I remain here, seated
but really I am somewhere
far away.
There is wind caressing
my hair, teasing my
sun-kissed, blushing face
while soft mounds
of earthen, rich soil
tread beneath the
soles of my
soft feet.
Vivid, rising green
valleys lying in
the west, and forests
of thick, chestnut
oak trees in the east,
while in front of me,  
cascades fields of
sunflowers, white lilies,
blossoming, silky
lavenders, gardenias,
and soft petaled roses.
In the horizon,
a magnificent sunset
graces a clear blue
sky, with shades
of draping tendrils
of lush reds, oranges,
purples, tainting
plump, white clouds
and coloring
the tops of
graceful, willow trees.

Lay me down
on a bed of roses

a coffin surrounded by
white jasmine and sunflowers

well I feel
I walked on thorns and prickly words
my whole life

it's been tough a bit
here and there
okay, maybe all the time
but life's like that right?
struggles are supposed to shape the strong person
you become
right?  

I've never really known
how to deal with
my problems created by
other people's problems and dreams
and aspirations

a dream? I can't recall what that is
anymore; I stopped a long time ago

just kidding; that's a blatant lie
for I dream everyday for a new life
or a new beginning,
or the end if nothing else is possible

one of the most recurring dreams
that play out in my head
like a black and white movie
in a run down, empty cinema

is me sitting up in bed,
realizing I don't have to let other people
effect me,
don't have to listen to them
tell me what kind of person I need to be
or all the things I need to do

if only I could just
think infinitely greater than how I feel,
if I could just stop
living in my emotions and the past
that is present in every habit and routine thing
that I do,

sometimes all the potential
a person may have
becomes too much for them
to bear,
all the endless possibilities
and visions of things carrying out differently
all tangled up with events from the past

as if my emotions and experiences
morphed into the form of a cage
in which my mind is trapped,
shaking the metal bars
and screaming out the barred window

only to fail completely
in noticing that
by simply walking around those bars,
I would be free

I suppose the coffin I lay in now
is not my final one,
for is it not that at some point
we all have to let ourselves
experience the emptiness of death
for a while,
so after we reemerge
we could know to appreciate
how it feels to be alive?

how is it
that I can imagine vastly different worlds  
and tell the stories of their people long gone
and paint the linings of universes
near and far,

but I can't seem to
make myself face my own reality
within this world,
my head weighed down like a block of granite
corroding in acidic water,

I used to feel apologetic,
scribbling sorry on tiny scrapes of paper
and tucking them on people's windowpanes
but now, I feel empty headed
and blank,
incapable of making myself think,
stuck laying on my bed in the dark,
staring at the ceiling
in the middle of the night

how is it that in this world,
I can't seem to find anyone to talk to
not even just one person
who'd be willing to listen to what I have to say
with no judgement and pity attached,  

how is it that ever since I was young,
I realized I'd rather live
the lives of other people,
wishing I could dive right into the stories I read,
morphing myself into the main character
with their assured happy lives and endings,

how is it that
I can only get this far in my life

It is 7 in the evening of a June day,
a time when the sky overhead
becomes a shade of ocean,
a submerging grapefruit sunset's last rays
combating the rise of darkening blue waves,

the cool air's lingering scent
of faded flowers and sparse dry grass
mingles with hazy fumes of exhaust
trailing from the continuous stream of cars
running down the roadway,

I lean on the side of someone's truck,
the cool, soft night wind
brushing against my face and neck
taking in the backdrop
of streetlamps lighted orange
and the shadowy outlines of large, wispy trees,

one ear listening to regretful sad songs,
the other tuned to car engines
with wheels fast enough to appear suspended
in time for a split second
before disappearing out of reach,

can't help but wonder
why all of these things occurring together
make me feel so small and invisible,
a bystander taking refuge on the borders of town,
always on the outside; only able to peer in,
as everyone's lives play before my eyes
here in one split suspended moment
and then gone the next,

waiting for someone's response
to the desolate, harrowing loneliness
that engulfs me like a blanket
as overwhelming as the nightfall's sky,
the silence prevailing over my regretful sad songs,
the grayness of an empty existence
completely enveloping the orange lights
of the streetlamps,

perhaps when the sky becomes
overwhelmingly more ocean,
maybe only then, I will know.

Moonlight shimmering
dripping over my closed eyes
I drink silver tears

i always have
the urge to run.

but what is it like
to be a tree?

to be confident enough
to root yourself
and grow with
wild abandonment,
being unapologetically
you?

i'm still running,
but i wish i knew.

Ride the wave of life's great ocean
falling through your own emotion
taking stock of where you are now.
See the future like a promise
but you know you must be honest
to yourself before all else.
Feel the thrill of fear and pleasure
know them both so you can measure
what is right and what is wrong,
let your spirit find the answer
send it like a cosmic dancer
to the place where we belong,
and when a kind word softly spoken
mends the places that are broken
in your spirit and your heart.
Make each moment last forever
keep them close so you will never
lose your soul or lose your spark.


Jan 2006