it is the birthday of a dead man
the day the world began
the end of all that has ever been and all that ever will be
and it is during this time of year that i am reminded of a minuscule speck
a mountain of joy, an avalanche of the heart
of emotions I dare not speak 
of words too intricate to attempt to explore
i swing my heart by a tethered rope
with the hope that when it falls flat against the cold tiles of realization 
it will mend itself with knowledge that all things mend
and i have felt
as minuscule as a speck
and as grand and loved as a mountain 
and i remember my beloved oak tree 
extending its branches far beyond my reach
beyond the horizon 
beyond me
and with eyes twinkling with wonder 
i ask my beloved oak tree
will you please stay with me?
he smiles knowingly
there are words he does not speak
and when i ask
he shelters me
he urges me to ask for whatever answers my heart desires 
and when he speaks 
i am all wonder as i hear words like i've never heard before and letters said with a command beyond that of a general 
and that is how we spend our days
i am all the oak tree wished for
i marvel at everything it has seen 
i am so happy he is my oak tree
and there might be emptiness where it stood
but I will always make room for it next to me

he doesn't say good morning at the crack of dawn
barely even manages to look me in the eye
and when I pass, he doesn't look up with bedazzled eyes
and although words fail him and days stretch where he is absent and I am a wreck
there are moments where I am convinced
that he is the moon
and I was always meant be his star
far enough not to be a nuisance
but close enough to admire all the ways he is
my last bit of hope
is strung around his neck
and i fear if the world ends tomorrow
he'd leave me on the deck

I have come to the conclusion that we were never meant to be
that is not a product of our circumstances
rather, our dispositions
and how you falter
and I do not
and when faced with adversity, our tactics differ
you the setting sun
trailing behind you washes of color
a soft whisper of a reminder
that you passed through
you liked it that way
how amusing is it then that I am enamoured with you and the setting sun equally
some days the sun is better to me
and those days I resent you
I am ill equipped
and you are well versed in all the ways lovers dance
I am an arrow to a target  
you question the need for arrows
my setting sun
I will love you till you set no more
till the arrow makes more sense to you
till you try to shoot yours, perhaps
I am all together too aware of the fact
that you are surrounded by targets
and I am not one
and all written words do is attempt to bring me closer to you
to understanding what we've created of ourselves
I shall try to stop hurling my arrow at the splendid sun once it stops kissing my skin

my best friend has many tells
when he loves something he cries
when he's sad he laughs
when he's lonely he forgets to call


sometimes

the tides would pull him under
too focused on survival to see me
on shore
praying for his safe return
I love you
I yell
he sinks

we dare not speak
for thoughts are forbidden 
in the ashes of what was once our beloved kingdom we stand 
unrecognizable 
we sleep cradling what little is left of our printed word
i hold it faithfully to my chest
i owe all that i am to you
thoughts float, suspended in midair
waiting for those of us with nets to catch them 
softly place them on loving pearly white mattresses 
comfortable? you'll outlive man’s time
beyond the falling of allies
beyond the dying of the sun
beyond us
beyond them
beyond wars, salvation and greed
you clench all that we are
in a single fist
as if the bane of human existence 
exists
in a book

i must remind myself
that people don't own places
no matter how much they feel like home
and that piece of grass
that feels like my mothers embrace
is just a mirror
i've buried my hope inside a vault
said a prayer
closed my eyes and said goodbye
shushing grasshoppers along the way
all that can be heared are my muffled sobs
and the echos of halfhearted steps
dragging metal across green damp strands of the earths scalp
i reassure myself that this is the way it has to be
the pungent smell of death and decay
the earth engulfs all our sorrows
embraces our dead
harbors our wars
and we too will pass
another disease the earth must rid itself from
and all that will be left
is a few bones clattering together for warmth
and a woman
whose gaze
follows you wherever you go

it's widely accepted that one gains visibility in exchange for their earthly flesh
and often I wonder
am I ready for that trade

Glory to the unknown
Glory to the forgotten chambers of our hearts
To the thoughts not amused
The the urges we suppress
I have been this way
Since the day I was born
I do not jump over obstacles, I run through them
Your reign of terror
Your lines I cross
Across the fields of doubt and loss
Lost time and dwindling dreams
Lost children in forgotten fields
When all we’ve known is to follow
To turn back is an act of revolution


Believe me I see what war has done to me
Believe me I know the terrors all too well
Believe them if you wish, they do carry treasures to prove it
But believe not the glory of war
Glory to you
Although you feel small, I feel you all the time
Every step you’ve ever taken has shaped the ground beneath you
You are glory, you’ve been this way since you were born

souvenirs kept
from conversations
from a passerby
from imagined getaways
every last detail engraved in a booklet tucked at the corner of my heart
and still
I am asked
why do I hold on with the grip of a dying man to the simplest of things
because I know all too well
how it feels
to be left behind

the moment you wake up from a beautiful dream and try desperately to feel back asleep feels a lot like when you leave me

and thats just how this goes
I lay awake thinking of words that might contain all that you are
and you're deep in slumber
and my heart aches for yours
and your heart aches for another
but I suppose
the world will still turn tomorrow
and I'll love you then
just as I do now

its always seemed daunting
the prospect of forever
a suspension of time
i hoped for so many forevers
but all i was offered was a forever naught
a forever wandering
a forever walking along a path where I was unable to look up
hoping I'd end up home somehow
will the sun end this cold journey?
will the path end with it ending my misery?
will the forever I've yearned for
ever come?
and will my forever last
for forever

the leaves shushed each other on the day we met
and although I was held together by a string which I did not acquire on my own
I vowed to always listen
and so I did
sweet mother envoked a stillness within me
of knowing all shall be well
should I surrender
knowing my rowing does very little to persuade such stubborn winds
I release
truthfully, I do not know if things will end well
or if worlds should collide this time tomorrow
but in both instances I have rid myself of a burden I have shouldered in vain
so in good conscience, I am still
for the first time in a long time
perfectly still

It is so achingly easy to believe that loving you was always meant for me, always meant to hold candles to wet paint,
hear the clock tick in my chest.
I anticipate your arrival before I've known your name,
tuck away all the affection I thought I had lost.
It is maddening
and utterly blissful
I love you
your words have floated in my chest
aimlessly
and when we met
I sung your name recklessly, unknowing of the grave mistake I've committed
you engulf me
body and soul
and I fear all that will be left in your wake is an oath, a plea, never part with me
unaware of my grievance, I roam
and unaware
that you were the beloved I've waited for
that the sky looked different that day, for you
everything crisp.
I was prepared to love you
from that day on
till the day I am mourned.

sometimes I push down the nails in my throat
somehow years down the road, down the streets and halls and misery and falls
I still think its too soon
someway you are all that occupies my thoughts
you occupied the space between my ribs
now hallow and blue
the space you left refuses to be filled
theres an ache that feels an awful lot like loss tastes like rust and smells like the moment rain hits dust

when we come into being
we are given very few Instructions
we are given a name, a faith a blade
but never told how it is we need to fend for our souls
to the eternal quest of finding a surface 
that reflects you faithfully 
that echoes the truths of our state
is all there is to being, to prove that we do?
is it with the hope that we might make another's existence that much more tolerable? 
is life supposed to be tolerated?
is there power in escape? 
to take your pen
write the words you've found in your soul
share your precious gilded letters 
with the world
and hope they kind find solace
in like-minded blood-soaked letters
perhaps I will serve as a cautionary tale
and perhaps that is enough
perhaps wanting more than what is offered
is a sin in and of itself? 
but perhaps the world would not have come into being without the sinners
those who dare to ask for more
to take

what becomes of us when the sounds of wailing fade ever so slightly into the back of the picture frame
we no longer remember days by infectious
laughter or shy smiles
these are the days
death tolls become us
flesh becomes a number
lulled into obedience
humming rhythmically
fear plagues our moments of sobriety
and then some
and here we stand
hollow
and afraid
and what else?

i was given very little
in the way of struggle i am well versed
i resist the restless urge to assist
knowing assistances means very little when offered by the battered
and does the thought truly count as any
when calculated by those who find utterance a task for the brave
I envy you
envy being all I was offered
when asked what is to be done to a world so cruel as to abandon the hungry
and let the dead and the not yet dead roam
aimlessly
I fear
it is my fate
to turn into those I envy least

As loud as my thoughts were, as strange the thread
Quite the accomplice books were
Rebel
Rebel
Rebel
Over and over the revolution said
Here and there you’d see traces of my brothers and sisters in arms
Related not by blood but by a sense of duty we took upon ourselves for mankind
Man has always been thus
Thrusting oneself towards destruction is but human nature
So easy to justify failure when we get disqualified before the race begins
The sound of the buzzer goes off and I am left stranded at the starting line
I hear cheers in the distance, they are not for me
I try my best to stick to the script
I try my best to obey orders
But when one owns a spirit such as mine
When echoes of possible tomorrows ring like bells
Every ring a ****** to my chest
This is where I belong
With the people I stand
Their strength is mine
Destined not for greatness but to lead the great to victory

it is of common knowledge
that farewells are part of the battle
and we are merely casualties
at the sidelines of the war
we glance at our mothers
waving their tear stained white handkerchiefs
and we try to seem whole
as we are rushed away
in trains crowded with judgment
the screech a relief to absent mind ears
so begins the journey
and ends the plight
the heart grows fonder
once the beloved is no longer in sight
and perhaps once one is lightyears away
we can begin to heal
wounds we've stitched with contempt and dismay
hurt weaved into the foundation of us
we are what we make of this
one can accept the bitterness
or shatter the glass separating them from themselves
and start anew
on green grass and clear blue skies
we promise ourselves and the world who fed us and clothed our backs
that we will make use of this time
this hurt will mean something
rebuild what once was
goodbye

steady and faulty we win the race
I have known few men who won with grace
I see glimpses of myself in every failure
and reflections of regret in every triumph.
I so wish the human experience was less nuanced than it is
if things happened just so
and people remained as they are
waiting for you to flip the page.
what oyster knives lay flat against cold tiles of realization
and why does the world not mourn half artists who favored the race over grace.

perhaps the only constant of human affairs,
sting,
relief,
the corpse cold limbs.


you adjust yourself


I will not be made to relive the shell shock

a moment, suspended

a reminder

we are all visitors
one mustn't get too comfortable
fate playfully, sternly reminding us
that is just what we are
                                         passers by,
so is everyone we cherish

fleeting phantoms carrying a suitcase
with remnants of the us they knew
we try to ****** it away
convince them they have no right to any part of us.


it is so haunting
the reminder
that the damage is done
overstayed visits come with the hefty cost of learning to accept what we cannot change
and the time has come
to migrate north?
to flee the scene?


if only
those who have bulleted their goodbyes
could learn
to never go back to the scene of the crime.