Ice

I know it's the numb to be afraid of,

The unfeeling.

It's not the torrential tears flooding

My thoughts and memories.

It's the numbness,

The seared pain sealing away the sense.

Gripping ice, magnified.

I grasp the past, the pain

Cuts through all, through life.

It needs to melt, to cry.

The fear is when it burns numb instead,

With the intensity of a sun, cold.

For at least when I melt from an iceberg

Into a still lake of sad loneliness,

I can feel what ripples my edge

And causes a wake.

Stay With Me

Each awakening of sun,

Another day has begun

Without you.

You're a wish that never came true

And a grain of sand that never fell.

A scar of love and pain

And a smile captured in a spell.

You're the future I can never touch,

And a memory I will never know.

You are only what you left for me,

And only what I could see.

Take these shaking hands, wrap them in yours.

Brush the hair from my face

And kiss the tracks the tears leave

Upon my face.

Watch me break my heart and learn to love again.

Whisper footsteps in my ear

So the path is always clear.

To replace would be a mortal sin

And to forget would be a curse.

Love me forever and see thousands of suns

Stay with me here, in my heart

In verse.

Shatter

If you aim your force directly

at the perfect

point,

there is a chance you may break something.

If it’s something that you won’t do now

or something that you’ll wait to,

There’s little chance you’ll take a stand

say to their face, “I hate you.

Or rather, what you stand for,

it’s not confidence or power-

Do you take perverted pleasure

watching lesser mortals cower?”

If I know I know more deeply

what you’re trying to describe,

Why should I not give a shudder

at your petty diatribe?

Now it’s winter, there’s no energy

for me to keep on trying.

“What’s the point? Fuck off,

accept this fact:

We’ll all just end up dying.”

The Road Less Traveled

Brag not to me about your walk upon
The road less traveled, for I'm not amazed;
Your trudge on it is nothing to harp on,
Because that trail was by another blazed;
The rebel that you claim to be is none
More than a front for fear that hides within,
And you a follower, another son
Of that sad crowd, you have been lead again
To hide behind a mask and leave beneath
That nothingness that makes you up, as wind
In a balloon, an empty, sword-less sheath:
You're ground-bound, powerless, stuck in the trend.
And what's the purpose, do you even know?
You have rebelled, but I must ask you: So?

No Purpose

Heart cease pounding for a cause

That will never be worth its weight in tears

Stop beating down the doubts

For a moment, briefly appeared.

Wanting of a caress, a hold, a love

This I know beyond question.

But is it to belong

Or to belong to someone?

Ache for those pure frames

When feeling prevails.

Dream about the encompassing embrace,

But long for that one source

Of your gravity.

Let go.

You long for a rotation without axis.

Spin, spin round the same nebulous

Fleeting, fluttering.

Once it shoots away,

Just what exactly did you encircle?

A cloud is water in flight

Until the sun burns down

In the red hot noon.

Where's that feeling now?

The Well

Who would have thought

A small child holding a teddy bear

Had to make decisions

On who to love

And how to love.

I didn't.

Strike up another match,

There's another forest to burn.

Another tunnel that collapses

More rehab, some relapses.

There's a well that goes deep down

And every new love is a bucket

Dredge up the tears, dear.

You can't live without the burn;

The sting of the cold.

Proxy

Upon us falls a silence,

Stillness, sigh.

Rustle of a messenger

Bag, a squeak of seat

Ping of a pen on the collective

Linoleum, a soft cold hum

Of a cruel air duct.

Surrounded by brains, I see not within

These skulls as they tick and

Sort through those manila files.

Worlds travelled in the flutter of a page

In moments, a thousand words written

Unoriginal and canned without salt

For a number.

Nothing of gain, water to tread

For a number.

Quantify my mind and perchance

It will hold more weight on the autopsy scale.

Marvelous cerebral hue of gray

Means that I understood World War II

And how to find the vertical component of momentum.

My brain is within a skull

Within a box

With many other cerebellums

All the same sticky gray

Within a system of walls.

I am a proxy cube.

Weariness

Swaying lights grow blurred and dim,
Dancing letters mesh and break.
My weary eyes have seen too much,
It's time to end and concessions make.

I've no strength to continue,
Yet desire to be wary.
I can feel my body shutting down,
This weight is now too much to carry.

Let me not succumb to this eerie end,
Keep me wisely waking in this world to fend.

Or perhaps I foolishly fight
What I should simply allow,
Too much has been accomplished
To let go to ruin now.

My stubbornness surprises me,
I fight to stay awake,
But sleep is a soft way to go,
Safe for all I've got at stake.

Let me dream away my worries in a peaceful sleep,
Rest my weary soul whose worth I pray you keep.

Beyond Regret

Sitting quietly in a corner
To myself...
Here she comes, shuffling forward
With the sinister, styling stride
That has become synonymous with her name.

She passes by and
With the wind that seems to
Follow her powerful presence,
A slight uneasiness arises within
Me, wavering and wondering.

Immediately a crowd of
Previously static girls
Transform, as if by
Magic's mystery,
Into loyal lowly lackeys
To commend her beauty,
To praise her intelligence,
To make her stand out
In a crowd not really
So different from her.

It's comical the scene,
As she takes her seat,
Head cocked upwards like a
Golden bust of the Queen
She has those foolish girls
Believing she is.
She could care less about their remarks,
For she sits atop the world
Content and conspicuous, untouched.

And yet, as I look on,
From my candid corner,
Presence unknown to her and her fawning flock,
I see not a gracious queen
Subject to boundless praise,
But rather the loneliest being
This world has yet to witness,
Begging for just a moment,
A hesitant, fractional second of
Uncomfortable humility,
Known so well by those below
Her.

Do Not Burn Out

While others force tears out your crying eyes,

and make all your breaths, turn into sighs,

keep your soul ever so vividly lit,

for no one shall dare to try and take it.

If, one day, you lend your heart unto lies,

your soul shall not be your enemy's prize.

Your shattered heart may so weakly submit,

but only to you will your clear soul commit.

Do not fret over their visions so small,

the sight from your soul surpasses them all.

Hold onto it tight and it won't let you down,

to leave you in days where you'll never frown.

But if things get hard, don't worry, let go.

Someone will hold tight, to keep it aglow.

Leave Me Be

I cannot wait for Monday's mess,
Go on and call me odd,
But it's what I am desiring,
So please just give me the nod.

I do not need your protests,
Nor your judging looks,
For I could care about your thoughts
And your band of crooks,
But I have overlooked you there
Perceiving only crap,
Watch out your 'friend' is coming...
Did it hurt, that ringing slap?

Leave me alone you fickle fiend,
I'll not put up with you,
Did he tell you all of that?
It absolutely must be true.

Forget your mom, forget your dad,
They're far too old, outdated,
Their morals antiquated,
Their coolness liquidated,
Their actions all too rated,
Their acceptance shall not be reinstated.

But as for you, pretty princess,
The world is yours to have,
Everyone is all for you,
And you are theirs to serve.
But I know you, and you know nothing,
Always on the winning side,
Reaping unjust benefits
Along your easy ride.

Please do not take to heart
My ignorance of your presence.
(Or do, it matters not to me.)
I will take pleasure in what I choose,
I need neither your approval
Nor that of society.

So do us both some good
And do not voice your thoughts,
You can save the breath you have
And spare my time from naught.

I'm glad we worked this out,
The relations of you and me.
I hope to never see you again
And live on happily.

Conversations of the Past

I hoisted up my heavy head
From the emptiness at which I stared,
For the sorrow of the scene
Was all too much to bare.

My fingers crept through my hair,
The butt of my palm a shaky prop,
Frustration filled my face,
That painful pondering would not stop.

And like a mighty wave of inspiration
Rolls though a hero in the making,
A tiny ripple of acceptance crawled
Through my delicate mind left softly shaking.

I owe nothing more than
To apologize to myself,
For I lost my identity
Somewhere on yesterday's shelf.

What am I?
What was I?
I lifted my eyes to look ahead,
To find a note, colored red.
It said, I shall soon be dead,
But I choose to believe, instead
That it was all, all just in my head.

I left my seat and turned about,
My turn is approaching fast,
Too long have I been dwelling
In conversations of the past.

Radioactive

All the energy of the sun,
Stored up for so long,
Is released now-
With a negative sign-
As the strongest bonds begin to
break.

At first it leaked out quickly,
the torrid heat escaping
As the energy dissipated;
But now it's at a snail's pace,
Lingering, the heat all but gone,
And yet...

Part of it remains there,
I dare not - can not - touch it
Or even go near it.
Nothing could protect me from that poison,
So I still fear it;
And yet...

There it is, infecting me,
Still making me sick
Though that once welcome heat is now long gone.

There it is, your memory...

Where Faith Battles Doubt: Part II

The Intruder

The ancient battlefield
Awakens, as a
Charred mist settles from the
Tortured clouds
Transforming the air into
Writhing darkness

Static fills the atmosphere
Electric shocks
Race through the sky, an
Explosion
Ignites decaying petals,
Lightning

Burning through the mist
Sparks converge into
Raging Flame
Devouring
Thriving
Growing

Angry red pulses across the
Graveyard – once a lovely field
Doubt has been reborn, a
Roaring fire, swift and powerful
Overtaking the battlefield,
Hungering, impatient for its Foe

A Bike Ride in the Night

I paced down the hallway with a strong presence of boredom. Nothing to do in the house; my eyes had grown weary pasted to the television screen, board games are no fun with only one person to play. I peered out the window to find a clear night sky, and the thought crept into my head, and I played around with it for a bit…ehh why not? My tennis shoes were lying promptly where I left them the night before and I slipped them over my anticipating feet. And there, as I opened the garage door, stood my weary old bike. It had been sometime since I gave its chains any exercise, but this seemed like a perfect time to pedal off the dust.

I took off down the street, leaving behind a stagnant atmosphere of heavy air that weighed me down. I embraced a rush of cooler air, refreshing itself with every mailbox I passed. The chains of the bike rattled around for a bit, which I could understand, for like me, they had to shake off the rust of riding again after such a long period of idleness. But just as I reached the corner and hung a quick left, they straightened themselves out and I rode smoothly, only the thrilling imperfections of the road rattling my body as I sped along. I looked down at the cement, and it appeared as a blur of gravel, each and every pebble plastered together to form a path which only I could take. How lovely it was, the gray stones mixed with the black ones, with subtle glints of silver sparkling between the cracks through which the moonlight seeped. I smiled. I don’t know where it came from, but my lips opened slightly and I’m positive one could have seen my teeth appear from the cave of my mouth. I went faster, I wanted to go faster, I could go faster. My endurance seemed perfect, at a level I’d never known. Nothing rid me of the breath I needed to do or go where I wanted. My smile widened.

I leaned my body slightly to the left, softly peeling away from the safety of the curb. No car shone its lights in my face, and no car cast its lights on my back. I was free, alone, undisturbed. I pumped my legs faster, running them around the circular path that propelled my bike further. I stayed the course of the yellow line that kept this car from hitting that one. I let it guide me. Although to say I was being guided is itself questionable, for I had no intention, nor expectation. It was an aimless excursion to nowhere and quite frankly, I desired nothing more. And as I continued, speeding through the dim road, with the wind shaping my hair into some crazy fashion, I felt so very peaceful. Nothing could touch me, nothing would touch me; I was nowhere.

I reached another corner, and turned left again, entering a darker stretch or road, yet nonetheless intriguing or serene. My pace slowed, yet my legs never stopped pedaling, just an incessant engine on which I continued my journey to nowhere in particular. I saw the wheel of my bike turn a brighter black as a streetlight poured its yellow light onto me. At this point I began thinking, about people, about life, about whatever entered my boundless mind. And I began longing for that which I did not have. In that moment, I missed it more than ever, and wanted nothing more than to have it back. But that moment passed as I left the light and rounded the bend in the street. Once again I noticed the beauty of the night, how each star was so visible, so vivid, and the air around me so fresh and cool and wonderfully nurturing. It wouldn’t leave me, and I appreciated that fact. I kept riding.

Before I knew it my aimless ride took me to my neighborhood park, which like my bike, I had not visited for some time. Without even a notion of hesitation I twisted my handlebars and rode up a small hill of grass that I knew was green despite its gray appearance. Pedaling became more difficult so I switched gears and let my legs move faster. The wheels turned though the grass with ease as I inched along in the field, slowing my pace to a crawl. I passed though a patch in which the air was significantly cooler than it had been before. It was both disturbing and amazing. I’d never felt such a subtle, yet appropriate surprise in a sudden change. But just as I felt its chilly comfort, I left it behind to dwell in the field. I reached a bench that rested on the edge of the open square of grass, and I stopped. I let my bike rest on its kickstand, and I sat down on the metal bench, which to my slightly unpleasant surprise was wet with dew. Oh well, it didn’t feel that bad. Rather it felt right, necessary even, for the purpose of my visit, which I do not know. I merely sat, and turned my head, observing all that was around me. To my back was the field, in front of me the street and above me the stars, those brilliant bright stars that shined through a thin layer of pesky clouds. I tilted my head back and gazed up at the navy blue sky, finding pleasure in sitting and nothing else. I was content. I felt in place, like I was where I was meant to be, where I somehow intended to be without planning on it.

A soft hum entered my ears, and I slowly rotated my head back down to see what it was. The neighborhood security guard was making his nightly rounds, looking for anything suspicious. I fantasized he was searching for me, but he could not find me because I was hidden in a place in which he would never find me. I was hidden right in front of his eyes in nature, a lone being camouflaged by the field of grass, by the trees at my sides, by the stars above. He passed the park unaware of my presence there, and I smirked, and chuckled aloud, as if saying, “Ha, I beat you Mr. Security man. Your headlights will never pick me out of the night.” Not a minute after the hum of his car left my ears the jingle of a dog’s collar filled its place. A woman was walking her dog past where I sat, not even twenty feet away. She too did not see me, and I was pleased. How simply stunning it was to observe this silhouetted shadow enter and exit my eyes’ domain without so much as its conscious recognition of my existence. Perhaps she’ll realize later on, maybe in a dream, that there was in fact a person there, a shadowy figure harmlessly eying her as she passed by. I’d like to think so.

She too left, and again I was alone, in the company of only my thoughts. I looked at my bike, leaning there on its kickstand. The thing looked full of sorrow. The sheen of the moonlight reflected gently off the metal frame, as if it were trying to be noticed yet not wanting to be a nuisance. It kept on leaning, but never falling, although it looked as if it would topple over any minute. Perhaps it longed for me to ride it again, and I decided to indulge that request. I stood it upright and flipped its metal prop so that it hugged the side and I walked it to the top of the hill. I rested myself on the seat, lifted my feet off the ground, and let gravity carry me down the hill and into the street once more.

My journey had entered its final stretch, but I was still content. My legs began their cyclical process with delight and carried me further down the street. I passed a few people out on a late night run, or walking their dog like the woman at the park. These people, I recognized were all girls. From what I saw from the brief light of the moon not one was physically unattractive, and I knew they were aware of my presence, for had they not been they shouldn’t have been out at night due to their immense amount of stupidity. But neither of them meant a thing to me, they held no significance in my mind, and thus I paid them no attention. I was only cognizant of myself on that bike ride through the night, and that is how it should have been. I was happier than ever during that time, delighted by the subliminal atmosphere through which I traveled.

As I rode through the last straightaway before my street, I let my hands leave their bars, and held them out to my sides, like a man liberated from an excruciatingly long imprisonment of unjust cruelty. I threw my head back and looked up at the sky, as my bike carried me forward. The stars moved the opposite direction from the one in which I moved. It was like a parade of beautiful lights scattered about a breathtaking canvas of dark blue, and I was its only spectator. I was engulfed in a universe made much smaller, one in which I felt right again after months of confusion. Never have I felt so content with myself, and never will I question the purpose of an aimless journey of no intent.

Those Considered Wise

Fragile things easily break.
What different would you think?
Some suppose they have it beat
With steady eyes that do not blink.

For we lend our heart in
Hopes that it shall be received,
And the sincerity of
It all is by the next believed.

And when such weakness is
Exposed we set aside our fears,
A regrettable action that sadly
Turns the lover's longing to trickling tears.

No I know what to expect,
I know it is mine to handle.
I know that what I thought was flame
Was merely flickering candle.

And now I know why those whose
Hearts have been made a stony compromise
Are those who have left the foolish,
Those considered wise.

Something Strange

I sat, I stared though the a window,
Looking upon fields of bluish grass.
Something was strange and to claim
I knew what would be to lie.

And as my gaze continued,
I swear the fields knew.
They could feel my eyes intruding
Upon their peaceful existence.

And suddenly, with gravity escaping
My chest,
The house rose quickly into the sky.

I jumped from my seat quick as ever,
To see the grass blurred far below.

As far as I could see the bluish grass
Rolled in wondering waves.
Flinging whatever lay in its path.
And as the house began its descent,
The waves grew smaller and less
Frequent, and then not at all.

A ripple ripped though the earth
I knew and I soared high only to see
What a simple lie I had always,

Always believed.

I sit and stare through this window,
Looking still upon fields of bluish grass.
Something is still strange.

It is I.

Revolutions Per Minute

How many revolutions per minute,

doth my frail heart dare to commute?

Its denizens topple and rise new power,

whilst its gears keep spinning, hour by hour.

One, my mind has secured the throne,

It is filled with but logic's steady drone.

Forsaking the pains of an emotional life,

I have given up joy for a loss of all strife.

Two, the agents of love doth arise,

and force my mind into compromise.

My heart now has love, but cannot dare to err;

lost to idle notions, my mind dare not fare.

Three, the emotions of life, shackled by reason,

forsake my mind in an act of high treason.

My heart leads the way, in search of great joy,

Yet I have found it is just pain's quick toy.

Four, all that's left is a shred of a life,

searching for peace among all the strife.

It falls back to reason to order the chaos,

that unrestrained love soon had all gave us.

A cycle of torment our lives can't dispute,

leaving us to find but a new way to suit

to the only machine that loses no power,

the one that turns all of our great hopes sour.

My Greatest Regret: Act I

She is not the only one who has loved me; there have been many others, but none quite like her. Sure, she was smart and cute – but those qualities go without saying. Why did I love her? She, quite frankly, was not a bitch.

--------------------

It was the first day of eighth grade. We all found our unassigned seats in Mr. Coghlan’s English class. I remember how Mr. Coghlan would always comment on the boy-girl polarity that our class endured through in the beginning of the year: each side of the class was divided by a combination of lack of understanding and deep mistrust of the opposite sex. From time to time, there would be that daring one who would bravely cross those two feet of withered carpet to converse with someone on the other side. I was never too daring in that facet of life; no, I was more interested in observing the failures of those who were.

I guess I was initially turned off from those particular girls. Yes, they fit the standard of “intelligent.” And yes, some even qualified as attractive. However, to that point, I had not discovered a girl with the highly desirable quality of not being a jerk. But what else could I expect? This was Ponte Vedra - a world-class breeding ground for douche bags. Those girls were just a pack of preppy child-sluts waiting to happen.

“Mr. Beaudreau!” Mr. Coghlan said, savagely eying me. “We are participating in a class discussion.”

I suppose I exhibited a rather dull and complacent face, for my teacher followed up with, “Why don’t you answer the question on the board?” His face had turned an angry shade of red, matching his hair. How amusing.

The question was as follows: “In two words, can you explain what one has to do to be successful in life?”

Any other kid in the class would have squirmed in their seat, and given a half-ass answer unworthy of an honors class. At this point, I was developing a new method of getting away with not knowing the answer. It involved a sort of extension of time, taking longer than needed by philosophically rambling about nothing, then coming to a meaningless conclusion with the extra time, which, through elongated explanation, I allotted to myself. It was time to exercise it.

I stood up. Confused eyes fell upon me. I strolled up to the front, and once I was facing the class, leaned forward on the podium, pretentiously skimming over the faces in front of me.

For a moment, I just stood there, waiting. Mr. Coghlan, by far, was the most intimidating teacher in the school. I was turning the tide. It was my turn to dominate the class, even if only for a few minutes.

“Life,” I began, “cannot be defined in two words.” I paused. I gazed toward the wide-eyed classroom. Nothing new, I thought –

That is, until she gracefully ripped my attention away from me. She halted my focus and expression entirely. “Life,” I attempted to continue, “Is…”

She was flawless. Absolutely flawless. Beautiful in every way. “What I meant to say,” I continued, still entrenched in her gaze, “is that to be successful, we have to be nice.”

There were a few, faint chuckles. (utterly stunning!)

I still haven’t a clue where that answer came from. I sure didn’t believe it by any means, nor did I really consider it. All I remember is how she was the only one who wasn’t wearing a dumb, mystified face.

Yet she was mystifying. Her shape was unblemished, perfect contour, and her face – her face was simply celestial, as if an artist had symmetrically harmonized her features into an incomparable bundle of charm.

“Well, Mr. Beaudreau,” replied Mr. Coghlan, “awkward as that unnecessary presentation was, you are 100% correct.” The class broke into a light laughter, with a few claps here and there. I shot a quick glance back at the girl as I walked toward my seat. She gave me a subtle smile, not of the bewildered style, but of promise. She made a promise to me through that smile, and I to her.

We shared that moment, human to human, and that was the first time that I could view the sphere of women from my own. Neither she nor I could enter the life of the other, but I was just fine for this moment, as she skated on delicate blades over the thin ice which had covered my heart for my entire existence. This game was enticing, and I was willing to jump in – but in the back of every diver’s mind lives that tiny voice which inspires uncertainty.

Laid to Rest

Wicked is a patron whose mind is
Undone.
For there lies in his principles a
Wavering sun.

He will fear less when his pride rests
On its prop.
With propagandized pallor as his
Staple crop.

And yet he fails to recognize that
With the wind's soft blow.
His idolized image is but a clever
Silhouetted woe.

And the day will come when Truth
Bares its teeth,
Flinging its facts upon the frail
Fake sheath.

And like the child whose eyes ask
Mother in fear,
No reassurance will come as the
Needle draws near.

With screams of protest and o
Oscillating limbs,
He shall accept the dosage with an
Attitude quite grim.

But once he's realized the fool he's been,
That after the prick he grew healthy again,
I'd like to think his cheeks will blush red,
And we'll finally be able to lay the child to bed.

The After-Midnight Hours

It all begins with facing east at dawn
As night comes to a close and the sun’s rays
Light up the sky in splendid crimson blaze
And set the past aflame, time to move on;
Today’s a new day, that means a fresh start,
As fauna frolic freely in the day,
Reborn, with flora’s sweet scent to allay
The tense terse terror of the night; the heart
Of nature is awake, the smell of earth –
Free, fresh, and flighty – fills the fluid winds
With its sweet scent of suppleness and blends
With sweet sunlight to show the world’s rebirth.
And after e’en the darkest of dark nights,
The world is born anew by dawn’s sweet light.

Where Faith Battles Doubt: Part I

The Battlefield

The surface is serene, just a field
Soft grass, tranquil blue sky, a
Lone blissful cloud on the horizon
Comforting breeze, tempting sunlight
Roses, deepest fragrant red, thriving.
Yet there is a hint of darkness
Almost tangible, hardly visible, a
Veil, covering blackest deception
Caught only by peripheral sight, as a
Dream, perfectly realistic, is soon
Blown apart by impossibilities.

This field is not paradise.

The fluttering veil reveals a
Graveyard
Scorched by countless
Confrontations
The sky, ominous, angry,
Belligerent
Thorns scattered over blossoms,
Bleeding
A slumbering battlefield
Waiting

Nowhere

Dream a dream
Sweet child.
Escape from here,
Escape from now,
And then,
And forever.
Travel to the land of Nowhere.

Buy a ticket
Noble nomad.
Extend your trip,
Extend yourself,
To here,
To there.
Travel to the land of Nowhere.

Paint a picture
Visionary artist.
Create what's not,
Create what's yours,
A sanctuary,
A haven.
Travel to the land of Nowhere.

For I, I stay here, in the land of Somewhere,
Where 'nothing' is forbidden,
And 'everything' is hidden.
I shall join you one day,
But until then I
Remain hopefully aware.
The land of Nowhere.

Five Voices

Lay it down. I'll take it.
Give me your best shot. I'll match it.
Ignite your bomb. I'll walk through the flames

With four more behind me
Directed at you,
And only you.
You whose word is a wisp of wish-wash
Waste amongst the winds of will.

Criticize, demoralize, tantalize.
It won't work.

We need but the pen and nothing more.
And you:
An audience to listen to your rants,
No more than a colony of casual
Complacent ants.

And what happens when they begin
To think for themselves?
Oh no! Now you're no more than a
Name on a page in a book on History's
Shelves.

Caged before your time in
The arbitrary world of
Forgotten men.

You are nothing.

Your words are merely flies
Neutralized by the wave of my hand.
All hell can't stop us now,
Exactly what makes you think you can?

Tidepools

At the first glance the tide pools do appear
Magnificent, as they sit gleaming bright,
Containing pretty life ‘neath surface clear,
Reflecting the sun’s iridescent light.

But that’s just it: the only thing they do
Is to reflect another’s beauty from outside
As they themselves cannot give off the rich blue hue
That in the mighty ocean does reside.

As far as life, I really must confess
I’ve yet to the entire story tell,
As often ugly crabs hide in recess
And only pretty life does in the open dwell.

And anyone that comes along
Can enter in these pools with ease
And need not even work too long
Before they’re in up to their knees.

And these pools have such small capacities,
And hold less water than mud puddles left
Along the banks of a small stream, bereft
Of function, though not of opacity.

No Longer A Sucker

Once I rode on a wagon of sorrow,
Full of sorrowsucking sorrowsuckers.
And I was one, I'll have you know,
Of those depressing little fuckers.

I longed for this and I longed for that.
I longed for her like a bright-eyed gnat.

And I sat in place on the bumpy ride
Loathing myself for inadequacy.
For I thought I just could not hide
My sorry lack of tenacity.

Then I fell off and it sure did hurt,
When my face was buried in the goddamn dirt.

But when I looked up the wagon was gone,
So I stood and whirled around.
There was a road and it looked fun,
So I decided it was homeward-bound.

I danced to the left, and shuffled back right,
Then skip-started my journey with pure delight.

Now I walk a road of my choosing,
I walk this road for myself.
For there is no sense in losing
My loyal, dependent sense of self.

I walk the line, this is true,
But please believe, it's not for you.

Just a Shadowy Figure

He watched his feet sink through
The soft brown mush upon which
He walked.
And worried none for he only withdrew
From the footprint they embedded
And locked.

Desultory and dull was his gait,
Upon the soft sands of late.
For his intention was none,
His expectation undone.

There was nothing left to do
So he redirected towards the sea,
The dark, deep, dying sea,
That seemed to stretch on, with no end.

And as he continued the water crashed
Upon his feet.
A chill ran from his toe to the very
Tallest hair upon his head,
In which emotions bled
A heavy weight of defeat.

Now his knees, now his waist,
Now his chest, now his face.
Slowly, sadly, he melted into the sea
With no one present to say farewell.
Just a shadowy figure lost in the
Blues of every man upon the earth,
Those of unappreciated, unrecognized worth.

Falling

I’ve fallen and I can’t get up
Because there’s no ground to stand on.
I’m falling through the air
At speeds unimaginable
And yet still increasing.

I’ve taken a step too many,
Gone over the edge.
Head swimming, body flying,
Time running
Out.

I’m still falling…

And falling…


And falling…
In love with you.

Spark

It’s a path

down a road

that you’ve gone down before.

Can you find your way back?

(well, you don’t know for sure)

It’s a light

shining out

from the end of a cave.

Not a road there

right now

just a path you can pave

Once you find

your solution

a riddle; a prize

It’s a guess-and check method

but a small sample size.

It’s a spark

In your bones

(now they start to feel light)

Inspiration!

You’ve done it.

Achievement of flight.