Whenever we hold hands my heart flutters with joy.
It is a shame he doesn't feel the same way about me. Rather than receiving the love and affection I crave, he handed me whatever he had on him at the time, then said goodbye without a second glance.

He is shielded by a lush rainforest of metallic black mirrors that seem to stretch on forever, protecting his heart from those who would seek to claim it. And winning it is no easy feat.

I found myself in the depths of despair, yet I managed to draw upon a hidden reservoir of resilience and courage. I summoned a holocaust of hope as I watched his version of love slip away, a tightrope walking without a net.

His words echoed, a haunting refrain:
"In time, what will be will be."
A dirge, not a love song, but still I hold on to hope,
my heart refusing to surrender.
I won't let silence keep me from speaking
the truth my heart needs him to hear.

What do you do with a heart that refuses to give up or let go,
a heart that's lost its way? Yet still, I nurture hope,
persistent as twins vying for space,
endless as the wait for an opportunity.
One day, I'll teach my soul to reflect sunlight,
to hold dear the words dear John never spoke.

I looked far beneath the surface
of your face, I found pain and blood boiling
like an ocean
that can't swim away.

I found beaten bones
and so many unholy wars of
yesterday.
Tell me, have you seen your reflection lately?
Did you see us all
honey and purple wildflowers?

Hiding behind the only halo
we hallucinated and worn in others memories who denounced us.

Remember how we
   wrapped them so carefully
in paper ma-shay pearls and perception.

We found how effortlessly
it is to play hardball
with imagination.

I wish our worlds didn't
fall apart and break so easily!
I Wish purgatory wasn't
attached to our grave stones
that reads here lay the
two olive branches never extended.

I wish we weren't left to die
If only they knew sage and a hug was our cure.
Then we could of done
the shadow work only
performed by God.

Now we will never know how
   the Elohist befriend
its demons and not **** them.
Maybe in some strange way they
know this is the only thing keeping them alive.
I wish tomorrow wasn't already dead,
Like fresh cut roses
with buds of innocents.
Death knows so well
how to mirror life

It placed warning signs on pedestals high enough so that all may see, but what I see is
we are the journey and not on one.

We are a continuum of blurred lines
Drawn in sand and sky.
Dying wasn't the problem
And living was never the answer.
I never asked to be delivered from evil
I just wanted to know why
Was it created.

What I have mastered is the art of love, and the
understanding that some hearts are worth fighting for
and some are not.

See here the scares love left, when it left.
See how remorse has its limitations
when it came to you.

I still see the imagery when I think hard enough
how I once smiled
like full-grown sunflower under moonlight.


I also see how your love vandalized what I feel for you.
How I trusted you, not knowing my
faith would need an accountability partner.


Now your eyes sickened and contrite, ruled by
Venus and lust, which caused my
tears to look like diamonds in the rough.

If only tears can talk instead of just fall.
They would probably tell us what love sounds
like underwater.

this pain isn't poetic it is just words
massaging deeper wounds.
"My heart is a powerful stanza Standing all alone"

Disrobe the rhythm in my heart.
Let it ceremonialize its own unsympathetic departure,
in the dead of winter.

Let it yowl like a pack coyotes.
Then let the wind take the
melody to Jupiter in Capricorn.