Another day passes by… 

In which I have not loved 

I look up high and spot a bird 

Soaring all alone 

My life glides on a breeze 

Isolated from all 

When I cry.. 

None to comfort me… 

When I fall 

None to catch me… 

When I love.. 

None to receive it 

So why do these things? 

When no one is there 

A simple answer.. 

Because not so long ago… 

There was.

A flash of light over the horizon 

As dawn breaks into a thousand rays 

Touching here and there among the trees 

Reflecting off the dew covered grass 

I lie with my back to an ancient oak 

Writing of the past 

All the while listening to the sweet song birds 

That night 

When the moon shines silver upon the meadow 

As the stars dance so far away 

Deep within the sorrows of time 

Embedded in the heavens 

Waiting 

Watching 

As we rest 

So peacefully 

Below

As I am here crying, I look up and I see

 Someone watching over me 

Is it an angel sent from above 

To show me how it is to love 

Someone so much you cannot see 

Who you are and who you want to be 

You learn to care for one another 

Like dearest sister and brother 

Never closer than just related 

Never kissed, never dated 

You just look out for one another 

Like dearest sister and dearest brother. 

I am going to post some of my first poems that I wrote when I was first starting 11 years ago. Please pardon the lack of quality…

Snow falls like delicate distress

Dictating fluctuations in reason

As reminders of yesteryear

Fade away.

Lightly coated epiphanies

Struggle to reach the ground

And connect with forlorn convictions

Convinced of conditions

Unfavorable, yet kind.

And simple rhythms evolve

Into something a little more complex

Than second nature

Or comforting alibi.

We trudge through built up recognition

Cognizant of our decisions

But fully capable

Of the compartmentalization

Of our souls.

The uncouth, ill advised reminders

Are unwelcome

Yet burrowing, they remain

Permanent residents

In our eyes.

Mirror reflections of our deceptions

And lies refracted in melted crystal.

Fill the air with the breath of your denial

And fog the windows of their

Misconceptions

Then blame them for ignorant

Intent.

Till roads are free again

To carry us away

From the prison you maintain.

I’d ask the point of words unspoken

But what need are there for expressions

Of unwarranted emotion to fragile ears

And shaded eyes?

I’d tell you, but what’s the point

If you never even listen or respond?

It’s a practice of volition

Faulty placed position

In your arms.

Oh, why am I alarmed when I

Hear your name

Or strain to hear cracks that break

Your heart?

It seems the balance is wary

In your favor

And nothing can save her

From toppling to her knees.

So, please pause and recognize

The fate that we’ll despise

Wrapped in lies and disguised

As our future

Not together, but apart.

A part within the motion

Of all complex emotion

Tied and broken

Only captured in the waves

That carry our farewells—

But soon we’ll purge from our blood

The poison that is our misdirected

Misconceptions of who we are

And what we suppose

Are our hopes.

I write what I cannot speak

Though spoken word seem free

It appears but a shackle

Confining my tongue within its resting place.

If I pierce the silence

My breath falls short

Weighed down by foolishness

Restricting motion in emotions

That come all too slowly.

If fear means hesitation

Then speed is reckless abandon

Dismissed as ignorance in glee.

But what else can I be?

For this is my release

Of lines and stanzas from within

Unspoken harmonies and melodies

Concurrent with the void in my heart

And cacophony in my mind.

She came like a ghost in the night,

Silently fading in and out of existence

Like the indistinct taste of smoke on water

Gracing my tongue with promises

Of more than ethereal visitation. 

Glimmering in the moonlit illumination

I find her pale visage like bleached bones

Glowing from her inner flame.

She felt like cool fire,

Flickering between warmth and isolation,

At once a hearth and desolation to my soul.

She held my heart in hesitation

Whispering of sustenance heretofore unknown

And her smile tilted as perspective fell

At the gates of Avalon.

Yet, passing in the sunlight

Our resolve dissolves

Like particles of ash in a breeze. 

While you’re waking up I’ll be falling asleep for emotional relief

From the heart strings snapping like they’ve been over-tuned.

I’ve seen my reflection in the soulless eyes of a man framed for 

Murder, when his only crime was caring too much for

The daughter he never had with the feelings of others too tightly wound

Inside his heart to distinguish them from his own.

I taste my words in the bitter regrets of unconventional friendship and

Unwelcome sacrifices that taint and drag down the curtains of my world

That hide the vision of how I see myself. 

“When the lion is in the room, you will know.” The doctor said

Unconvincingly. What I didn’t know was that it was the lion who spoke. 

But, can he understand the lengths I go to find tears for myself

While my pillow and shirt are drenched with the sorrows of others?

It seems so much easier to turn it off; I’ve done it before,

But who wants a high functioning sociopath for a friend?

Maybe a doctor, but certainly not this one. No,

He seems only interested in finding his next meal. 

“Don’t solve the mystery. Save the person.” I told him,

And he does it so easily, emotionally driven and warm.

I hope one day to be half as human as he, but until then:

I’ll wait here with my pipe, heroine and forgotten patches;

My house full of dogs substituting the family I could never have

And my words that always seem to come at the right times

For everyone but myself.

Like a lost tooth I tried to leave my

Thoughts of you under my pillow

Knowing that far less precious things

Have been bought with the wishes

And hopes of childhood. Wrapped in

The stitches of its cloth, your hair

Weaves in and out of my life

Like a pattern I’ll never comprehend

Interlacing my imagination with

Vague representations of how I want

It to be. And as the morning comes

I find my pillow still laden with your

Voice and the scent of ecstasy, void

Of change and dismissed by

A childish creation.