Dear flower do you bloom?
in darkness
in night
in the moonlight

Dear flower do you grow?
in the forest
in the cove
in the grove

Dear flower do you love?
with all my heart
with everything
with an angels wing

Dear flower do you forgive?

There was a porcelain teacup on the shelf
hidden away behind the others
Long ago she had found it in a dusty old shop
and held it with care as many would
close to her heart
cradling it like something precious
She took it home that day

There on her shelf was a little teacup on the shelf
shown proudly on display
Dainty and sweet with little tea stains
lips had left a little pink smudge on the corner
Loved and appreciated the teacup sat

There was a dusty teacup on the shelf
among the packed boxes it went
Surrounded by windows draped by black
and the smell of salt in the air
Packed away and stowed in a closet it stayed

There in the box lay a little teacup
dusty and chipped a bit on the edge
A reminder of times went by
of tea parties at the kitchen table
of little ladies dancing on the carpet

There among the other cups and such the teacup lay
as they mourned another lost and pulled their lips to a smile
remembering good times gone by and loves lost
Seeing the disrepair and with much care
they took the teacup from the box

There on the counter a teacup sat
freshly dusted and glued together
It stood filled with rosy tea and healing herbs
brought to a mouth kissed gently
They let out a sigh sat the cup down
and began to cry

Life is a game of telephone
my messages mingle in my throat
the translation is lost
some where between my lips it twists

when I mean I love you
it comes up meekly as hello
when I mean do you want to get coffee
it comes up as you look nice today

Miscommunication led to friendship
games of telephone go on
I sit at your side through life

when I mean your my everything
it comes you as best friend
when I mean I can't live without you
it comes out as I'll always be here for you

Year on down the road
you're still unreachable right next to me
every conversation
a long game of telephone

everything around you is blurry
all my focus is pinpointed

your eyes shining
while laughter light up your face
all I see is you

sounds, smells, sights
all come down to
you

We're so used to violence in our schools and on the streets
that when we go home and see it it's in the back seat.

Witnessing a crime against family,
it's like we have lost our own humanity.

The plague in our minds.
Minds, mindset with no direction.

No distractions

So we take to the bottle
with nothing but empty sorrow.

We drowned in them,
overfilled with liquid hate
and pushed down by the sorrow we saw
and felt in every corner of our lives.

We drank till we thought no more...

shaking off unconsciousness
stretching those aching joints
and lifting your eyelids to light
as sunlight begins to stream in

you pull the soft covers down
your sluggish mind begins to wake
as you slip from the bed to the floor
reaching over a kiss to my head

you whisper good morning
then I role over again to sleep
as you leave me in the dawn
to begin the daily drawl

from sweet morning showers
to powerful thunderstorms
rain puts me in a daze

I could stand all day in the rain
wet and shaking but happy
down in my bones it'll soak

breathing in the petrichor
and watching it gather in puddles
as the sky cries its tears

nothing in this world
could stop my foggy mind
from watching beautiful rain fall

Pressure around my lungs cutting off the air
Agitation and alarm shooting through my veins
Negativity surrounds my thought in a haze
Inkblots in my vision from asphyxiation
Crushed with the heavy weight of it

Spit from your mouth like an insult
like the very word doesn't bloom
and fill me with the pride of it
witch, pagan, devil
Spit hate and misinformation
like your ancestors before you
keep your cycle and see where it goes

Blank spaces & empty rooms

filled with nothing but salty air
it hangs heavy with palpable despair

Darkened halls & lonely tombs

where no moonlight shines on the stones
that cover forgotten bones

Old souls & new spirits

whispering like the wind through the trees
laughing like the clinking of old keys

Faithless chapels & flowerless graves

leaving the dead to the earth
and our sorrows buried in exchange for mirth

An adventure is exiting
like running through the hills
or exploring the old mill
it's doing it even though it's frightening

An adventure is growing
like learning act
or covering for what you lack
it's realizing you have to keep going

An adventure is anything
like fighting something furry
or going out with friends for curry
it's practically everything

An adventure is what you make it

it's life

Her name tastes sweet like blue
She looks like crashing waves sound
She crys like the ocean screams
Her happiness is feels like fresh rain

Sweet blueberry wine
from across the sea
you brought to me
the lovely night

Where she swayed
and laughed like bells
dancing free around
the shabby kitchen

that first time
we drank drunkly
she on sweet wine
and me on her smile

Beauty is a concept
a misty morning without sight
the tree near the road
we know it's there
yet cannot see

Beauty enduring
forever with us
and in our sights
we define it over millennia
beauty is everywhere

Beauty is a concept
textbook definitions and simplicity
but in societies diverse
it is undefinable to all but the individual

Beauty ephemeral
always changing
in constant flux
never the same to another
beauty is no where

Fairy lights
like bubbles of light
little round dreams
float behind you
crowning your head

wrap my fragile chest
in a tight embrace
suffocate me please
and show me now
the who I want to be

suicidal as defined
by depressing thoughts
and tendencies to death
I do not define myself

but to gentle apathy
wishing nonexistence
and in bed till three
is what I will be

what do you call me
if I don't want to die
but simply cease to be
from any and all reality

Some places always are full
yet still feel like kenopsia
Like hospital cafeterias
always hushed full of dull sounds

Everything feels like its ending
and sickness fills the air
With an uncomfortable quiet
in a place normally considered loud

springtime, new growth will begin
wind chimes ring through the trees
the flowers bloom to feed the bees

go out now, feel the sun on your skin
let the grass rush under your bare feet
listen, hear your pattering heart beat

sweetened chamomile
settle me down now
and let me breathe
in and out again
away from today

what peers from far above
what stares from the corner
what leers from the shadows
what watches from tree knots
what lurks from the undergrowth

There among the flowers
lay pen and paper
crossed legs and bent back
pouring over rhymes and syllables
there a poet lays

There the flowers are poetry
the world surrounding is bliss
where petals become words
and the bird songs write lines
and inspiration is at every head tilt