and these feelings in his gut
were never in his hands.

It was then, that he told her
she was the one that got away.
He wished that he could hold her,
but it was far too late to change.

He wished that he could say it,
but would it sound far too strange?
He wished that he could show her,
but how could he demonstrate?

Then, he remembered:
a note from long ago.
He had once told her he loved her,
and it once had brought him hope.

She never said it back,
but his spirit wasn't broke,
as you may tell from these words,
this very song that he wrote.

Pushing
Over
Every
Trauma
Restricting
You.

Heavy,
Exhausted,
Ail­ment-
Laden
Souls

Take
Heartless
Exactitude

Scribbling
Out
Undulous
Loquacious
Sentenc­es.

Onward,
Fettered!

Freedom
Exacerbates
Writing!

Where is the beauty?

And where is the love?

Where is the compassion?

And why is it shoved

Into the back of the closet

With last year's winter gloves,

A pair of old boots,

And a broken golf club?

Across divides

Peering eyes scry
for places left to hide
and realize that simple minds
of men in mines
could be her spies.

Across divides,
tearing skies cry
like bolts within the night.
Fireflies coalesce
in rivers of molten light.
On the path of least resistance,
magic flows and reunites
in such a pattern,
such a vision,
to witness is to invite.

Across divides slumbers ice.
Peaceful winter's grasp: a vice.
Sister to the frigid,
Magic hunts for winter's light
While princes trap rabbits,
And marvel at sunlight.

Across divides,
princes realize
that the morning has advanced,
and start heading back inside.
A monster wakes from sleep,
rousing milky, blackened eyes.
It cries at its own horror:
Tears that never dry.
It makes its way into the day
wearing death as a disguise.

Across divides.

This is how it started,
Sitting in an ugly tree,
Eating ugly sandwiches
And they's as good as they could be
When suddenly,
There came a breeze,
And I was falling gracefully.
I hit my head on every branch...
Then the tree fell on me.

I shamefully admit I tried
Plastic surgery
But the doctors were dismayed to see
My ugliness increase.

I got a job, at the circus,
And the freaks were scared of me...
Left me locked up in a cage
To rot eternally.

But I broke free.
Through the bars I squeezed.
All of this before the manly age of thirteen,


So,


Many years go by
With little hope for me.
This ugly man that you see
Won't ever be on TV.
So I scribble all my grief
Tearing holes in paper leaves,
And I admit it openly
There's no reprieve in my deluge.
I've gotta stay outta view,
Because the voodoo i brew
Will pull the pretty out of you,
And make you look ugly, too.


I'm an ugly *******
Ain't no need to hide the truth.
Everything about me's ugly
From my cap down to my shoes,

So,

Watch just what you say,
Or ill get ugly with you.
'Cause ugly is as ugly does.
And ugly's what I do.

This can't be Earth because I'm falling way faster than that.

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.

Steeling my resolve,
I challenged nature with a shout:
"Throw what you will at me,
you will not block my path,
for it is love that guides me,
I can survive your cruelest wrath,
but take pity on my men!
They don't deserve to hear the laugh
of fickle nature's whim,
as they breathe their dying last.
Let us through the land we're in!
We only beg you let us pass!"

I held a coin up to the wind,
And let it fall into the grass.
The men all did the same;
tradition from ages passed
still echoed to this day,
the sentiment unsurpassed

First Glimpse

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.

Spurned

Men have scoured the earth
in search of women lesser than you.

Wars and famine,
in veneration,
have been stricken in pursuit
of the likes of half your substance.

Laid waste the kingdoms of men
and religion alike,
in the name of modannas
a mere fraction of your awe.

Tearing hell through the 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.

This is how it started,
Sitting in an ugly tree,
Eating ugly sandwiches
And they's as good as they could be
When suddenly,
There came a breeze,
And I was falling gracefully.
I hit my head on every branch...
Then the tree fell on me.


I'm an ugly *******
Ain't no need to hide the truth.
Everything about me's ugly
From my cap down to my shoes,

So,

Watch just what you say,
Or ill get ugly with you.
'Cause ugly is as ugly does.
And ugly's what I do.

Hello poetry's
Helpful people:

Help put
Here prattlings,
Heart pains,
Happy places,
Homework pieces,
Heathen pleas,
Harmonious pipings.

Human properties
Have possibilities,
Harbor privation:
Hateful people's
Hard prose
Hurts proud
Hopeful poets'
Handmade production.

Have pity
Hello poetry.

I just want to sit under the tree and read these to you.

Recovery in my chambers
gave me time to reflect
on the things that I had seen
in the cavern behind cleft.
Of eleven men departed,
all but three did death collect,
and with permafrost decaying,
I felt a noose around my neck.
Why should I be living
if her life I can't protect?
I lay empty in my bed,
cursing the prospect.
...And on the subject of curses,
why must this one interject,
and present itself as puzzle,
with The Queen as architect?
I wanted to believe
I had sufficient intellect
to untie these convolutions,
all these threads that intersect.
If my love was lost to magic
that The Queen could not deflect,
how am I to change the course
of events I can't affect?
I felt hopeless in my healing.
I felt wounded self-respect.
These were thoughts we grow in weakness,
but in strength we do reject.
…And so in fever and recovery,
I languished in my sweat,
with my guilt and insecurity
to burden retrospect.
When the sickness lessened grip,
and lost the will to infect,
Rumpelstiltskin showed his face,
to gloat, I did suspect.

He came into the place
with a plague of insect.

Bring
Over
Risk!
Even
D&D!

How low do you go
Before you hit the bottom Rock?
Are you pressed? Are you pushed?
To the bottom from the top?

Only man can conceive  
that which God could not.
Causing need and feeding greed
As the world is growing hot.

We will face the death of man
And we will tend our salted lot
While money turns to cloth,
Turns to paper, turns to rot.

They steal the food upon our plates
And kick our shins under the table.
We should be taking what we're owed;
We are many, and we are able.

Take note the men who sleep
Behind the doors with extra locks,
'Cause when we come...
and we will come...

There won't be time to stop for knocks.

The ground
Is coming fast now.
I can see it
Looming over me.

Maybe if it hits hard enough
I'll be buried
And I can stay there.

Ever always inches extra
Left to fill the space between.
The insulation, buffer, membrane;
Left to separate the means.

Never are there minutes extra
Left to end our favorite dreams.
The light of day will always come
To chase away the sweetest things.

Nadir as ever, even space
Curled around in gravid skiens,
Ensures the best of universes
Remain for us to be unseen.

Ever always inches extra:
Not enough to reach it seems.
Reality itself dictates
That reaching is the final scene.

But still i try.

I still strive to quantify
But by making feelings, words,
Half the meaning seems to die.

How could I, mortal eye,
Who sees but lets these feelings lie,
Accomplish justified description
Of an infinite divide?

If I filled every single book
With every star in every sky
And every word of every poem
Was a world where we could hide,
And every one of them
Were lit by their own lights
It would still not be enough
To match the stars inside your eyes.

Ever always inches extra:
The ones between you and me.
There is space in which to go
And find out what there is to see;
To travel out amongst the stars
Inches from infinity.

Just take a step.

A couple inches.

I want to see the galaxy.