When morning comes
I want to see you next to me
I want to watch the whispers of dawn
As they wave away the night sky
The semblance of hope as the sun rises
Your arms around my waist
In a kind embrace
Portraying the artistry of illusion
But illusion works
The pseudo nemesis
The fracture of earth
Faults rubbing against each other
Earthquakes that construct

When morning comes
I want to see you next to me
I want to watch your first smile
As they wave away night's pain
Your legs around my ankles
The hair on my skin rises
Attracted ions of energy
Depicting our chemistry
Formulas that can't be written
In equations and laws
Newton's laws disavowed
And Einstein weeps
My science is you
And you are my Armageddon
The end of everything I've striven to achieve

But when morning comes
Will my past hours dictate
Your existence?
Will my soul fall into harmony
With your sensuality?
Morning inevitably comes
And I am never ready.

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is.
When the touch of my fingertips
glance your decadent lips.
It urges within me an impatient surge.
The ardent flower that blooms at night,
under stars that shine harder to breathe the seductive aroma.
The galaxy shrinks, as to ensure its reach within the celestial skies,
forgetting their physics.

But if you dismember the limbs with which my love feels,
my love will retract within itself, like the turtle fearing the chaos outside its shell.
And if you deny me the reciprocity of my heart's most passionate story.
I will close the chapter and publish as is.

Yet, in my winter's tale, as frozen tears of sky lament their cause,
I shall give comfort from my fires.
Warming each breath of wind, as they gasp for substance.
My atmosphere will be enriched from my most enlightened flame.
And your ice will become my neccesity, a most welcome oasis in the desert.

But if you fuel my flame, if my desires entwine with yours, spiraling with themselves intuitively,
the wildfires would capture intensity in its most primal form.
My love becomes a slave to your divinity, a temple to your goddess,
wading through blasphemy, accomplishing rapture.

I give up
Not from the essences that overpower me
But through the power of my essence
The closeness of my distance
At arm's length but with the touch of my fingertips
Celebrating the wake
Lamenting the birth
Bittersweetness
Lingering odors of love
Shimmering darkness through poignant light
Songs of terror
Howls of joy
I give up
Not from the whispers of the night
But with the deafening of silence
As I jump through those hoops
Your disappointed stare
My blissful ignorance
I struggle against your expectations
But no more
My peace is my own
And I own it fully
No more will I try for you
I will not try to live down to your lofty descent
I reside on my mountaintop
My fortress of solitude
I scowl derisively at the rest of you
I cannot be saved
So give it up.

To know who I am
is to dive into the chasms
of contradiction,
the dark myriad of hollowed depths
wrapping you in a pall of wretchedness.

Fires burn and rain slices;
little knives of unintended intentions,
howls of agony and triumph, as one.

Discernment, lost in disarray,
a slow wave of dread,
washes bright beaches of jubilation;
an aesthetic diamond, yet flawed.

Clouds of sun and suns of clouds,
no shade from the heat.
Branches from trees whip,
as Mother Nature scolds her rebellious son.
He must be made an example of.

Yet gaze upon him!

How hurricanes bellow within!

Yet, peace resides as his countenance,
a squatter not to be disturbed.
He wears the dull stare
of him who dares not deign
to show himself to others.
He prefers to remain in the dark,
and darkness is his home.

Hidden, like the starry sky
behind a wall of clouds.
But, perhaps, in varied spaces,
it would be fortuitous
to glance on the constellations
as they breach the forts of night.

Few and far between
are his manifestations of emotion,
like peace on our downtrodden earth.
Imperceptible, like God's presence to a sinner;
unavoidable, like temptation to a saint;
unable to be ignored,
yet blissful in ignorance;
eyes that never make a home,
yet inviting to all guests;
ears that never listen,
yet decipher all unspoken words;
heart that is permanently broken,
but with carved pieces in cages distributed to all;
a stomach that's never full,
yet never starves;
a mouth that speaks in common tongues,
with his song only heard by uncommon trust;
a full hand of friends,
but a whole universe of enemies,
separated by manmade canyons.

Who is he?

One that acts without thinking,
but thinking is his only act..
One that gives without having,
but gives all he has.
One that gladly bears your cross
while shouldering his own.
One that lives to make an impact
yet vanishes without a trace.

I am what I've always been.

The silent struggle behind the scenes;
the little glimmer beyond the veil;
the one that chooses to feel nothing,
only because, separately and all at once,
I feel everything.

my most common pain;
the tear in eye;
when I get overtaken by emotions;
I can't describe;
everything seems so far off;
the peace of mind so slovenly cast;
the ire of self;
the music of my soul;
overwhelms everything else;
the clash of instruments;
symbols of my thoughts;
the large bonfire of passion;
that can't be tamed;
the love I feel for my breeze;
that can never be fulfilled;
the loneliness;
but...like with all things;
endings create new beginnings;
but I feel like;
I end everyday;
and the line is so blurred;
between start and finish;
a tidal wave;
no footprints left in the sand;
no footsteps to follow;
just a common cause;
and an uncommon burden;
no order in the misery of life;
no substance;
I want to wrap you in the shelter of my soul;
it aches for you;
a storm brews;
and lightning strikes;
with no sound of thunder;
a whirlwind;
the fury of gusts;
as dirt and sand and debris;
circle us, taunting;
demanding to be allowed;
to whisk us away;
with no restraints;
no direction;
just the splitting cuts;
of micro origins of glass;
rain;
to wash us clean;
the fear is, no matter how long I try;
this will never be complete;
no matter how strongly I feel;
I will never be able to put it to you;
fully;
so there's the issue my love;
I only want you to know;
that I have to try;
to embrace the chaos.

If I could, I would make my words
Notes of music that purr
A beautiful song is within me
Struggling to claw out
Struggling to make itself heard
Struggling to breathe its miracle
On my life
To clean it out as in spring
To give it the fresh start it needs
If I could, the notes would envelop
You, and cover you infinitely
In a perpetual wrap
An effective dressing upon a wound
That needs to be healed
If I could only give words to my meaning
And no more giving meaning to words
Such a backwards way to express one’s self
Cause I already know how I feel
The struggle is to make you feel it too
In the purest form, without sacrificing your senses
I want you to know the music of my soul
The xylophonic beat, the thundering percussion
Then I want you to know the emotion behind it
The battle between peace of mind
And storm of spirit
An everlasting war rages on
But instead of the death it implies
It’s an existence I can’t describe
And the artistry of my music
Isn't that it’s complete or finished
But that it’s an ever evolving work
That the journey will always be
More satisfying than the end

clearer than the brightest day,
sharper than the handiest blade,
the thought of you swallows me whole,
to see the beauty of all the world,
manifested in your awesome gaze,
but with a hint of cloud,
not to keep me out,
but to keep me wanting more...