Poetry

Gray Area

You stay strangely vacant
from the grey matter these days.
Why, it was a traveler–a vagrant–
who saw you
so that they could relay
it to the rest of us.
Eyes, so to speak, who composed
music of the loveliest girl
in the world.
Translated it too. Translated it
for all the senses, for all the muscles,
the blood, the bones.
Why did they look to you
when they can just get by?
I could get you off my mind
but the vacancy
seldom lasts.

Poetry

Half of the Time

My heart’s only in it half of the time,

the other half fast fades away

but then for a bit, a moment sublime,

it goes along with the charade.

A bittersweet vision dancing in light,

a vision undoubtedly you,

but fast does it fade and try as I might

my world fades to a shade of blue.

Poetry

Say So

Where are you?

Have you made camp

near lakes and rivers

of the bitter tears you’ve shed?

Are you trapped inside

your head again?

Are you suspended

in the humid air

of deep breaths and sighs

trying to land?

Are you landlocked

in the past

and trying to fly?

I can’t rescue you

but here’s my hand

to grab onto,

a shoulder for leaning,

an ear to hear,

a candle burning–

I’ll look for you

if you wish,

if you say so.

Poetry

Add title

Start writing…

but what?

Where do I draw the line

between the words

and the inspiration?

Will they know

what I’m saying

when I don’t always know

myself?

Maybe if I cut the line

instead of drawing it

then there would be

room for change.

Start writing…

and tiptoe

through your mind,

stomping with

evasive words

Poetry

It’s Just a Heart

The heart is an ugly looking muscle

that has long been made

to look like something

it is not.

The heart has a purpose,

a practicality,

a pulse that gets

the body and the mind

working together by its many

intricate vessels.

The heart is an ugly looking muscle,

that is to say,

it ain’t pretty but we’d all die

without it.

Beauty does not equal function

nor does function equal perfection–

I do not literally die

when I hear how hard you are

on yourself;

my heart keeps beating, aching,

wondering how your heart

clearly ain’t showing you

what every other practical one

sees clearly.

It often skips a beat,

something normally abnormal,

but understandable

when it senses you.

It doesn’t literally die,

it functions like it should.

The heart is an ugly looking muscle

and it’s beating in this imperfect vessel.

This heart is an ugly looking,

imperfect muscle

but it knows a good heart

when it sees it.

Poetry

Hearts On Fire

The ice cold ashes from failure

A broken heart, lying in pieces

Like a ruined stained glass

Window, tell only half the story

But since I met you, the ashes

Turned to embers, to a fire

And the pieces came together

Forging something new

And for the first time, in so long

Days don’t feel so bad

Maybe it’s the time of the

Season, the turning of the tide

But maybe it’s just you

And while I want us to be

Together in love, I know too

It may not happen, but if a bond

Can remain as strong as this

Then I have the peace of mind

You helped me feel complete

Poetry

The Sungazers’ Waltz

I never looked directly

into the sun’s bright rays

to fully appreciate

the splendor as I gaze

at the brushstrokes on the land

and the painted heavens–

a feeling unparalleled,

unmatched in its pleasance.

It’s not that I’ll pay no mind

when our paths intersect

for I’ll still see the splendor

all around, indirect,

and you will still be beauty

and pleasance as you are,

and often I will ponder

of that brilliant star

Poetry

The Monster

What scared and scarred me more

than the love that I professed

was how I walked away

and my heart did not protest.

Do monsters feel regret

in the deeds they’ve committed?

Do monsters feel reprieve

when these things are admitted?

With a sinking feeling

and a hope it wasn’t true,

my heart and mind agreed

that the true monster was you.