I once knew this poet
Whose world was filled with rhyme
Said he couldn't help it
Was all that filled his mind

He always caught a catch phrase
Where there never was a doubt
That he'd whirl his words around it
And a poem would come spilling out

It must have been what he was born to do
Guess you could say he found his call
Once he grabbed that truth and set it loose
It all came natural

What he wrote was plain and simple
At times could ring profound
In the peeling of layers of the soul
Where all poetry is found

There are no two ways about it
To all this he fit the crime
This poet that I once knew
Whose world was filled with rhyme

Is not time
Is not space
Is not an object
Is not a subject
Is not religion..
Yet all of these are
made only of it...
It is Self realization
It is what
must be known
before any-thing
can be known..
And..it is not an it..
Amazing...!

Why do we make excuses
For the times we get it wrong
Why can't we say I made a mistake
Then from that point move on

Is it that we all have swallowed
The poison pill of pride
Where we need to list our accomplishments
No matter how dark the lie

When did the pretending of perfection
Become the sea that we swim in
When did life's learning lessons
Get buried too deep to dig

When you make a mistake don't make your way
To the side of do no wrong
Tell the truth in all you do
And don't drag the excuses along

The door to your soul
Is it opened or closed
And when is too late
For you to know

Is it the minute before
Or the minute you pass
Might be too late the second
If you need to ask

Is the door thick and tight
Or loose and thin
Not always painted in black and white
All you have let in

Yet with damage done
It's never too late
To pull out your conscience
And fix those mistakes

On the door to your soul
So it'll never close
Given the confidence
To come and go

...and when this poor body
lets go of its soul
no longer trapped
by this cruel world
where it is bound
heaven only knows
but I do know that I am ready

...and when I have done
all that I came to do
when I am old and now
no longer new
and the parts that I have
are worn out and used
I'll know then that I am ready

...and when the sweet breeze
whispers my name
then will my loss
be more my gain
I hope and I pray
that soon comes the day
because I know that I am ready

...and all the loved ones
that I leave behind
will then wipe with joy
the tears from their eyes
thinking of me
reminiscing on life
knowing full well that I was ready

She draws the stars
Late into the night
Standing in an open field
Soaking in their light
The beauty that they cast
Helps her pen to glide
When she's finished drawing
Is when she takes to flight

She draws the stars
Colors them by numbers
Throws away all diagrams
Prefers the use of different colors
Gives them all the oddest names
One after another
The furthest ones away
Names them after her ex-lovers

She draws the stars
Then gives her drawings away
To those she meets on the street
She feels needs a brighter day
She gives away the ones she loves
The rest she likes to save
Pastes them on her walls
In the galaxy she's made

Look at how large the tree is
with all of its branches
reaching for the sky.
Look at all of those people
hanging off the edge,
limply swinging into each other.


What a disaster.

she loves me

she loves me not

she's the only

thing that i've got

and this 4 petal rose

that i'm picking on

not sure that i like

where this is going