When honey turns to poison

And sugar to regret,

Like tempered steel

Fading into dust

All things feel lost.

But wandering is not a plight

Or a plague to flee;

It is its own freedom

With patterns of calm collection

And cool acceptance.

While unoriented

I am fine without a way;

Content in my own skin

And mountains of frost.

I have my escape

From savage life

That seems only to serve

Itself on bones

And quenches thirst

On sentiments unknown.

Yet I cannot falter

For it’s fool’s admission

To think and not suppress

The very lines

That draw my cage

And trap me here within

These homemade walls.

I’d let you in,

But I’ve no doubt

That once you’re here

It’ll never be the same.

You know, I’d rather

Have never even met you,

Than hurt you at all.

Sorry will never be enough

Merely words that will always fall short

Of tears that refuse to be shed.

Guilt is a useless thing

A weight that drags and drowns

Muddling reason and rhyme.

Sorrow’s crushing might

Foreshadows faltering steps

Sinking into shame.

Tendrils of perception dulled

From jagged pieces of memories

Tarnished in time.

Broken paradise

Falling like brittle stars

Aflame in their own malfeasance.

Bitter stones impacting

Leaving scars of circumstance

Without chance of recompense.

Fame without fortuitous planning

Caving into doubt

Halting progress and elation.

Illusion shattered

Images fractured and forsaken

Lost to sounds without a name.

How oft the brittle well

Will give drink in drought

To those who need it more.

Each drop a weakening sigh,

Recognition of the coming sleep

As parched lips pray for one more.

Cups filled with survival

At the cost of living;

Broken hearts mending broken souls.

Till rain comes again

Drenching the world in kind

With love deeper than any well.

She’s my catalyst

Accelerated demise

Burning me alive.

On the road is where I belong

Always passing through

But never staying–

Long enough to get attached.

The cares are drowned in the rush of wind

And the silence of the nights

Barren of human life.

The stars are my companions

The moon, my vacant candle

Illumination unmerited by fate.

Pictures are all I have of memories

Faded, brittle prisons of thoughts

Scattered upon the dash and floor,

Marked by muddy footprints

And salty snow. 

I sleep in my haven

Of gentle woodland grove

And find the dreams that catch me there

Are the only ones worth chasing.

What are my words

To the blind, mute and deaf?

Illegible scrawling by a broken hand

Twisting and falling

Failing to realign the sailor off-course.

What are lines to mountains

When shapes and grooves

Bend and snake their way

With rough mannerisms

And heavy tongues?

What are songs to the valleys

Whose melodies ring triumphant

And the wind recalls nary a note,

Its stanzas superior to man?

What are feelings to the ocean

Wide, deep and wise

Untainted by regret?

What is love

To the willow by the lake

Whose hair dips low?

What is hate

To the moss underneath?

These I ponder as I lie awake

Yet I still write…

For what?

To live, not merely survive.

Your smile shatters my thoughts

Sending shards of bitterness,

Brittle traces of cognition

Conditioned to your grace.

Your laughter shakes my soul,

Dislodged logic careening

Scattering upon the floor

Plans and designs unmet.

Like fragments of light

Fracturing upon your hair

Lines of color, hue and depth

Reflect unborn words.

Still life portraits of our days

Hang in solemn places

Secluded and unjustly set,

Ashes mingled with acrylic.

Textured phrases pass our lips

Brushing crimson on pale faces

Alive with shades of warmth

Gently across a perfect canvas.

Traces of your heart stain your hands

Shadows of your creations

Dotted like constellations unseen,

Otherworldly beautiful chaos.