vibrations reverberate
strings and chords collide with paintings on the wall
stage lights oscillate through the dim concert hall

in that brief moment your profile glowed
innocent aqua eyes that froze time
the singer sent sparks through the clouded, smokey air

the most harmonic note settled on your lips
gently weaving the couple strands of hair behind your ear,
i lean in to make music

Weaving through a path of dusted rocks and invisible insects
The moonlit earth gleams bright enough for wilting branches to reveal the complex webs of arachnids' homes
Beads of pearlescent rain get lost in translation with tears and streams alike
Skipping monochromatic pebbles and identifying the illustrious ripples that their smooth bodies create
Flightless creatures sit perched on exposed logs, waiting for a chance to reach clouds that taunt them with messages of rain
Stomping elk cause blankets of terra firma to wrap around the approaching claws of wolves
And a distant yelp serves as another's song
The forest at night, an elaborate portrait
Each whipping stroke, a new memory evoked
And this one becomes cast astray with the rest
Lost in translation with tears and streams alike...

grains of salt slip into fractured flesh
I lay flattened into the sand as pelicans soar overhead
patiently waiting for the tide to reel me in and claim me as it's fish
my splintered skin throbs scarlet with memories
as I let the current wash my wounds and take those thoughts into the blue
cuts with contours whose rivers run red with murky mixtures of joy and sorrow
examining blistering burns that sizzle and sear
ocean waters cool the scathing brands you planted on me
in this process, nostalgic steam arises as old days are recalled
and past scars reemerge as fresh as the day I first heard those 3 words
but now it's all being washed away
all of the "our's" are once again only mine
because I no longer float in the aqua of your eyes
so in a moment of melancholy, I release my steady grip on your hand
and your fingers slide away, gliding against my palm
now, I disappear
now, I sink

lavender lilies deceive
for it was merely the color i was sent to retrieve
instead i come up with lilacs, at least i do believe
holding onto the wrong shade of purple while i grieve
but then again, we've been through this before, i am naive

blue skies mystify
wandering innocent eyes
in our youth we hid in simple spots
proving quite unwise
wrapped in disguise, we had to shield our unwanted sapphire cries

green blades rest in your gentle hands
as we've grown old enough to resist parental commands
sharing cold cans, i send a kiss in your direction, confident in wherever it lands
we laugh, and soon enough, my favorite toy had become your delicate blonde strands

red love sears on my skin
burns that leave joyous scars thin
but at any moment an obnoxious grin
can quickly turn to "where have you been?"
i buried those bad days with glasses of gin
but even through hard times i knew if i had you, i could win

but one day under a yellow sun
disheveled doctors told me there was nothing that they could've done
your days were limited, and i cried every last one
i lost my appetite and only craved the metal of a gun
but i knew that your favorite flower would help me outrun
these demons who weight on my vulnerable shoulders in tons

so a lavender lily i sought out to explore
but instead i found a lilac, in the valley near the foam of the shore
reminding me you were never just one thing, but so much more
so let these petals sum up what this poem speaks for
all the colors i saw in your,
heart

You bow at the feet of an invisible crown
That you place atop the head of an underserving king

Who sit in a makeshift throne constructed by your misled lips
Inside concrete castle walls sculpted by your misguided praise

Shielding his spoiled name with emeralds and rubies
False gems and jewels

He treat you like jester
Your only purpose to play his tune

Where you see god
We see less than man

For he who cannot recognize a queen
Shall not reap the benefits of your royalty
And for he who cannot build you of a castle of your own
Shall not deserve your majesty

In the mind lies a field
Where dreams and wishes walk to their death
Where sensation and emotion inhale their last breath
And as demons play with shovels and dirt, all these thoughts are sealed

                                                                                      In your eyes there is light
                                               That has nay flicker, for it only glimmers bright
                   The sun that provides warmth for the poor citizens of my mind
                                                          Is trapped in irises of aqua tints, confined

                                            Meet me in the middle
                        Somewhere between mania and depression
                     Let your medicinal tongue solve this sad riddle
             For I can't look at another calendar and ponder this question

             *Will tomorrow be the day that the sun rises without me?

Is this what it's like to be dead?
Wielding graphite lead as I write sad poems that will never be read
Thrashing and writhing violently in bed, but merely in silence as these words are unsaid
Watching white sheets as they soak up cherry red
Looking on from a distance as weeping people don black threads
Overhearing hesitant and shaky whispers about a boy who bled
Whose overwhelming thoughts were all too much for his head
Now open veins breathe oxygen for the first time and showering streams fall overhead
It's in this stained water I tread, shouting towards the collapsing sky as storm clouds spread
A shaken voice, once again said
Is this what it's like to be dead?

silent carnivorous savage,
                                          why prey upon our innocent flesh?
streamlining your black venom into fragile veins,
                                          sparse roots multiplying sickness

this lack of color that you provide
drains the blues
                    and reds
                    and yellows,
                  until 4 white hospital walls remain,
and in this bland, neutral palace of death,
                  the beeps of machines
and cries of heartbroken families serve to torture

this, the true fashion of your killing . . .
          no, not the mass piling of amounting dead cells,
but this blood,                                     it's not just blood anymore,
                            crimson liquid melancholy,
traveling into a mind that can only construct horrible images,
                                         groups of mourners surrounding a single grave,
                           wiping Sunday's tears against their pale faces

gnawing away at the slabs of sanity,
                                           concrete and brick,
the image of a young boy with a shovel
                                           far too heavy for him,
using all of his strength to catapult dirt over a casket,
                                           burying his vital innocence,
into the unforgiving soil where it will never be retrieved

how many tears must you taste for your thirst to be quenched?
how many lives must you waste as our friends are entrenched?

why, cancer?