Maybe the end of the universe
does not lie in an explosion
or a hole that breathes black,
maybe it is right here
where stone benches reside
and the raindrops taunt like pesky little children
waiting for you to see them,
loud enough to mimic the silence
loud enough to sound like sorrow.
Maybe this is the end of the universe—
cosmic loneliness.
The stars are in a bitter drink
and the sun lies anywhere but within you
and your moon—why do they say that? To the moon and back?—your moon is a rock in your stomach
and only the fingers of the almost rain
weighs you down on dear, old Earth,
washing you off your tears.

your words exactly:
"i believe our paths were meant
"to intersect,
"but not to sustain.
"to touch,
"but not to cling.
"to meet,
"but not to unite. "
and i still love you,
despite.

Can I do it?
Can I look at words and notes
And study the choir director's motions
All at the same time
While barking a joyful noise?

Can I make the cut?
Can I better zoom in on the areas
That need vocal attention?
Sure, I know this is not my life path,
But I want church choir
To be something new in my life.
To say I did it?
Okay.
But it will certainly not end on that note
For sure.

His voice, his smile, his laugh
     was dancing around her
                                     rambunctious mind
she remembered everything about him,
          but his smile made her fall in love
                                                          with him.
    The way his lips parted and the corners  
curled up
                        her stomach fluttered when          
             she saw it,
    but now, when she stares, she feels
                paralyzed
                                                  still
                         she can’t breath
  He’s gone but her mind, oh her mind,
         keeps racing
                                 blasting
         roaring.
                           She just wants it to end
             why won’t it end?

If many people knew
That words
Once out of our mouths
Can either pierce
A perfectly beating heart
Or caress
A woe-stricken soul
They can either be a balm
And soothe the aching burns and scars
Or lodge as bullets
Inside a mind
Bestowing wounds
To be nursed for a lifetime
They can either make
A skin shimmer with hope
Or strip it of its lustre
Like dull ancient sculptures
If only many people knew
That their words are endowed
With a power so surreal
Which can either save
Or wreak havoc
Then perhaps
Less tears would be shed
More smiles would be exchanged
And this world
Would indeed become
A better place

with nothing else
to fill their bellies
the mice went back
to eating poison
and the ants in search of crumbs
came back with nothing
but death on their backs
to feed their queens
and under the light of the stars
we crumbled

the murdering of crows
was made legal
as the color of the doves guilt
was decided to be more pure
than the blood of a dead mans heart

no matter the weight of his innocence

and all this could have been stopped
all this could have been avoided

none of this...

none of it...

had to happen

but we heard the screams of kindness
we heard its cry for help
we saw the hands of cruelty around its neck
we saw the hate foaming
we saw the dreams bleeding out

and we did

nothing

and misery breed
and filled the streets
and slept in our beds
and made its home
under our skin

and not even the light of the stars
was enough for us to remember
what it meant to be human
back before we abandoned joy
in the pursuit of the wealth of greed

We all have dreams.
Our personal nightmares take them away.
Then we get used to it
We dont dream at night anymore
The darkness keeps us in fear
We light candles.
In rooms that remind us of all we used to have.
Still holding, still waiting and then suffacating
So fractured, reacting, till we pack up and hide away
We lost faith
No God, no reasons just not believing
We had hope
But the world somehow won over and stole it away.
It's funny I inspired but now I'm left with nothing but tears
My crying, my hopelessness and lost years.
It gets better I say, and question that again
We all have choices to make or to take
Roads lead to demise or fate

this bathroom floor tile
knows me better than you do
you slid through
and the caution
slippery when wet sign
you took is the only
difference between the two
pictures in the funny papers
mercury and magazines
now we’re all victims
and more confused
you refuse to breathe the life you took
back into me
like my restless tears refuse to keep this filthy floor clean