I'm seriously thinking that it's time
To close down this production line
The constant flow in the making of poems
Has taken is toll on this poor soul

As the machinery sputters and coughs
Tossing it all against the wall
24 hours a day with so much rhyming at play
The time may be now as the hour grows late

I keep looking for the freedom within
A man without his paper and pen
Holding out on this self doubt
Should I take it now while I still know how

As I head for the door to shut out the lights
After giving my all as it's taken all of my life  
The only thing now left to be said
Is I don't have the courage...  
could someone else please throw the switch

Every grain was a finite moment that
gathered on the shores of time.
Each glistened in the luminous creation
that watched on every instant that past.

A pocket watch, its chain no longer
connected to any point. Just lingered
in the sands constantly ebbing forward
its eternal hands, "Tick, Tock,

How long had this tide washed up on
these shores of eternity no one knew,
as all at one point were one of these grains.
But the waves of time also take grains back.

*If were but grains of sand, how long
is our time before we are on the eternal shore.

You are the weather of my soul
My fingers are trembling ships racing
Trying to reach an island
Where the seabirds play
In the light of a never ending sunset
Why now,
Are the storms raging silent?!
That I can see the tumultuous lightning
And feel the rain as it pounds onto my skin
But the gutteral growl of thunder
The instinct imparted from the crackling sky does die
And my ears listen to the sound of the beginning
My greatest fear
Silence
When there was nothing at all
And nothing again
In the end

You are the weather of my soul
The way a humid ninety-degree day invites the rain
And my fingers are song birds flying
Trying to reach the nest
A place to call home
My songbird fingers
Your skin
I can feel your pain
Still
I can't hear your voice
Silence is my greatest fear

Oh, my jaded love
My sunshine day
My storm
Encompassing me
My flood
Silence is my greatest fear
So talk to me!
Even if what is said
Is nothing I want to hear
You are nothing more than everything
The weather of my soul
My love
And even if its raining stinging drops of violent pain
Where you are
I want to hear it

I want nothing more
Sea floors where we find the remnants of ancient merchants
Sunken while simply searching for profit
Soul entwined in sand and phosphorus
Body becoming whole with the glimpse of tomorrow
The marrow of my bones dwindling as light becomes food for my soul
I want nothing more that this
That I set my youthful mind on a distant star
And even time that ends will not keep me from reaching
Wine corks opened by delicate hands
Fingers that touch softly making me feel more
The warmth of my skin
The sound of my love in your beating heart
I want nothing more!
Nothing at all
Not a fistful of money and a palace to sleep in
Private jets and private islands
Where the air sings my name as I glide through her
And the sand on the beach wants me to lay beside her
I want nothing more
Than to be as beautiful as I am to you now
In my prime years of life, young, and eager hearted
Your visceral experience that taught me to dream
My dreams that spoke through the fog standing heavy in your soul
Your soul as a place my beauty alone reaches
I want
As simply said as the forgotten memories
The dead languages and foreign customs
The consumed today as garbage tomorrow
The son of the sun only rising knowing he will set
And be a glorious evening before all manner of darkness falls
I want only
That the beauty displayed by my face
In it's fresh form and grace
Is not
Could not
Would never be!
As beautiful to you
As my soul grown old
I want
That you will think me
As beautiful in my twilight
As I was
When I was young
That with each passing day
You love me more

I want

A speck of paradise
A miracle abandoned
Only waiting for the clouds to change to gray
Hanging in those dark untitled spaces
Her petals are a useless perfection
Her poetry a moonlit someday

A messy galaxy
A teardrop infinity
Grace doesn't paint amorous feelings
On headaches in the space under the bed
Her flower blooms a bruise
Her worlds are dying words

You are the
        window
              to my pain
  Cloudy with
            no chance of clarity
      I can see
               how far
away you are
                    Out of focus,
           still hurting me
                      *so easily