A ruffled feather in the wind

Tossed in airy waves

Churned by notions of grandeur

Such is the beginnings of love.

Clouded eyes reflect illusions

Where personalities are lost

In representations of perception

Pantomime performances

By clowns with broken limbs

Signing a language they don’t know

Or will ever try to understand.

When you say “I love you,”

To whom are you speaking?

The man or the vision

The woman or the dream

The human

Or the fantasy

Designed to pleasure the creator?

Can you truly believe

That your snapshot can portray

The billion words and thoughts

That dot the constellations

That guide their every day?

Can you call this love?

Some do.

We tilt on axises undescribed

By the fictions of our youth

Shaded from the harsh glares

Of misrepresentation,

A slap across the face of our forefathers

Seen through glasses shattered

By years of tyranny and supplication

Denied.

We spin like tops without a table

Unstable motion compromised by hate,

Blindness conjured through misinformation

And the passive acceptance of the mob

Majority ruled by iron clad robes

Trying to bleach the masses

Like diversity is filth instead of beauty

Defined.

War erupts on assumptions based in fiction

Friction set in motion by forces moved by

Riches of the land before their people

Nations reduced to GNPs and ashes

Statistics grayed out in time

Crumbling in the winds of lies

Designed.

A train leaves Detroit at 6:15;

How long does it take

To begin to realize

You’re going the wrong way?

Bridges pass by in blurs

Hazy representations

Lines of forms fragmented,

Faulty transcriptions of the mind.

The whistle blows

As stacks of steam obscure

Innocence stained by dark coal,

And spots on a white sky.

Murmurs fade as darkness falls

And eyes begin to rest

Shadows fade to blackness,

Peace.

At dawn’s light,

Journey’s end

Trails to a stop;

But have you really moved?

A glance takes in the changes,

A rural town for the city

Grass and trees for concrete mountains

Green and yellow for red and gray.

Footsteps seem softer here,

But not quite…

Determination’s lost somehow,

Yet, there is purpose.

Morning is bustling still,

But in a merry sort of way,

Full of light and humor

More greetings than scorn.

It seems a dream in waking,

An impression of a thought

Etched, dyed and pressed

Into your eyes.

Yet, no illusion is present

But the one in your heart,

Bourne of grief and fear

Of woe and past lives.

Past lies entangled

Like lines of crimson peppermint

Bloching the ivory face

Of time.

Bury your secrets

Like brittle coffins,

Misshapen representations

Containing remnants of past lives

Decomposing fibers disconnecting

Shedding splinters and dust.

Loosely held convictions

Scrapping the sides of your grave

Crumble like pastries

Poisoned with promises unrequited

Fractures obscene and unsaid

Shifting blame and purpose.

Tilted perspective lines the inner sanctum

Comforting the frigid corpse

Lips blue with the touch of hesitation

Alight with the echoes of all undone

Pieces of cloth encircle madness

Expressing anger and remorse. 

Shards of glass protect the sleeping

Light engulfed in recompense

Shafts of shade lull the weakened

Pages fading into sand.

Colors drip like raindrops

Casting shadows of thoughts

Intertwined like branches of the mind

Scratching traces of implications

Surrounding statements of vindication

Upon walls like symphonies–

Unorchestrated

Left as strings of sounds unheard

Specks of light and celebration

Shattered and reflected education

Mismanaged and regurgitated

Like blurred lines upon paper,

Soggy with the drops of raining colors

Melting into reflections we never were

Threading and constructing

Thoughts we never had

On walls of symphonies unrelenting

Mimicking our suffering cries

Flooding over with determination

To express that we cannot fathom

Our very selves etched like figures

In clay softer than our tongues

Replies that never were

And never will be

Without our hands,

Our voices,

And our wrongs. 

It was the dead of winter and

In the quiet of the night we said “Hello.”

I’ve spent ten years writing words,

Streaks of everlasting color

Tracing fingers on the walls I’ve built within.

Well it’s been Hell and I’ve no others to begin.

So, keep my windows shut,

For the breeze is blowing in

And I cannot begin

To tell the others of Hell that is Alone.

Streaks of everlasting color

Dried and cracked and sprained from within.

Walls of fingers tracing passages untouched

Ten years of words built up and lost

In the quiet night we said “Hello.”

Simple words in the dead of winter,

Snow falling at our passing

Melting away with the days we once had.

Nations form in words unsaid

And desires left unspoken.

Cities lie on continents

Of unexpressed regret.

Valleys of content rest

Between mountains of indecision.

Yet words cannot be weaved

Of thoughts left unstrung,

Out of tune and abandoned.

Rusted notes tasting of copper

Leaving shrill steaks of orange.

Postage unpaid

In a world of instant messaging,

Words too weighty

For such a delicate soul.

Yet, there is strength in the eyes

A quiet, understanding whisper

Buried in the corners of your lips…

Thoughts unspoken,

Words constructed and deconstructed

In the edifice that you are.

She is my breath.

I cannot breathe without her

Yet, suffocating I dream.

She is a puzzle

I cannot piece together;

Incongruent lines shape her soul.

She is a flood

All consuming and exhausting,

Yet I would gladly die in her depths.

She is a song

That I could never sing,

But never could leave unsung.

Her laughter is a waterfall

Her words are like rain

Her smile an oasis in my pain.

Yet, I am foolish,

For all this is of not.

For she is a painting

And I a stranger

Puzzled by the flood of breath I’ve lost.

Her hair falls like the rain

Organized in chaotic beauty,

Shades of lavender

Curled around my crimson heart.

Her voice is shadowed footprints

Softly sinking into my soul,

Marking a trail

Through my emerald forest. 

Her eyes are pools of radiance

Piercing the cold barricades,

Shattering the sentries

That held my sapphire whispers.

Her hands are ivory

Spotted with speckles

Like stars that dot my horizon,

Shining like ruby silhouettes.

Together we are falling,

Streaking across the sky

In trails of ecstasy,

Showering our love

Like droplets in a hurricane. 

In what is strength defined?

Is it in the power of a punch,

The technique and flow?

Is it how many one can take,

Before collapsing in the snow?

Is it in the weights you can lift,

A display of pure mass?

Is it carrying the weight on your shoulders

From the days gone passed?

Is it how well you hold your drink,

At your favorite bar?

Is it taking hits meant for mother

When daddy’s gone too far?

Is it in crying for help

When others stand by silent?

Is it keeping a secret

When others suspect the violence?

Is it in moving on

Leaving it all behind?

Is it staying to try to piece the pieces

Faulty parents could not find?

Is it trying yourself to succeed

Where all before have lost?

Is it sparing the world your generation,

No matter what the cost?

For strength defined is mystery,

Wrapped in brittle skin.

Is true strength found in outward actions

Or simply kept within?