There is a chaos theory that is dominate in my mind,
one of proper thought that has gone array,
visions of violations to our fellow man,
and whispers amongst the thieves.

If there is no honor,
then the point will be to survive in anarchy,
groveling and scrounging in the night,
to feed the pains in our bellies,

In my eyes, I will **** to feed,
but there is others who will not allow it,
and the storyline will be "I will need to be fulfilled before you'
maybe I will commit another act of treason.

After the rapture, those who live will be wasted,
like it was since ever since,
there will be title fights for structure and hierarchy
but it will still be life after Armageddon.

What will hope do to mankind?

its remains to be seen.

She misses those around her when she is alone,
slowly, her mind drifts and attaches to something inside of her that wants desperately to leave.
Can she travel the distance to see those who notices her absence?

Probably.

There is a jet plane leaving soon, about in a month or less.
2,352 miles away from me, she will land and enjoy the rest of her life with other people.
Enjoyment will come for her. Rest assure she will live a life full of excitement and company.
I on the other hand will live, barely but I will live. I will never see her and will wash the sheet where we used to sleep together. The smell will leave. As everything in this life does.
Will I notice her absence?
Absolutely.
Will I miss her drool on the cool side of the pillow?
Absolutely.
The water will never drip from the faucet anymore because I will remember that no one will be home when I get here.
It will be tightly shut.
No noise at night, no deep breathes when we awake, just the other side of the bed.
I will miss her bras hanging from the office chair in the room. I will miss her work schedule on the cork note thing, I will miss the one side of the slipper because that is the only one we could find.
But life will prevail, the honesty of this poem is unprecedented to my nature.
I am a liar; I am someone who cannot hold her here.

I am sorry, guapa.

A simple kiss,
Is all I need,
To send me into complete and utter bliss.

Your soft lips pressed against mine,
Would be heaven to feel,
To have it again would be divine.

Your tender touch, soft as velvet,
Will stop the hands of time.
Your smile, brighter than the sun,
Will be my only sign.

To ask these things of you,
As a small request,
I beg only of your kiss,
To send me to my beloved bliss.

Light will give way to darkness, ever challenging for the attention of mere mortals.

The dark will be thick and comforatable. A dim ahi flickers in pō and ka noe. It will be delightful when ke ahi make.

Lā will return and the shade will be the only cool the natives will have.

The gods smile in the background, ever watchful of the dance.

Lono and Pele dance in rythem, while Kūkailimoku kahea with Hi'iaka.

It rains here in Waianae because she loves me, the one from yellow and red. Bird feathers are her drapes of honor and bloodline. The anae will run again as the rivers open because of the ua. Her particular nature revolves around the seasons of unordinary times when plants are fed and coffee is feasted.

I am a drunkard of blood that does not belong to me. She is the one whom I yearn to taste. The blood of Royalty above Royalty.

Please hear my words that I cannot speak of.

He mea iki, Ka ikaikakapu. I am of Oahu and she is of Hawai'i.

'When you look at me, what do you see?' She asked.
'I see truth beyond your years. I see youth that has no end.'  He replied calmly.
May I begin with a genuine smile and kiss? He thought.
He lent forward and began the breath of life, slowly aiming towards her half closed mouth. Her eyes closed, awaiting bliss.
'Please look at me and kiss me and only me.' He requested. 'I need you to be real because of your youth.' 'We cannot begin with a lie. You are of age but still so young.' He explained.
He was speaking of age requirements in respect to relationships with the opposite ***.
'Yes, my love.' 'This is my first in my ageless youth.' She said with a hint of melancholy.
'I am frightened.' She further explained.
Let's start again. He lent forward and began teasing her lips with his. He pressed his hot mouth over the top of her upper lip, then slowly and gently, released and continued with the lower. Attack and defense, attack and defense, until a slow, settled agreement with a warm breath and flick of her tongue. This small battle happened for fifteen minutes.
'I am moist and waiting.' She said in ******.
Let it begin, the dance, from ages before. A dance from lifetimes before us and one that will continue until there is nothing.
'Let it begin.' He stated.
Days later, she agreed to it again. Then he agreed to it again, days later.
A small hop to her step was noticed by neighbors and she smiled to herself often
Him, on the other hand, was already prepared for this.
Years later, they would reminisce of these small events gratefully  and with a fondness of their youthful experiences, at the alter.
They both smiled and agreed to private dances that they hope will produce sweat and blood.

How can i fight to keep you?
Involved and secure,
it's the inevitable that i can't deal with.
You're with another man
and that's what kills me.
I can't love you the way i do.
I can't think about you the way i do.
The finish line is creeping up,
slow and steadily.
A love so true and pure,
was never able to flourish because of circumstance.
I love you my dear.
If you have to leave i won't stop you
because I love you enough to let you go.
Please just realize that the time we had was special and intimate,
only happening between us.
That moment frozen in time,
is one i will cherish and remember always.
I will compare every love I have to us,
because it is you I will love until I am on my deathbed.
I love you.

The wind blows firmly amongst the empty homes
It flows through tunnels and carries hints of comfort on a sweaty back,
Invisible gods that see dusk blending into the dark night awaken
And begin their trek to their destinations.
In a parallel reality stars shine brightly onto a barren land.
Does a androgynous being exist?
Maybe.
Does that being even care to let us know that we are important?
Probably not.
This is all we know of our father's wars, for a lack of better words.

Do we we care enough to even question it?

In the wee morning hours, while the world sleeps, thoughts of my fiya burns brightly and with substantial heat.

My child is growing without her father, regardless.  It pains me that she will never be under my command. She is a seeker of a man's comfort and in all due rites, it is my comfort that she seeks in another man, a male.

A father's role in a child's life is a decent responsibility. It is honorable and respectable lifelong deal, or until the child exceeds legal commitment.

I find myself seeking her out, my sweet fiya, and finding comfort in women. Not the mother. I did not fully accept her, the mother, and we were forced to cut the courtship short upon pregnancy. It was forged in a manner that sits uncomfortably with me. Forevermore.
My intentions were to save and although it forced my hand many times, I do not see why her love is not reciprocated from me.

The flames grow in my guts and it leaves a charred taste in my mouth. My fiya, my sweet fiya, will grow free of a circumstantial monsoon rain. She will grow in size and warmth.

Eternamente, filha, eu sou seu pai.
Eu te amo, linda.

The night comes with a hint of cold.
The fading sunlight mixes colors with the gaining darkness,
until all at once there is no light, just cold.
I can see all the familiar shadows with a relative ease.
They make me feel comfort in my solitude,
like a lullaby upon youthful ears.

let me write you a story
of which you can read to your sons and daughters at bed time.
stories of times that enchanted the dreary eyes
of their never ending imagination

the night brings this magic.
dreams and faded reality are commonplace
upon the alter that holds these fantasies.
quiet solitude with the realization that you are alone in the darkness.

yet the night will turn to day.

i have seen too many sunrises through wayward eyes.

oh night will you return?
will my beloved solitude render during the day?

we shall see. we shall see.

There is a woman in the distance. She is a vague silhouette but she is real. She is staring into the vast heavens, waiting.
I'll see you in the shallows she claims. Her long brown hair moves in the flurries of wind gusts.

She is real.

I can see her.

Which of your five senses will you give up or hold on to for her to notice you?

She is real.

She is not a mirage to be thrown away because of temperature. She demands respect, for she is a mystery still. Will you approach and engage her? Will you touch her in a way to tickle her fancy? What will you do?

She is real.

She is my hopes, she is my dreams, she is my reality and she is real.

She will always be a she.

So I saw you on that day,
For the last time.
'I don't think I love you no more,
You have caused me enough trouble'
Is what she has exclaimed.
For the hardest part of me
Has silently dissolved,
And now I have found myself
In wanting but it might be in vain,
For there is another who tickles my fancy.
Already steady, I listen closely to those who will
Conspire against me and I have decided to
Believe those ever painful words,
react with the neglectful tendencies of a hardened man, and leave them to their vices.
I do not and will not respond to empty threats
and premeditated hatred because they can not maintain their required responsibilities.

Is it sucker-free wednesdays yet?

There are stories of gods and goddesses that ride on tender ocean breezes that bring warmth and cold to the shorelines that
I play in,
I feed from,
and I plan to bring my children to.
The stories will grow with the salt air in their lungs and the cold, damp, packed sand under their toes. Every season will bring life to these stories, eventually gaining truth in each moment and event. The people will hear of these stories and choose whether or not to participate in them with their hearts and minds. They will grow in darkness and light as their own entity of truth. They will becomes the unbroken waterfalls of the sun and as important as the sun-drenched oceans.  
These are my words, as I see fit.

There's a steel drum playing loudly in the valley,
the tinks are infectious and lively

The shadows are rolling down the cliff with the breeze,
everything is right in the world we know to be true and sane

The thicket is dry and full of keawe thorns,
the bush is rustling with critters that show their fangs in the twilight hours

Our dogs are satisfied with the cool evening gentle wind gusts while the shores are still being lapped from the strong
Pacific currents

The day was difficult due to the heat,
when this happens we all suffer

The streams of sunlight dwindle and night settles in.

The night owls make their runs to town and back,
while the guard dog is chained and fast asleep

The night is long and only gives way to only the heat of the
mid-morning sun,
the birds chirp again

See!! The world is correct while we sleep, while we are active and while we breathe the Kona winds off the cold Pacific waters.

Nothing in life is just one event. It's merely the rhythm of life that occurs.

The night that commands these creatures has begun,
the creepy crawlers will emerge and begin the nightly routine of
the hunt, the nesting, the evading, the dancing with the ghosts

the capturing of the light is a a necessity and the creatures are aware of it,
the capture is almost like a health pack of absorbed moonbeams streaking throughout the canopy onto the underbrush and forest floor,
the creatures move among the the shadows hunting the light blindly
unaware of the loss of stealth as they peak theirs extensions into the dim moonlight touching the floor, sweeping the earth about

this is the life that the night commands and I await the break of dawn and the warmth of the moon's superior as
the wind rustles and the earth has spun for that bit of time

oh the deep dark night, let there be a dawn.

She enters searching for the essence of us
Left from before time existed and from miles of distance apart
Her messenger waits outside my door quietly and patiently
She always makes sure to wipe herself clear from my recollection
So she can sleep at night, as prose will prove correct

The dry frigid air sweeps across the fallen land
At the edge of town there’s a open field that I lay in to soothe my mind
I have a lot of chatter there in the silence of the bewitching hours

Sometimes good, sometimes not so good

there is a beginning and end to everything in life,
the cycles are no more evident to me than it is now,
4 humdrum years later.

She has taken another into her bed while I made sure I was alive
after the last encounter of sorts,
a complex man I'm hoping for,
one who can identify all her triggers and signs of these type situations.

I wouldn't mind it if I wasn't haunted enough by the notion of knowing this is a definite and confirmed event in my life.

There is no fighting it.
Her critically acclaimed words are evident in the fact that it is
easy to acheive for her,
I can only assume in silence and darkness of her tactics and
I do not state this claim as falsehood for it is not a illusion

the thing is, she thinks I am oblivious to the situation,
I know and what would her penalty be?

maybe isolation and abandonment,
confrontation maybe not.
I have the black list on Megatron, my iphone, updated with my
exemption from this situation.

what will happen is a whole lot of work,
for work comes first
I will have no connection to the woman who has been
dishonest and decitful in the future
my elders have told be beware the water
yet the water is remarkably calm but so deep and treacherous

I will see the sunrise of tommorrow and enjoy her warmth
the darkness will fade and I will taste another on my lips,
as prophesy had revealed to me

maybe this time with respect and comfort
maybe with child and a wedding

WE WILL SEE, WON'T WE

there is enough room at the edge of this town to breathe,
wide open spaces and pleasent weather mix well with the butterflies and mice that inhabit the grainy and cornfed feilds aside the ranchers and workers.

the livestock has fallen ill this season from the construction of the roads along the fences,
the lack of grazing pastures are getting to the association this year
it's being brought up to the board this week

the air has just been thick with anticipation of the spring rains and chance for growth but the season is young
so many things have to happen for us to reach the endgoal of our bounties, for us to recieve our cut

we reap what we sow