All.

I, All-Creation, sing my song of praise
To God Who made me and vouchsafes my days,
And sends me forth by multitudinous ways.

  Seraph.

I, like my Brethren, burn eternally
With love of Him Who is Love, and loveth me;
The Holy, Holy, Holy Unity.

  Cherub.

I, with my Brethren, gaze eternally
On Him Who is Wisdom, and Who knoweth me;
The Holy, Holy, Holy Trinity.

  All Angels.

We rule, we serve, we work, we store His treasure,
Whose vessels are we, brimmed with strength and pleasure;
Our joys fulfil, yea, overfill our measure.

  Heavens.

We float before the Presence Infinite,
We cluster round the Throne in our delight,
Revolving and rejoicing in God's sight.

  Firmament.

I, blue and beautiful, and framed of air,
At sunrise and at sunset grow most fair;
His glory by my glories I declare.

  Powers.

We Powers are powers because He makes us strong;
Wherefore we roll all rolling orbs along,
We move all moving things, and sing our song.

  Sun.

I blaze to Him in mine engarlanding
Of rays, I flame His whole burnt-offering,
While as a bridegroom I rejoice and sing.

  Moon.

I follow, and am fair, and do His Will;
Through all my changes I am faithful still,
Full-orbed or strait, His mandate to fulfil.

  Stars.

We Star-hosts numerous, innumerous,
Throng space with energy untumultuous,
And work His Will Whose eye beholdeth us.

  Galaxies and Nebulae.

No thing is far or near; and therefore we
Float neither far nor near; but where we be
Weave dances round the Throne perpetually.

  Comets and Meteors.

Our lights dart here and there, whirl to and fro,
We flash and vanish, we die down and glow;
All doing His Will Who bids us do it so.

  Showers.

We give ourselves; and be we great or small,
Thus are we made like Him Who giveth all,
Like Him Whose gracious pleasure bids us fall.

  Dews.

We give ourselves in silent secret ways,
Spending and spent in silence full of grace;
And thus are made like God, and show His praise.

  Winds.

We sift the air and winnow all the earth;
And God Who poised our weights and weighs our worth
Accepts the worship of our solemn mirth.

  Fire.

My power and strength are His Who fashioned me,
Ordained me image of His Jealousy,
Forged me His weapon fierce exceedingly.

  Heat.

I glow unto His glory, and do good:
I glow, and bring to life both bud and brood;
I glow, and ripen harvest-crops for food.

  Winter and Summer.

Our wealth and joys and beauties celebrate
His wealth of beauty Who sustains our state,
Before Whose changelessness we alternate.

  Spring and Autumn.

I hope,--
          And I remember,--

                            We give place
Either to other with contented grace,
Acceptable and lovely all our days.

  Frost.

I make the unstable stable, binding fast
The world of waters prone to ripple past:
Thus praise I God, Whose mercies I forecast.

  Cold.

I rouse and goad the slothful, apt to nod,
I stir and urge the laggards with my rod:
My praise is not of men, yet I praise God.

  Snow.

My whiteness shadoweth Him Who is most fair,
All spotless: yea, my whiteness which I wear
Exalts His Purity beyond compare.

  Vapors.

We darken sun and moon, and blot the day,
The good Will of our Maker to obey:
Till to the glory of God we pass away.

  Night.

Moon and all stars I don for diadem
To make me fair: I cast myself and them
Before His feet, Who knows us gem from gem.

  Day.

I shout before Him in my plenitude
Of light and warmth, of hope and wealth and food;
Ascribing all good to the Only Good.

  Light and Darkness.

I am God's dwelling-place,--
                              And also I
Make His pavilion,--
                      Lo, we bide and fly
Exulting in the Will of God Most High.

  Lightning and Thunder.

We indivisible flash forth His Fame,
We thunder forth the glory of His Name,
In harmony of resonance and flame.

  Clouds.

Sweet is our store, exhaled from sea or river:
We wear a rainbow, praising God the Giver
Because His mercy is for ever and ever.

  Earth.

I rest in Him rejoicing: resting so
And so rejoicing, in that I am low;
Yet known of Him, and following on to know.

  Mountains.

Our heights which laud Him, sink abased before
Him higher than the highest evermore:
God higher than the highest we adore.

  Hills.

We green-tops praise Him, and we fruitful heads,
Whereon the sunshine and the dew He sheds:
We green-tops praise Him, rising from out beds.

  Green Things.

We all green things, we blossoms bright or dim,
Trees, bushes, brushwood, corn and grasses slim,
We lift our many-favored lauds to Him.

  Rose,--Lily,--Violet.

I praise Him on my thorn which I adorn,--
And I, amid my world of thistle and thorn,--
And I, within my veil where I am born.

  Apple,--Citron,--Pomegranate.

We, Apple-blossom, Citron, Pomegranate,
We, clothed of God without our toil and fret,
We offer fatness where His Throne is set.

  Vine,--Cedar,--Palm.

I proffer Him my sweetness, who am sweet,--
I bow my strength in fragrance at His feet,--
I wave myself before His Judgment Seat.

  Medicinal Herbs.

I bring refreshment,--
                      I bring ease and calm,--
I lavish strength and healing,--
                                I am balm,--
We work His pitiful Will and chant our psalm.

  A Spring.

Clear my pure fountain, clear and pure my rill,
My fountain and mine outflow deep and still,
I set His semblance forth and do His Will.

  Sea.

To-day I praise God with a sparkling face,
My thousand thousand waves all uttering praise:
To-morrow I commit me to His Grace.

  Floods.

We spring and swell meandering to and fro,
From height to depth, from depth to depth we flow,
We fertilize the world, and praise Him so.

  Whales and Sea Mammals.

We Whales and Monsters gambol in His sight
Rejoicing every day and every night,
Safe in the tender keeping of His Might.

  Fishes.

Our fashions and our colors and our speeds
Set forth His praise Who framed us and Who feeds,
Who knows our number and regards our needs.

  Birds.

Winged Angels of this visible world, we fly
To sing God's praises in the lofty sky;
We scale the height to praise our Lord most High.

  Eagle and Dove.

I the sun-gazing Eagle,--
                          I the Dove,
With plumes of softness and a note of love,--
We praise by divers gifts One God above.

  Beasts and Cattle.

We forest Beasts,--
                    We Beasts of hill or cave,--
We border-loving Creatures of the wave,--
We praise our King with voices deep and grave.

  Small Animals.

God forms us weak and small, but pours out all
We need, and notes us while we stand or fall:
Wherefore we praise Him, weak and safe and small.

  Lamb.

I praise my loving Lord, Who maketh me
His type by harmless sweet simplicity:
Yet He the Lamb of lambs incomparably.

  Lion.

I praise the Lion of the Royal Race,
Strongest in fight and swiftest in the chase:
With all my might I leap and lavish praise.

  All Men.

All creatures sing around us, and we sing:
We bring our own selves as our offering,
Our very selves we render to our King.

  Israel.

Flock of our Shepherd's pasture and His fold,
Purchased and well-beloved from days of old,
We tell His praise which still remains untold.

  Priests.

We free-will Shepherds tend His sheep, and feed;
We follow Him while caring for their need;
We follow praising Him, and them we lead.

  Servants of God.

We love God, for He loves us; we are free
In serving Him, who serve Him willingly:
As kings we reign, and praise His Majesty.

  Holy and Humble Persons.

All humble souls he calls and sanctifies;
All holy souls He calls to make them wise;
Accepting all, His free-will sacrifice.

  Babes.

He maketh me,--
                And me,--
                          And me,--
                                  To be
His blessed little ones around His knee,
Who praise Him by mere love confidingly.

  Women.

God makes our service love, and makes our wage
Love: so we wend on patient pilgrimage,
Extolling Him by love from age to age.

  Men.

God gives us power to rule: He gives us power
To rule ourselves, and prune the exuberant flower
Of youth, and worship Him hour after hour.

  Spirits and Souls--

Lo, in the hidden world we chant our chant
To Him Who fills us that we nothing want,
To Him Whose bounty leaves our craving scant.

  of Babes--

With milky mouths we praise God, from the breast
Called home betimes to rest the perfect rest,
By love and joy fufilling His behest.

  of Women--

We praise His Will which made us what He would,
His Will which fashioned us and called us good,
His Will our plenary beatitude.

  of Men.

We praise His Will Who bore with us so long,
Who out of weakness wrought us swift and strong,
Champions of right and putters-down of wrong.

  All.

Let everything that hath or hath not breath,
Let days and endless days, let life and death,
Praise God, praise God, praise God, His creature saith.

when first words were exchanged
innocuous attempts to remove shirts
in the balmy summer heat
I was fallen snow, legs frozen
my mouth spoke
in metallic red and said,
in my darkest nights, it's always
your smile I see
it has always been your smile
and your countenance
in blissful dreams that delight
your essence fills
the darkest voids in both
heart and mind
I am brightened by your existence
you alone
have made me shine
when my fire faded entirely
a thousand years ago
I swear we soared
through starry night skies
and kissed on beaches before creation
with fingers laced before
bodies even existed
(though, I am ever so grateful for yours)
my eyes gave everything because
you are a boomerang of reciprocity
so see me as foolish or naive
explore my newly found optimism
because I now see colour
in our world as never before
tease and laugh and enjoy time with me
it it yours and I
exist for you

There are so many colors in a crayon box.
Everyone has their favorite.
Mine just happens to be you.

You're the pink to my hearts that overfill the page with your name written inside.
You're the blue to the tear on my stick figures that I draw every time we say goodbye.
You're the red to the fire I doodle when ever I remember our last kiss.
You're the yellow I shade in the smiley faces as you make me grin.
Your're the green to the color of nature, that has a beauty so very close to yours.
You're the orange that shows our warm hugs like the suns light reflects the sea shores.
You're the purple when we're apart, there's loyalty there that I trust with all my heart.
You're the black to my night sky, surrounded by the twinkling stars of our outrageous memories.
You're the white to heaven's clouds, and its not as far as it seems, i'm there whenever you're with me

But most of all,
You are my personal color.
A color no one could use or borrow
I'll use you yesterday, today, and tomorrow
And never get old.

In a sixty-four pack box,
You are my crayon.

petals.
petals everywhere.
flower petals.
they flood my stomach, overfill into my throat, and spill out of my mouth.
i wretch.
i heave.
i grip the skin on my legs for purchase.
the petals just don't stop.

petals.
petals everywhere.
in the morning, when i first wake up, petals.
in the evening, when i'm settling in and feeling lonely, petals.
at night, when i'm alone in the dark with my thoughts, petals.
more wretching and heaving.
the petals just won't stop.

petals.
petals everywhere.
when i see your face, petals fly out of my mouth.
out of my mouth and onto the cold, unforgiving concrete.
my knees buckle.
you whisper in a soft voice that could lull me into a blissful slumber.
"are you alright?"
i wretch.
i heave.
why won't these petals go away?

petals.
petals everywhere.
my stomach has become a garden.
has become your garden.
your smile blooms inside of me.
your voice blossoms like a morning glory.
i could get the surgery.
i could get it and forget about you.
about the wretching.
about the heaving.
the petals could go away.

slicing.
dicing.
dissecting.

petals.
petals nowhere.
petals no longer litter the ground i walk.
the bed i sleep in.
the clothes that itch my dry skin.
the sight of your face is now a reminder to me.
a reminder that you are a person.
a person who never appreciated gardening in the first place.
no more wretching.
no more heaving.
no more petals.

This title, this challenge,
Has rested uncomfortably in IPad memory,
Storage unit for Poems Needing Composition,
Unwritten, unanswered, needy for resolution.

Today is a good day to answer.

You are the pause between my breaths,
A ledge to rest on, a stepping stone,
Without you, there is no next one.

You are audience faithful,
Scribbles, wordplay, jokes horrible,
Official Storer/Inspiration Sorcerer of my unending script.

You are shy critic, unwavering,
Deft, with feminine oversight,
Knowledgable proven, when silence, best.

You overfill my AM coffee cup,
The mug that advises sagely,
Be calm in you heart.

You overfill my PM  cup nightly,
Knowing that even tho, can't sing or dance,
I need to, can do, can't do w/o you.

So lest, mistaken grievous,
You think, highly erroneous,
This poem is NOT about me babe,

This poem is entitled,
You,
How Much, Owed,
You.

Lest the answer be poetically muddled,
On this day, perfect weather, perfect clarity,
Unashamedly Everything.


Sept. 15th 2012
In bed, 8:22 am
NYC

---------------
Addendum June 29th 2012
This old soul loves you more. He cannot believe his good fortune,
This June, this one more perfect afternoon, my heart importunes,
Love my poetry like I love thee, and we will have the most
Perfect Union

fascinating, like the aroma of tea,
pleasing moon to have a drink.
like the liquor, it brings the glee,
overfill my cup but not to drunk.

tonight, let's paint the town red,
there in my throat the odours overspread.
under the moonlight, I dance with my shadow,
holding a wine, too fine to swallow.

I'm not drunk and it might be true,
stumbling and murmuring on the way back home.
my life is not utterly dark nor blue,
I'm just missing him and the dawn.

My father lit a cigarette and smoked the room up
                  with choked circles,
                                                                    he rewrites every woman
                                               he sees,
                 metamorphosis asunder,
                                                              because nothing is on tv.

                                  My mom was hauled blindly
                                              away from love to evening's riverbed
                                                            --to **** the fear of
                                                                                        correction away.
                              Birds talk about fish
                                            that fly in airline crusades,           gobbling up wise owls.
                          Blossom talons pluck
                                                              --up their words,
                                                                         the closest a lie can come to the truth
                                                               and be set in stone  None of them
                              will be remembered
                              the way they want to. footnote retribution.

                     The wandering dead only care about
                                                         modeling on the covers
       of psychology magazines--hailing reviews that digest indulgence
                                                                         beautifully,
                                                carving chocolate waists
     down
  to starvation--we melt away to gnats
                                       in Prozac hives
                                            shingled with academic love papers
                                            & bible covers.

                Dear Alice,
                            you stole our table of tea, our shaved vigil,
                                          our western rodeo,
                                         our alcoholic omega.

                       Midnight on the dishonored battlefield
          with the scythe beneath us,
                                     we murmur love back into
                                    our sheets of high horror.

  Your meteorite adultery could not wipe
                      this hard drive clean--what we would lose...

   the things we cannot                                                   touch.
                                         Cloud 9 LSD,
                                     its warriors passing
                                  weapons down to the flock's ashes--to wives who fear

      the wrath of their husbands. Chlorine gills quit
                                          cold turkey
                            --sinks overfill under unorthodox skies--the turning of centuries
                                                                is nothing like flipping
                                                                                                      pennies
                                   into wishing wells.

Pay attention.

Pay attention to this moment;
To the sounds, to the lights,
To the colors in the the sky.

Pay attention to your thoughts;
To the world inside you,
And the way it guides you.

Pay attention to your feelings;
To the joy and the tears,
To the hopes and the fears.

Pay attention to your heart;
To the way that it beats,
To the rhythm it keeps.

Pay attention to your life...

The future already happened,
You're just learning the story.

Accept it. Let it run through you.

Let Love overfill your heart,
Let Light overglow your soul,
Let Hope overrule your fear,
Let New overtake the old.

This is your life;
You're doing your best.
Decide that today
Will outshine the rest.

I do not know you.
But I love you.
And if you really pay attention,
You'll feel it, too.

i live my life alone, everything around me is so beautiful
yet i hate all of it. nobody gets what they deserve.

laguna beach a place so lovely yet unenjoyable for me,
endless thoughts of a neglected childhood. haunt me.
there is no closure with a lacking family but acceptance with a wiser child.

im turned on and off, seeking a person to fill the void that gradually gets bigger with every disgusting thought

nobody can fill a void quite as big as mine
not my father, a figure who was never there. and doesnt have to be.
who loves his children with doubt theyre his children.
he walks to the bar then goes to his house.
halfway house.
he loves alcohol because it fills his void to the brim.

not my mother, who failed to raise me. who gave me up.
actions speak louder than words, she gave me neither.
back and fourth rahab pulled her in like a rip tide
she stuggles till she gives in.
7 years of my life spent together only to give up again.
she dances around reading the bible
then punches me in the face
i can see her brain tangled in confusion
she loves drugs because it fits her void like the perfect puzzle piece.

not my grandpa who raised me, filling my void a quarter full.
a man of few words
cancer drains the quarter filled
rest in peace, the greatest man i ever knew.

not my grandma who raised me, so compassionate and humble.
she flys as far as she can go
struggling and alone she spends every penny she receives
she cant help it.
she fills my void less and less with every minute she grows older
unable to hold a conversation, she cant remember.
i love her so much.

not my little brother, whos unable to talk to me.
shielded by a thick layer of our moms alcohol induced breath,
he doesnt understand and doesnt have a chance
manipulated
hes dragged out by the rip tide by my moms side.
3 years pass by, not a word spoken, not a picture seen.
i feel his void brewing only to awake
when he is a wiser child

not my bestfriend, who grew up on the sidelines
who does whatever she can to help and comfort me
who shares her house and bed with me.

nothing is ever enough and i hate myself.

my one night stands overfill my void
but i wake up with it stretched out and empty
only to feel sadness roll over my entire body like a soft expected wave of freezing ocean water
i get tense and sick from my recent meal.

i collapse onto my bed, im a wiser child but an empty one
laguna beach am i living "the life"?
i can see the sun set behind the ocean from my bed
a beautiful view but i hate it.

76 degrees and sunny
the weather feels like ****

I feel like maybe...
I just get bored.
If it doesn't get mixed up like a mixed tape-
Wait,
Nobody listens to mixed tapes anymore.

Maybe it's the unknowing?
The nail biting edge to a horror flick?
The moment right before you jump?
Maybe if it's not like that then...

There's a hundred ways to keep me entertained,
But I also like to be the entertainer-
I mean,
I am the person who will tell the story the long way
Or drive a different way home for a change of direction.
I don't really like shortcuts;
Unless  it's for a computer program,
And even then I'll take the long way.

I think I like the challenge.
There's something about pushing every bit-
Holding my breath until I burst for air-
Filling the cup until its about to overfill...
I mean,
I like details-
but I hate oil paints-
And I like little forks-
But prefer a bigger spoon-
And if you were to ask me my favorite song...
I wouldn't have one-
Because it changes too much.

I think my mind just races
And it's not a marathon because their is no winner
This is more like a treadmill-
It keeps you in the same spot but you somehow make progress
It's like a moment when your about to kiss
for the very first time-
scared as hell that its not right;
But wanting so badly for it to be perfect...
The chemistry,
The make up,
The right timing...
That's the way I see the world.
Just sometimes,
I get bored.

My appetite's insatiable
I never seem to get my fill
Each time we're done, can't wait until
The next time I'll be tasting you

Don't know if this talk makes you ill
My heart I share; my guts I spill
One thing's for sure, these words are real
I speak the truth; my lips aren't sealed

The animal can strike at will
He's restless; hungry; won't sit still
When urges rise and overfill
Alarm is sounding; not a drill

Not looking for some base cheap thrill
Connection that will give me chills
Struck through my heart: nothing but quills
Drown in your love; mutating gills

Accept the cost; please send the bill
Without you, lost; you are my pill
Like coming frost; destroy and ****
All reason tossed; both ways have nil

Be still within the desert of your heart.
Your soul whispers a middle name in muddled confusion
Parallel to the perfect storm. She'll be answered as she's
Beckoned before your pedestal. Her memory and
Countless fingers grasp survival.
Let her work, let her see you fully Allow bags and boxes to overfill.
She'll bring you closer to a version of truth. She'll hop in the car
Ready to drive between points of your screaming silence.

Shallow prints graze and leave ink stamps. Still seen in darkness. Your soul continues to stand alone. Final battles announcing the death of empty souls, nullified and torn. Retreat
Go back.
Comprehend sources of her waves fears and
Share her burden.

Make a list
Make a plan
Make a choice
Still, a confusing man

Take off your clothes
Take less than you give
Take the girl for granted
Still forget to live

Check things off
Jack things off
Shrug things off
Still overfill the trough

Turn the boy on
Turn the light on
Turn the stove on
Still hold back your yawn

All so you can see life:
a coin of meaning and frivolity
in pursuit of harmony

My love you is as a well,
Deep and filled with the most important resource,
But it’s not for the body but for a broken soul,
So it’s filled with love,
And my love for you just won’t seek to extinct,
So my love won’t dry out,
Now don’t make my love overfill,
So please take a bucket to the well,
And fill it and when you’re thirsty please come back,
Reside near me and visit me daily,
Partake of my love,
So it’ll become part of you.

The Pothole Man**

That's what we used to call him
Although I'm sure he had a proper job title
Brown weather beaten face and tar stained hands
Always a greasy old flat cap on his head
Always a shabby old army great coat
To us kids he was very old
In reality probably in his fifties
Anyway
His job was to repair the potholes in about
Ten miles of country roads
He always carried his tools in a wheel barrow
Rake, shovel and a heavy flat bottomed piece of metal
On the end of a stout pole
Every couple of miles there were a few sacks of tarmac
Beside the road
He was meticulous in cleaning out the potholes
Every loose stone, dust removed
Then he'd fill his bucket with tarmac and heat it over
A wood fire
Overfill the hole by a couple of inches and rake it level
It had to be just right, maybe add a bit more
Perhaps shovel some out
Then the heavy metal plate would rise and fall
With a slow steady thump
Beating the tarmac flush with the road surface
He always finished by pouring tar found the edges
Of the new patch
Round holes, square holes, rectangular holes
Holes of all shapes and sizes
To us he was just the pothole man
Now looking back he really took pride in what he did

I overfill the kettle
scoop the overpriced instant
into an oversized mug
clinking the teaspoon around
no sugar
it's not really my thing.
I light up half a joint
waiting for the coffee to cool
and think about what's to come
what's today
I'll likely see her there
I'll likely sit down next to her
making small talk, a likely excuse
to study the lines of her face
she'll tell me about the fields she's rambled
about the mountains she's climbed
I'll tell her how I do still write
sometimes
she'll say, "it was good to see you".
and I'll tell her the same
before we part ways
no sugar for me
it's not really my thing.

Here by the Beat Hotel near
the St Michel in a cafe with wine
I feel the hum turn to sizzle and
sparkle and overfill into my eyes
too much till they are brimming with
hope that could spill onto the table
and my heart is swelling with a
optimism and I feel it spilling
over I worry I will laugh crazy
for no reason but to release
all the glowing light inside which
is feeling far too obvious for everyone
they will think I am drunk but I have only had a sip but this
conversation is several glasses of something of energy of
fermented anger and worries
and anxieties about the world

turned into wine and we
sip the sentences we sip the
sentences and eyes clink glances
in holistic belief and hope it
is so much but you
say we are free we
are freer than this ramekin
which once held peanuts which
we nibbled between drink
and thought and you say you
can’t believe you are talking of
Sartre here and it is cliché
but the words
ripple like a song we know we
forget but when it plays
we forget we forgot and always
know we need to hear it again
we wish we could record the
feeling the sights the words the
way you say the words so
that we are filled with childlike
possibility when life weighs us
to stare at our feet.

Olly, olly, oxen fail.
Top Republicans go to jail.
Olly, olly, oxen chump
All those crooks elected Trump

Oh, GOP, why’d you do it?
And make all of us suffer through it?
It makes it worse to see it all
And know you were all crooks and knew it.
Why couldn’t you just take
Your bribes and shut the hell up?
Why did you have to
Demand to overfill your larcenous cup?

Olly, olly, you and your gang
Some of you really do deserve to hang.
At least you’ll get to know at last
Your reign of terror has finally passed.

Disgusting Olly and the rest
Most of us know who your boss is
But half this sick regime
Has yet to realize what the cost is.
For the world to see the toll
Levied on our nation by the GOP beast
And count the casualties,
It’s going to be decades, at least.

Olly, olly, oxen, fad.
This whole affair has been so bad
It’ll be a great day
When this awful president
And his cronies get locked away.

Olly, olly, oxen fail.
Top Republicans go to jail.
Olly, olly, oxen chump
All those crooks elected Trump

I'm sitting here drowning on my bathroom floor
I've let the tub overfill like the thoughts
collaterally damaging my  head
There's a ring at the door
And the fibers in my heart are screaming at you,
break in and save me
This  heart is too broken to be rescued, and
911 has been on call since the day you decided
to set fire to the pain you've inflicted on me
without hesitation

The water is rising to my waist
I know soon everything will be fine
The door is sealed shut as are my eyes
I have enclosed myself to the peace of mind within
It's risen to my chest
I can feel the blood in my chest
pumping slower and slower,
in preparation for the abrupt stop
soon to occur
Thoughts of us are flashing through my mind of our last
moments
...I'm horribly tempted to run,
feel your face in my hands,
your eyes must look so confused

The water has risen to my nose
And at the very last second..
Like the wave of emotions that pass through my heart
at the thought of you,
the water rushed into the halls
And there you are soaked in your tears at the sight of me
Saving me for the first
and very last time

Reality
The death of me
Don't know why you couldn't see
Its everything that makes me crazy
In my mind so dark and hazy

Overfill that void
Makes me ******* paranoid
Dark timesp
Build rhymes
Drink and smoke and **** it all away
I don't even know what to say
Black out shades over my eyes
Cute words and smiles are almost lies
Escapist bebe straight to heart
Form this land I wish to depart
But how can.you ever be free
When your minds as deep as the sea

The city before 6am.
Frozen. Abandoned. Empty.
If you are up early enough there's not a soul left for miles.
Just a creeping silence that's not even silent; but oddly alive with bird calls and wind whistles.
Oh the conversations you can have with the world before 6am.
The wind stirs it's way past every sleepy shop and household telling it's own haunting stories.
Plays with the trash and the flags on the street and they dance with a heart of their own.
I like this. Being witness to the waking of the world.
Slowly the dawn of grey shrinks back from the oncoming storm of colors; pinks and yellows and oranges gradually growing brighter by the second.
And the people begin to peak their heads out; stretch their little bodies and rev up their little minds and soon the streets overfill with busy beings.
Chatty as they are the bird's voices are trampled over with mundane screeches and screams; and the wind's already wheezing tune is diminished down to a mere annoyance.
Suddenly life fills the street in a different way.
The city before 6am.
Frozen. Abandoned. Empty.
At peace.

****** fluid I empty my self
my discarded wants
needs must I refill
and overfill in equal measure
while half the World thirsts
for one moments justice
a titbit to chew on
for the next ten generations.

This state of mind, this abstraction or release from reality, has a smooth continuity of which derives from misty mountain tops as my vitality and ingenuity pours like wines, like raindrops, raindrops thru lattices into glasses of fallacy that I could ne'er overfill, overtop, or like this purest galaxy drink to the drains when the delicate string pops, which bearing fears does not bother me, but is honestly to my chagrin, because now and then with tears I feel beyond youthful years, as tho my petals have been plucked; and my color fades like the picture on a movie screen -I can't adjust. But in my dreams thru the fog, the misty haze soon dissipates as a new love cares naught about my age -reality dreams after all.

We often hide our feelings, away from the light, it’s kept in the dark for what it feels, an eternity.

Maybe just continuing to keep it all inside will help us, simply ignoring the emotions will do the trick.

So we let it become a habit, shoving everything deep down within us, all due to one action we didn’t think much of.

And merely when we think it’s all under control, the bottle begins to tip.

Did we overfill the bottle of emotions, maybe we stored in too much for our hearts to handle?

Then it comes out, a deluge of tears and the never ending pain and hurt, an overflow of emotions usually kept in the dark.

Often, we face the question, ‘why is this happening to me?’

Maybe we want to be okay, but how can you be okay?

What exactly is okay?

So discreetly it is hidden that no one knows we’re in pain, and maybe, maybe it’s for the best.

To act like everything is okay, to not show weakness nor vulnerability.

We bottle it up, repeating every process, all hell breaks loose when the bottle finally tips, all on its own.

It is then, when we are all alone, the tears threatening to fall finally join in on the chaos.

And to keep it away from the others, we try our hardest to provide an illusion of we are okay.

Deep down, there is a bottle of emotions hidden in the darkness, far from the reach of others, forbidden to reveal itself.

On Sunday, go to church. Worry about singing too loud and fear saying anything “ungodly”.
Later on Sunday, get home and go find something to do (don’t bother Dad). Feed the dogs and don’t overfill the bowls past the base or else you pay for the bag. Mow the lawn as well on Sunday and don’t leave any mow-hawks. That leaves the yard presentable. Next, help Mom with dinner, and don’t clang the pans loudly. Don’t let the sink water hammer because that will ruin the pipes. Don’t give dad a glass cup( and always give him the biggest serving) .Wash the table and use dad’s homemade disinfectant spray (it makes him feel proud). At seven, -- and don’t miss it for the world—get the dogs out again a quickly as possible.   Then wait until a commercial comes on before going to bed (the news is important to dad, so don’t interrupt it).

let us adore this universe of ours
as we wish upon
a shooting stargazer lily
who collides with our world
bringing about blossoms
and pink springs
for days to come

let us hop between the planets
mark the moon as our own
catch the stars in our hands
explore the unknown!

let us create memories
and overfill our senses with joy
blast off our worries
into the void of space
and lie here in fields
full of pink and white orchids

this universe of ours
is so sweet

you wounded soul
what comes over you
to clothe you in disdain
your joy and love
used to overfill every cup
in pouring distance
do you remember?
you emanated joy
your face
your speach
your walk
good lord! its in your eyes
you insolent desperado

did you hear that?
a song calls us to dance
a joie de vivre
calls
and if you can't hear it now
i will give you all the sacred
space you need to find
your way out
of the pit you've found
yourself in
until then
there's a loud hawk around here
with stories to tell

strange it seems and stranger still
that one can lie at one's own will
you overfill your wretched cup
with floods of words that don't add up
inserting truths to pick up slack
and all because you can't keep track

strange it seems and stranger still
that one can cry at one's own will
it burns your eyes and swells your cheek
you've engineered a new technique
another means toward artful deceit
but soon you'll accept your own defeat

strange it seems and stranger still
that one can die at one's own will
slip the noose tight 'round your throat
three minutes and that's all she wrote
three minutes to remiss your sin
with your last breath you lie again

I take you in like my last J
Come fill me up
Overfill my cup
I give too much but that's okay
At the end I'm me
Tell me it's enough
Oh darling do you see right through me?
I know I've chipped away
Apparently you never knew me
Or you would have stayed
I'm just a lost girl
Living in a lost world
Til I found you
Only you were lost too

The corpses feed
The walking dead
They swallow preservation
That keeps the mold from the bread
Overworked organs overfill with poison
The heart pumps formaldehyde
Through pressured pipes
The extra pounds squeeze
The dead to the earth
But they keep walking
And talking
And working
Till they can no more
They call it life
But they never live

Believe that around every corner lies a blessing in wait.
Believe that with each and every waking second that there is something to be uncovered.
Believe in your dreams, whether your wide awake or lying there in deep sleep.
Trust that there is nothing that can hold you back.
No matter what spirit, what circumstance that arises.
Your spirit vibrates at a high frequency. With the know how and ability to overcome adversity.
Though patience is labeled a virtue and the label reads as is.
It's one of the greatest gifts that goes misunderstood along with time.
If read long enough perception changes. 
The things that we may have overlooked, or come to us at a random moment that brings clarity to things otherwise we take for granted.
Sometimes it takes going on a long walk or just taking a moment to yourself.
Believe that the answer to everything you seek lies deep inside of you.
For peace of mind is Divine, and sometimes hard to obtain.
The things that constantly add up, watching our hands overfill without knowing what to do with the pieces thats already been given to us.
Whether it's a job, the people we face on a day to day basis or life in general.
It is at these very moments that we feel our way through, rather than rely on thought alone.
The world is built on a catalog of ideas.
Why not reach deeper into yourself and expound upon your very on catalog,
As this life thing only comes around once.
People will be people, things will always remain things,
But memories.
Memories always stand the test of time.
If something doesn't feel right, search your spirit.
There you'll find an abundance of knowledge in a deep well.
Always believe in yourself, always find that light that pushes you that extra mile.
Always believe that through any circumstance.
You have the power to change and manifest to life what ever you dream