She dances there, in stutter-step,
To match the beating of my heart.
An angel fair, pirouettes forever in my mind, spinning gracefully back and forth.
Every now and then she calls to me, summoning back feelings long since forgotten. Of joy and trust, true love and hope, and for a moment, I remember this is my home. I swore I’d never come back here, but here I am. Memories are weird like that, when you least expect it, they can make you smile.

My words are not my own, but the echoes of a man who has long since died, and left to me in his will, a blueprint for how to live his life. I’d like to tell you that this death occurred at the site of a dashed love, believe me, I would. But the fact of the matter is, I simply do not know. And the lie I have clung to these many years has grown old and tired. So instead, I will tell you the truth, or attempt to.

For the last few years, I have not felt like myself. I have begun to question who “myself” truly is. Spare me any notions of a high school grad taking a year off of their studies to find themselves, I’m aware of the parallels and I despise them. I’ve spent far more than a year in this predicament and I would wish it upon no man. Yet someone has the audacity to believe they can discover the whole of what it means to exist in a year? Let alone believe such knowledge to be a benefit to them. The very notion has me shaking my head in sympathies!

But I digress. That is what I do after all. You see I am a writer by passion, but there is the problem, passion. For nearly a decade now my writing has felt lacking, hollow. Not to others apparently, but very much so for myself. Friends and loved ones tell me I write fairly well for someone of my age, but they do not know what I do. If they were privy to how the words sound before they reach the page, if only they could see how the world looks before I touch it, they would see how truly hollow my depictions are.

This is my problem. At one point, I felt comfortable with my own skill in creating a fantastical world. Now however I feel as if I am continually attempting to build the Taj Mahal, and getting credit for building the Hagia Sophia, or is it a table from Ikea? I can never remember.

My passion’s dead or simply dying,
And though I’m trying to understand what’s left,
I’m finding it impossible to make any headway,
In a headspace so jam packed with memories and remedies for things I don’t even know about, I have my doubts about what I can trust, but if I must listen to my thoughts I’ll quit chasing what I think they forgot, and listen to myself for once even though it’s just a shell upon a shelf of losing touch.

In a land ablaze with flame you hold to a name you once loved because what else can you do? I’ve been there it’s true and they say that if you’re going through hell then keep on going, but the issue is hell’s starting to feel ***** so know me to be trying but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking of lying down. So hear me now, I know where you are, keep pushing, know your dreams and you’ll go far, remember who you are is part of who you were and stay married down on earth. Here, grounded, surrounded by friends, take a moment to breathe again and remember, that even if Hell feels like home, you’re not alone.

In honesty it bothers me I can’t write like I used to, when all my eyes saw were blue skies no hope of my head falling from the clouds, but that was then and this is now and somehow I ended up crashing back down to earth. No joy left, no merry mirth to be given I’m just living for tomorrow but tomorrow never comes so I slug it out like I remember doing not knowing who I am or where I’m going but hoping that I’ll get there one day, I’ll find my tomorrow away from today and be free from this eternity of wondering who I really am. I feel like I’m hopeless, coping with the thought that maybe I’m not who I remember because I’ve forgotten how to be him, but I just know freedom’s around the corner so I move forward forever wether or not it was meant to be, maybe this is me.

If you were God, man kind could not have created fire fast enough to appease you. We would all be doomed to a life in the void as we are not worthy of your presence in heaven. Made solely in your image scattered about in many frames, you would smite us all for the imperfections we were made with purely because they might be a reflection of you.

You take on this world alone by choice and complain that no one can measure up to you. But of course that's true when you measure our strides in inches and yours by the mile half finished.

To live so freely in a land of heaven,
Yet dawdle like children,
Begs the question,
“What am I doing here?”

In an age of convenience yet unmatched,
We find ourselves the ruling class,
With no purpose to unwind,
We simply wish to pass the time.

Yet promised land for us, is this,
That bright and shining place of bliss,
Of clouds and angels to call home,
For some of us too well known.

So what difference does it make,
If we should pass then just to wake,
To see this life painted new,
Still stuck inside a gilded room?

I'm happiest when I can wake up and make up my mind as to how I feel. Before the question pops into my head of which thoughts are real and which ones are yours.

I'm happiest when I can tell you for sure of who I am, which only lasts for about an hour after I wave goodbye to the sand man and start my day.

I'm happiest when I can run away from the idea of happiness for as long as possible. I know that sounds weird but I'm better off never thinking or asking that question in general. Am I happy?

It's a crap-shoot, a moot-point for me designed to take away what it means to be happy. I don't want to think to deeply before I get out of bed, so please happiness, leave me be so I can keep out of my head and just be me.

A sink into the sorrow river,
would set my mind at ease,
To feel so weightless and alone,
with bottled memories.

I'd count the drops as they peer through,
That empty venom glass,
Each and every one a friend,
down to lonely last.

And what then will I own,
but the bitter drink of swill,
To fill my glass to brim with cheer,
To sit here sulking still.

Remembering how my life was grand,           
Before it all was taken,
While failing then to understand,
how sorely I'm mistaken.

This life I have is still my own,
To do with as I please,
Yet still I choose to drink alone,
Sinking down with ease.

What do you do when life feels like a copy?
When the phrase “I love you” is just the cue for heartache?
When who you are misses who you were,
How much are you really worth?

When nothing ever feels quite right,
So you stay up all night thinking,
That life was once a steady ship,
And now you’re slowly sinking.

What do you do when you don’t feel good enough,
To ever really be sure?
When life shows you beauty,
That you’ve seen before?

There is power in who I am,
And from the hill where I stand,
I can’t see myself in your happy little kingdom,
For the crown that I wear is made of roses and rings,
To go with things left unsaid,
You say I’m insane but I’m king in my head,
And so I decree, come sunrise with glee,
All shall be free to rule their own mind,
In the odd-kind kingdom.

A fool to care,
And a fool to dream,
A fool to hope,
Upon a spark, a gleam.

An ember born,
Of passion’s flame,
To mock my heart,
With a single name.

Radiant, the angel,
Both bright and smiling,
A gift, a treasure,
Worth the while.

Shall never see,
This lonely poem,
As I’ve given up,
And hope’s gone home.

Such is the curse,
Of “I love you” too late,
To sit on the side-lines,
To wither, to wait.

Such is the lot,
Of love never said,
To be unrequited,
To hope in love’s stead.

But what do I know,
Of love and it’s cares,
A daydreaming heart,
Who dabbles, not dares.

To take but one chance,
And give it a shot,
The gift of romance,
Which I never got.

I am afraid to say I love you,
Even though I do,
From little things,
To diamond rings,
I’ll do or buy anything,
To prove that it is true.

But the reason that I’m scared,
Is a tricky little snare,
You love me,
Eternally, for now,
Until I mess up somehow,
And cause you quite a scare.

Then I could be better,
And in will come the weather,
From rain and doubt,
To lover’s drought,
Here come the bouts,
The sudden want to sever.

What’s yours is mine,
What’s mine is mine,
Peace of mind is hard to find,
So I will give it to you,
All so we can live.
No greater use am I,
Than so great a use as this.

But to some I am defined,
By that kind of trait,
And so many of them hide,
In such a loving place,
For it seems a heart so true and kind,
Is a rarer find these days,
But I like this heavy thing,
So I will hold the weight.

And every little sin,
Shall find a hold in me,
To you I welcome in,
Everything you’ve seen,
So sit beside and tell me now,
Of bitter life,
What’s got you down?

I will in time,
Take that too,
And leave behind,
Something new,
Peace of mind,
All for you,
And maybe I,
Will have some use.

To talk of soul,
Yet be cut off,
By woes of love,
Upon the rocks,
Dashed and diced,
In passion’s prime,
Is nothing more,
Than a mark of time.

The weary one,
Who counts his blessings,
By races run,
With tired methods,
Prays for rest,
Upon the wings,
Of the angel,
In fading ink.

Yet he knows now,
He is alone,
And for his troubles,
He shall atone,
As he loved her,
As soulmates do,
But wished an end,
Both well and true.

That was when,
His soul would close,
To any lovely,
Soft repose,
And he would fall,
To love itself,
And call “I’m sorry,”
As he fell.

Sorrow is a poison
That spreads from man to man
Unknowingly corrupting those around us and ahead.
Passed down from one generation to the next
From one heart to another
Darkening the beautiful blank slates that make up the foundation of promise.
With modes of transport as subtle as repression
And as pronounced as love.
I have lived for 22 years and observed the way it spreads.
A drop of sorrow to a wicked man is as common as rain
But it is a flood for those of good intent.
It gives simple words a sting, or even those unsaid
It turns a good man doubtful
And a doubtful dangerous.
Sorrow is the sum of wounds the heart has seen touched or felt.
It is the reason for insecurity, for mockery, for unnecessary pain.
The next time someone shows you sorrow, mend it with care
And know that it likely did not start with you.

Take a look at my history and it’s easy to see why I’m afraid of just being a bottle of pills sat next to a diary on standby, in case talking isn’t enough this time.
It all starts with the words “Don’t tell anyone else...”

Well I’ve kept up my end of the bargain. I’ve kept your secrets for you, hell I even took them with me when you were gone, and I’ll take them to my grave for you. But don’t tell me you’ll hate me, or that you’ll leave or walk away, don’t tell anyone else, but you will anyway.

Friends come and go, but please take the things you own when you leave.

Pray for sincerity,
Yet beg me to stop,
It’s everything you say you need,
Not worth a thought.

But pardon me for caring,
I guess I’ll step away,
Wish you luck in love’s paring,
“But wait,” you said, “Stay.”

But I’ve got no gift for patience,
See not anymore,
Because I’ve played the game of waiting,
Too much before.

And all the sudden that’s my fault,
Why don’t I love you?
That’s just an insult,
I did and you knew.

So what happened to then?
All the time you had,
You called me a friend,
And I accepted that.

But now you’re unhappy,
Because I treat you like one,
You didn’t care about me,
When I made you the sun.

So how are you?
Dear friend of mine,
Let’s see this through,
And silently say goodbye.

Because the chance has come and gone,
I hate to say it,
But romance can only wait so long,
So goodb-.

All the words on all the parchment,
All the love that this heart gives,
Was never enough for the one I love,
The girl I’m dreaming of never once cared for me,
And honestly I can’t blame her,
So I write this poem with a disclaimer,
I care too much for love.

From the day I met her I’ve been awe struck,
At the beauty, the laugh, the smile and the craft,
From arts to inks to prayers,
I’ve never seen a love so fair.
And I say this now in memory,
For the one I never told,
I’m sorry.

With every fiber of my being as my tears swell on the page,
I’m so sorry I didn’t say that I loved you,
At the time I didn’t know how much you meant,
So I let the moment slip away, but I want you to know,
Not a day goes by that I don’t try for yesterday.

Honestly I can't hold my own with drugs, I don't like that out-of-body rush, my mind's already expanded too much.

Sometimes it's like a hamster on a little wheel, I have to keep it running smoothly or I start to feel a little unhinged.

Now that I think about it, that's probably why the family hobby is binge-drinking, getting high by getting numb enough to stop thinking.

I try my best to keep it all together, but honestly most days seem better after they're gone, because I've already weathered the storm.

I have a question for you, is it weird that I'm only happy at the start of a new day? When that first hour awake shows it's pretty face, I feel amazing.

Until I watch it fade away and in it's place I see familiar faces telling me "Everything's the same and nothing ever changes."

My dad told me once in a drunken state of prophecy, "Son, me and you are variables, we can be the change the world needs."

I rebutted instantly, "If that's true, how come you've been drinking every night since you were 17? How come you've been working your whole life away inside refineries? How come you'll be doing the same thing when you hit the age of 63?"

After that he just stared at me, like his whole world was broken, like I took a notion he'd been holding onto for 20 long years and shattered it.

There I saw a man bruised, battered and beaten, and when I saw the look in his eyes that night I had a moment of clarity.

It came to me in the form of a quote by Sir Fredrick Neichze, "And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."

And in that moment I had to laugh because I realized my whole life could be a divine comedy, my dad was trying to help me escape, but all I could think about was our shared love of philosophy.

And as if on cue, he said the quote right back to me, and then I felt bad for laughing at a tragedy.

To know the touch of sweet regret,
Is to wish for time to give and let,
So lighten the sands and please regress,
Back to days I can’t forget.

To see the memories ebb and flow,
From face to faces I do not know,
Still etched within and laughing so,
Oh please dear years, just let them go.

I’ve asked for time both small and grand,
To stop it’s ever-onward plans,
Though seconds, hours, years have spanned,
Rewind the clock and ticking hands.

How can I write about you fondly,
When I can’t  pen a good memory to your name?
The lies mix together with reality to mark the death of an angel and all I can say is I’m sorry.
I’m sorry there’s no love lost between the lines,
I’ve read between them all,
I beat myself up for not being able to write about an angel but the truth is I never had one to call my own,
So I’m sorry.
It feels like a lie to accent a painting,
A still-frame moment pictured in my head,
I’m sorry is all I’ve ever said and it’s fallen on deaf ears.
But how can I make anyone else listen when the words are years apart,
And I’m only trying to talk to you?
What would they say,
If they understood I was chasing a painted moment?
I’m sorry this is how I remember you.

To chase the lonely blues away,
I write this now to yesterday,
And say to them; all those I miss,
I'm sorry it has come to this.
Now down this longing list I go,
Filled to the brim with woeful prose,
A lovely way here to express,
What it's like; this loneliness.
Now I'm awake at 1 AM,
Wishing I could speak to them,
To cast away the silent spell,
Known as sleep; to make me well.
To see them all now up and rise,
And hear the call of daybreak cries,
A Rooster-bird or some-such pet,
I'd jump for joy as sadness left.
For now's the time where memories reign,
And every one does have a name,
To call to me and mark their time,
Stealing peace then from the mind.
Yet if I could just speak to them,
The loving souls of kith and kin,
I'd know right then without a doubt,
I'd found a cure for lonely bouts.

It's a walk down nostalgia lane I've been aching for, but all we ever talk about is the time we had before time was up and nothing more, except the aches and pains we're both feeling these days.

It's like a retirement home for old times where good ones go to die, and we'd go out and make more but there's no time left to come by.

But why does it have to be that way? We spend all of our time talking about yesterday like there's nothing else to do but put our memories up on a shelf in the category marked "Should have."

But with you I'd rather think of could have. Like we could have a wonderful time together at a coffee shop called "Picture Perfect." And you could show me all the paintings they have on display there that make life worth it.

You could tell me about all the fun we would have had together chasing our dreams of artistry. I would write poetry inspired by all the paintings you'd make to take my breath away and leave me speechless with nothing left to say but how much I love you.

Right now I miss you like the young miss the old because the good go to soon.

I miss you like most of us miss the sunshine on a gloomy afternoon.

I miss you like the earth misses the moon because without you my tides are out of wack, but let's bring it back.

I miss you like my parents miss 8-tracks. To record and make memories last.

I miss you like a life gone to fast past the good times that always seem to last around you.

Because I love you like a child seeing something new for the first time.

Because you remind me of the first time I fell in love, and show me that I'm dreaming of something beautiful every time I think of you.

When all is silent I find myself sad. Not because I am alone, but because all I have to keep me company are memories of you. Memories of what was, the reality of what is, and the dreams of what could have been. In another life, being alone with you would be a happy moment, instead I am left alone with the silence of memories.

A writer born,
Writes ‘til death,
From early morn,
To final breath.

With pen in hand,
And parchment-slip,
He shows command,
Of wit and quip.

A tragedy here,
A comedy there,
To summon both tears,
And laughter fair.

Evokes in you,
A smile wide,
To show what’s true,
What’s locked inside.

A mystery then,
To speak your name,
To spark within,
That fading flame.

Of hope and love,
Of things forgot,
A memory of,
A world we lost.

Writing old and writing dead,
Writing here what’s left unsaid,
To say that I could never write,
And put an end to it’s delight.

From hopes and dreams I’ve made my case,
Weak and weary fit to break,
And from those ashes nothing flies,
Not a Phoenix within sight.

But I keep writing just the same,
To cling and cradle dying flame,
Born of love, a hope, a dream,
A tired dove now out of steam.

And who could blame the holding on,
To tired fame when muse is gone,
No halo, prayer, or feathered wing,
To hear these dying hopes and dreams.

Sometimes I wonder why I hesitate on things I say,
Maybe I don't think they're mine In the first place,
I worry about that you know?
How much of me is gone now that I'm grown?
How much is my mother, my sister, my father, another?
How much is me and what do I own?
How many of your thoughts have found a home in me?
So sweetly, sincerely, I ask you in a cheesy way,
How much of me can I really claim?

To walk along the shores of doubt and see the waves of fear roll in. To live so long, to live without, to be depressed my friend.

To grow up good and grow up strong, to see that life is hard. To bouncing back, to going long, to going very far.

To making merry, to being happy, to seeing hope in darker times. To making smiles, to making light, to living life where laughter shines.

To being old, to being gray, to watch your memories go. To beg them hold, and bid them stay, to forgetting all you know.

To looking back, to reminisce, to accept that time knows best. To coming home, To greet a friend, to long and welcome rest.

To all of that I say to you, to treat it how you like. To living with a solemn gloom, to chasing after light.

It used to be that I could write of love when I knew you, but the truth is those feelings are gone. Long buried in years of hate, in a state I don’t understand. Without you by my side, I don’t know who I am. A god with no muse, now simply a man.

In all my hollow glory, I venerate your chapter in the story with such reverence. I remark on your commitment to togetherness with an asterisk, and leave a footnote in the margins that reads, “Meaningless.”

Forgive me for saying this, I’ve lost my way, clearly. Please, let me rephrase...

My dear angel, it’s been several years since a difference of opinion has left us divided. In all that time, I’ve decided to write you and say, I’m sorry for the way we ended. Far be it from me to build our love upon a foundation which was honesty dependent..I’ve learned the error of my ways.

Which is to say, that “I love you” has become a hollow thing, sweet to be sure, but a sweet nothing all the same. So I will remember you with nothing, and leave you on those words, I love you.

Simply,
A man.

Music for a muse is a wonderful thing,
To hear the voices carry as angels sing,
And show you then their vibrant wings,
Of hope and hate reflected so,
Out on the winds, the proud loud notes.

A lullaby or siren’s song,
To keep you writing all night long,
The lower basses standing strong,
To carry with them the old tune,
And your interpretation soon.

I count the birds from 1 to 10,
Resting wings on branches thin,
Tired so from Winter’s call,
“Abandon homes, take flight all!”

They run the race from north to south,
On wings of grace no time for doubt,
The place to be is warm and bright,
“We’ll make it there, through day and night!”

Away your songs, forgo your nest,
The journey’s long, hope for the best,
How can we know, just where we’ll be?
“Why it’s past down from family!”

In flying V’s, in pairs, alone,
We make the trip to find our home,
And find somehow we’ve made it here,
“A place we’ve known since yesteryear!”

If time is truth then let it be,
Absolute by fates decree,
For time moves on and here we wait,
For time to lose it’s moving state.

And in our grace we do declare,
Time’s swift movement is unfair!
And so we hate and twist and turn,
Always longing for time we’ve burned.

But in our wait we forget our ways,
Of moving on to better days,
And so we lose what we hold dear,
Memories made, most sincere.

And by the time we see our flaw,
Time has passed us up in awe,
Of grace, of beauty, of truth absolute,
Time cares not for wanting youth.

O heart stop thy beating for too rapidly do emotions fly. To easily do they flood all sense of logic and cause it to run in passionate strides.

Who is she to cause such a rhythm as if in sync with the music of life? She plays her part exactly on cue, for long dead hopes she does revive as feelings of love wash over you.

And all too soon you would give of yourself just to see a measly smile, for that is what you know of love and the part it plays in your story.

Only through care, by sacrifice may you show your affection and thus by reflection you curse your lot in this life as you may only live in loves shadow.

You have to realize I wear my heart on my sleeve and I’ve got a rap sheet of loving scars long enough to cover both arms. so pardon me if I have a thing for tragedy, but my life has enough in it to be a playwright’s masterpiece.

Have I forgotten,
How to speak,
In vibrant hues,
Of yellow-pink?
Of sunny days,
And precious sweets,
Traded then,
For gray and bleak.

I wonder this,
So often now,
If voice is lost,
Can it be found?
A simple thing,
To miss and yet,
How quickly we,
Can just forget.

The easy days,
Of smiles gone,
Of children's games,
And laughter long.
When simple things,
Could entertain,
In yesterday,
where smiles reigned.

I want to say I love you so badly,
But how can I when you find love everywhere?
In this heart or that one,
In that name and the next,
What is love to you,
But an endless honeymoon?
I want to give you what you say you want so badly,
But I’m afraid of being hurt.
In just a day she said my name,
So gentle and much too sweet.
In a week she said it with a gleam,
In two her friends heard wedding bells,
And my god I should have listened.
But I never said a word,
I was too afraid.
You asked me in a month or so,
What it would take for me to like you,
And I wanted so badly to say that I love you.
But how could I,
When you see love everywhere?
It’s been four years and I’m sorry,
But love just isn’t fair,
I’m stuck here lost in thought,
About how I never said I love you.

She said to me, she said,
“What happened, you use to laugh.”

And I came back,

“That was before the aftermath of depressive spats tackled head-on. Before I developed a habit of asking what’s wrong for every sad face I see, before I tried listening because no one ever heard me, and it was terrible.”

And I got an earful of awful sounding words.

“You took their hurt, but what’s that worth when it’s tearing you up inside? When every night you struggle to say goodbye to faces long gone, and you just have to carry on like nothing’s wrong? I can hear it in your voice now, the spark is gone.”

And I said,

“No one’s perfect, but for for what it’s worth I’d do it all again. And maybe that’s because I miss them all so much, my dear friends who never heard the meaning in my words..We all hurt, but I’ll take it all in for them, again and again. And if my laughter is reduced to a smirk well then, I’d say that’s a small price to pay in the end.”

I’m breaking down,
‘Cause I hear no sound,
Except for the laughter,
that I’m hearing loud.

From memories of you,
And memories of me,
Why can’t they just go,
Now I’m trying to breathe.

I want you to stay,
But I just can’t say,
I don’t want you to go now,
So baby please stay.

I don’t want you to go now,
So baby please stay.

Because the best part of me,
Has always been you,
And I just can’t see,
Myself starting anew.

I always kept quiet,
But here is the truth,
I always kept quiet,
Except around you.

Oh yes I always kept quiet,
Except around you...

Ah to be the only one awake,
To hear so clearly the sounds of nothing,
To track the hours by time spent freely,
To greet the night as moonlight breaks.

This is the life of that lonesome bird,
Who spreads it's wings and twists it's head,
This is the life of that humble creature,
Who sees the sun and greets it's bed.

A quiet thing when all alone,
It finds this state to be it's home,
And in this place of gentle rest,
It stays awake or tries it's best.

But life it seems will not relent,
For daybreak signals most to rise,
The sun is here; you must repent,
For most of life surfs daylight tides.

As work will come with daylight's call,
To see their heavy eyelids fall,
These quiet birds will seem to stall,
For nighttime fun has sapped them all.

But soon enough they will withdraw,
Back to their nesting homes so sweet,
And in that place they'll close their eyes,
To send off daylight with goodbyes.

And they will wake again to see,
That moon of theirs so happily,
To make them smile and sing and dance,
They all celebrate a calm pale glow.

They sing her praise to warm her heart,
For they know her well and true,
That pale blue mistress called the moon,
Has seen them all gliding through the night.


The birds with wings and tilted heads,
Are of course night owls solemn and quiet,
Listen clearly to all they've said,
For their hooting holds wisdom on lonely nights.

You asked me for my happiest moment,
And I came up empty-handed,
Not because I never had one,
But because I never really thought about it.

For me time doesn't move like that,
It's not a moment to moment live your life like it's the last kind of cliche-trap that I put myself into.

For me everything is as old as it is new,
Because I knew from just about day one that everyone tells you to enjoy life, but they're so busy running the race they forget to take it in strides.

For me life is honestly a breeze,
But the problems come in the form of anxiety when people ask what I've been up to.

Because when they realize my answer is nothing new they look at me like,
"Who are you to be happy taking life at your own pace?"

"Don't you know? This life is a race and you don't have much time.
You should live your life like mine and be happy."

I was,
Before I met you

What can I say but goodbye sweet love.
Goodbye to the thrill of conversation for hours on end,
Goodbye to waking up at 2 AM because you thought of me when you couldn't sleep.
Goodbye to sparks flying every time I saw you,
Goodbye to what I could never express because every time I tried you'd take my breath away.
Goodbye to love, see you yesterday.

It seems love has dulled my rapier sharp wit down to a pen,
And to that end I am grateful,
God bless the angel who made me the man I’ve become.
A walking set of memories with remedies for heartache,
I put my hope in charity cases,
But make no mistake,
My days of being one are done.

God bless the humble heart that fumbled it’s way,
Into the lead part of my yesterday,
God bless the woman I loved,
Who showed me that trying to be enough,
Is sometimes far too much,
God bless her for what she was,
God bless her for who she is.

A friend in need,
A spirit freed,
A lover much,
But just enough,
Never such.

A waking dream to reflect your memory,
All that I see of my reality,
Your name to another face,
My heart to another place.

In hopes and fantasy I make a home,
To reside in a space I’ve rarely known,
Of love and warmth,
Where smiles roam.

For you I write,
Words from a knife,
Left gently so,
Your somber touch,
I’d always know.

Words from a well,
Left to compel,
What’s left unsaid,
From a dreamer’s head.

And so I sit,
To reminisce,
Forever trapped,
As my penance.

For loving you,
My gentle muse,
Grasping names,
Which fade from view.

They twist and turn,
And laugh away,
These shadows here,
Of yesterday.

To blind me then,
Of simple truths,
I’m chasing names,
I hardly knew.

It seems that time,
Has left a stain,
A passing want,
For yesterday.

I showed her my words and she told me,
“Write stories instead.”
I treat her like a princess but she always prefers the jester,
I tell her she’s beautiful and she doesn’t hear a word.
I make plans to hang out and she chooses someone else’s,
Nothing I do is ever good enough,
So why do I care about her still?

If I’m being honest, I say that a lot. And if I’m being honest I don’t know how to say I love you because maybe it isn’t true anymore, maybe it never was. And on some level we both knew that, but I was still willing to try. I was still willing to give my heart away and shouldn’t that count for something more than a welcome mat? That overused tired old analogy everyone loves to say. Used every day by millions of people, isn’t that fitting? I show care for you, you spurn me and yet I still hold out hope. It isn’t fair you know? I’m so attached to this thing called a heart that if I don’t start listening to it I fall apart, but it’s you that made it this way, or me, I don’t know. If I’m being honest I can’t say I love you, but I can say I hate to.

For thee I utter those three words,
Declared then to be true,
Never was there a star-crossed pair,
To rival the sun and moon.

Not like you and I you see,
As the heavens declared our fate,
To shine like beacons brilliantly,
And rival golden gates.

To light the world eagerly,
With a pair of broken smiles,
Carried still so gracefully,
Through life and all it's trials.

For we were blessed to find a match,
And spark the flames of love,
It seems that we were made made from scratch,
As a star-crossed pair above.

The only crime I was ever guilty of, and the worst one to date, was waiting too long to say I love you..

Like the sun loves the moon but watches it pass by every day,

Like the angels so awe-struck by the beauty of you, there are no words to say,
Like the sea rising up to meet the shore only to say goodbye again, I waited..

I waited on what my heart knew was the right call,
Because I have fallen so many times before.
But you have never let me down..

And so today I say I’m sorry,
For I stand accused and on trial for the greatest crime a heart commits,
A love never known...

Hello dear thoughts,
I say that a lot,
Are you here for a haunt,
Or a happy little jaunt down memory lane?

I’d like to keep warm here,
If it’s all the same to you,
I’d like to live sincerely,
And learn something new.

But it seems more often than not,
My dear friends, my thoughts,
That you’ve forgotten how to be happy,
And so I’m asking, stop me if I misunderstand you.

Because to me you seem to dwell,
On all the unfair, and all the unwell,
But we had lots of good times too,
Just swell don’t you remember?

Well I guess it’s too much to ask,
Like when I pray for the winter,
In December to last,
So I ask you now, unmask your thoughts.

And remember all the good times,
We up and forgot,
Like how everybody loves you, really, a lot.
Now if you can tell me,

Can we forget our memories,
Of tragedies, a masterpiece of sad-to-see thoughts,
A lot of you forgot the best part of me,
The happy part, a work of art with a sunrise in the margins.