Seasons (poem)

The seasons come and go,

But I remain.
I'm paralyzed by endless sunshine that burns red behind my closed eyelids and crisp wind that scatters scores of leaves across the sky and snowstorms that leave the world muffled and frozen. 

My solid frame is trapped in place, a breathing contradiction to my mind that will not be still.
The world does not cease its cycle for me. I am left behind, slowly deteriorating. The Earth waits to claim my dust for its own, not feeling, unmisted by judgment or preconception.

When I am gone, all that will be left is a faint, ethereal imprint of my consciousness, struggling even then to comprehend the planets and systems and galaxies and universes that somehow still excruciatingly manage to survive. Those sentient, swirling beings; somehow both immense enough to crush me beneath the weight yet exquisitely minuscule, gentle and delicate enough to exist on a pinpoint of a single thought.

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Poem

I am playing a vicious game
A game of lingering silences and stolen glances
I don't dare to open my mouth
because my sharp tongue always betrays me.

My thoughts are dissonant
Shuttered away from reality
Our thinking is not truly in harmony
Is there purity or malice in my mind?

The beckoning of possibilities
Ensnares my thoughts like barbed wire
How do I know where to go?
Fettered by my own nature.

The game, it seems, is fickle
Playing by imprecise rules
An outcome never reached.
Does victory or loss really matter?

Poem

I wrote this for you
The future, and the past that won't let it be.
The fig tree, the wheel of Time, once brutally persistent,
now frozen.
A crossroads maybe? A junction of choice that beckons while my brain is locked in a muted frenzy and my heart pumps out ragged, uneven beats that call out your name, name, name.

I'm trapped, trapped in between thoughts and actions and feelings and words and futures that yesterday cannot promise.

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Revelation (poem)

The noise began slowly and softly, like summer rain falling on a tin roof, coming from the moonless air and issuing its macabre melody to the tree skeletons and cold street.

It was quiet at first. And as the night began to darken around me, I could see the stars fading away into pinpoints of light and the sound grew, like an echo, a phrase repeated over and over.

I stopped in my tracks, listening hard. A whisper floating on air, innocuous, accompanied by the misplaced sound of horse hooves. It spoke: "Come and see!"

Suddenly, he was there.
The dark figure loomed in front of me, making me stumble backwards. In the darkness, I could make out the large figure of a horse, with a man astride.
The horse, pale in color, pawed the ground and looked at me with dead, cloudy eyes.
The figure on the horse was tall and broad shouldered, and his image seemed to shimmer slightly, never seeming to settle on one image, flickering back and forth in ghostly hues.

My breath caught in my throat, my body turning cold. The sudden silence was so strong that I couldn't even find the beat of my heart within my chest.

I stood frozen until he spoke to me.

He spoke in a lazy and arrogant, yet undeniably powerful tone, lulled into a dangerous cadence.

"White, Red, Black, Pale
A blunt separation, a covering veil
The seals that were broken, we ride on the air
Four ways that we travel, a curse that we bear
The sword and the Lamb and the beasts and defeat,"

He turned away as if to depart, but glanced back at me, looking me right in the eyes.
"My work on this world is not yet complete."

And with that he was gone, the sound rushing back into the night.

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Poem

I cannot remember the way your smile looks
Or if your eyes have ever been filled with anything but ice.
They are like dead creatures
A shell of something that once was.

Black marks on a screen hold no meaning
And do nothing to sate the growing animal in my chest
No matter how much I try to distract him
All he does is stare at me with his wicked eyes, silently mocking.

Reality has bent, it seems
The world around me too bright, unfocused
Thoughts caressing the shore like the tide
But being whisked away too soon to remember.

I wish I could remove the shadows
Let different light illuminate the space remaining
Phantom places where you once rested
And leaving me to wonder if it ever happened at all.

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Butterflies Again

A vague memory, an unwelcome thought
the brush of the wings
of the butterflies that were suddenly there when you were near
You are not mine anymore, though
Those tender insects, now wretched and misplaced
A number of them trying to escape,
but just inhabiting the empty space you left behind instead.

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Sometimes I can feel the moon
shining on me with its bright eye
and pulling my thoughts tide-like towards it

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What is innocence?
An able vicissitude
Thrown and tossed about

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Will (poem)

Somehow, in all of the great vastness of the world, of space, of the universe: the millions of stars and galaxies, and time that stretches onward

I am more immense.

With my mind, the darkness and light are mine to embrace, reject or amplify.
I am not a small part, one small sentence in Life's book.
I hold the pen in my hand.
I can write hundreds of books, fashioning each page with my own desires and feelings that shoot from my mind like comets and fashion the very fabric of what the universe is formed out of.

Thoughts. Will.

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poem

Time is singing in my bones

And turning them to dust 

footprints (poem)

I've had footprints in my dreams

and on my mind. 

Phantom trails that slowly move from the top of my head 

down my jawline and down my chest and to my fingers. 

I can feel them. The marks of those who walk in and out of my head

leaving trace like silent snow in a frozen world. 

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Poem

There are gold flecks in the pavement

and spray paint on my brain
and all of it runs through my eyes like water through a drain.

Green leaves on trees and owl calls

backyards and cars and loud footfalls

the sounds of fate 

a rusty gate

the train tracks to my left in wait

the echoes of the past 

fly through the air like birds on wing
and ghosts of those who wandered here
are there in everything.
the air is warm
the nights are long
but youth, it fades, and soon is gone.


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Weep No More (poem)

As the droplets trickle down in paths like human veins, and rain falls, a gentle cacophony against the glass

The flowers have all closed their petals

And the sky has gone quiet.

I cannot hear the songs anymore

They used to reach out to me like branches of trees

But now silence has deadened their limbs and wilted their leaves.

It is the sound of faded colors

The earth slowly weeping.

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Poem

Out in the field where the weeds rustle, and bend and shimmer in waves like golden honey.
Only the stars can see us, those stars, encapsulated by their deep folds of space
Their lights winking out one by one by one, until we're all that's left.

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Poem

I walked down my path through the trees; the sunlight streaming down in golden rays, and illuminating each individual needle on the towering pines beside me, dazzling my eyes.This spot in the forest was mine; there was no sign, no deed in my name, but it was mine. I could sense it in the way that the trees recognized me and waved their branches, could sense it in the whisper of the lazy wind as it made its way through the leaves; the sun warming my back like a friendly smile, or the deep reverberations of the earth, as it awakened with every step, welcoming me back. 














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Ocean

Sometimes I'm like an ocean.

I can feel waves and currents pulling the threads of my being into the deep.










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Desiderata

This basically sums up my whole life. This is everything I believe in, and everything that I strive to be. It's the model by which I live. It's simple and perfect.

Desiderata is Latin for "desired things".

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Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be critical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive to be happy.

-Max Ehrmann

Change (poem)

I took a walk today, and I met someone along the way.

She was wearing a long white dress, no shoes, with a bright yellow flower in her hair.
We walked awhile, wending our way leisurely down the path as the wind blew warm laughter through the leaves and the light danced with shadow, waltzing in circles around our feet.

We spoke no words.
Everything we needed to say passed between us in heartbeats and the crunch of pebbles beneath our feet.

As we walked along, the trees began to change. The sunlight grew thin and the leaves began their dying dance toward the expectant earth.

I looked over at her, but she had changed too. She was now striking in a black dress, with lips painted deep crimson and a black hat that dipped down and covered her eyes.

The path became uneasy now. The air grew colder, the surroundings increasingly barren until all I could see were tree skeletons and the unspoken words my breath left like crystals on the frigid air.

I looked back again, but she was gone.
Nothing left but her name, the word, left like a faint whisper of gold dust in the air.
Change...



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Fireworks (poem)

The canvas of my mind is dark like the night sky.
There are stars and planets that faintly dot the darkness with points of light
Occasionally, the moon comes up, in a variance of one of its cycles, and casts a soft glow over everything.

But that's not what I want.

What I want are fireworks.
I want explosions of color to paint my sky, different and unique bursts of light and shapes cascading and spiraling and painting vibrant pictures that tell stories.

I don't want my life to be another night panged with anticipation. Another bland night where I watch the sky, just hoping for something to happen.

No. I'm ready to take action. And if I have to strike the match and light the fuse myself, I will.




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Poem

I don't know why i wrote this poem.
Languishing in what's wrong, Outside of myself, lingering there.
Vacant in my own skin, Every thought painted in red, gold and black
You probably don't know why i wrote this either. Obvious, is how i feel, obtuse, sometimes.
but i'm often wrong. Unless you can't hear the loud thoughts coming from my brain,
this is for you.


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