The shape of my heart

The heart begs for its many needs
one after another
for comfort and care
for much it cannot truly bear

The torn pieces of the soul
float around the body with blood
engulfing the entire being swiftly
swallowing pieces of our emotions so sickly

The determined pursuit of desires
wishing nothing more than to touch tomorrow
wanting what cannot be afforded
yearning for satisfaction not accorded

Mirages of our wishes satisfied
hold many brightly colored oases
when bruised and beaten to batter
the heart often finds what truly matters

The burden of experience

The wheels wishing surrender keep turning
circling the earth with strength
Here I sit upon the lawns of the prodigal
hoping to conserve a piece of myself

If I could climb the tallest of mountaintops
wade through the deepest of murky ocean waters
I would have little but cold and wet skin
as a memory of the experience

The steps taken to tread the world
to rid the self of misery and misfortune
leave blisters upon the hearts of the travelers
unnoticed by the bodies of the suffering

I am numbed to the touch
to the feelings holding onto the grave
for those who brave the darkness of the forest at midnight
are those who see the trees as clear as day

Memory Lane

I took a trip through my mind
through its crowded pathways
filled with people
and monuments marking events
taking me through the journey of a lifetime

I was almost run over
overwhelmed by wayward vehicles
carrying people who came and went
as quickly as the clouds overhead
Their faces distant memories
on the roads of life

I often circle back to the same streets
sometimes forgetting my way
around the familiar scenes
the roads capturing the delight of the days
I pause on familiar corners
to take in a breath of remembrance  

The streets are cluttered
patched to create a city collage
familiar buildings and creations
springing up without notice

I always feel my way
through the complexities and uncertainty
through the back alleys and main roads
onto the pleasant scenes found nowhere else
but down memory lane

Mornings

Morning mist
settles over the crisp air
enduring long enough
to fog vision
with the screens of winter’s blush

The air flushed
gathering gusts in bursts
clashing against the ice and mud
unable to uproot the standing
of the firm wintry mixture

The morning is a time of tranquility
when little stirs
and most is blurred
by the spirit of the season
the air thickened with purity of prospect

When the windows are opened
and the day is welcomed
with open arms in congested spaces
the breaths of fresh air
are infused with nature’s gentle wisdom

The light bathes the morose
washes the waning hope of darkness
rushing in to greet the indoors
the entrails of expectation
now entrenched in my pores

Dreaming of the magical

*A poem I wrote for a contest on the theme of Hope*

Lay upon me the longing for life’s lovely creations
The elation for extravagant grace entrenched outside us
From the words and worlds we occupy against our inner anarchy
To the hollow we fill with the will of wondrous star dust

The dirt on my hands is hard to unleash
The veins of struggle are embedded in my skin
Growing like thorns and scorn inside my being
The love and light of life within dimmed at mood’s whim

Fanning the flames of fantasy and sparking the hunger of our vision
Ignite the eyes to discover something more in our world
Even when the touches of torment threaten to disrupt our disposition
Hold on tightly to the strength of your inner pearl

Cresting like the moon behind mountains and valleys
Sights to marvel and awe are never so far
Impossible to touch but perfectly placed like the layers in our atmosphere  
Genuine as the existence of our skies and stars

Sleeping upon the cloud beds of calm and tranquility
Never to be disturbed when in a rest so serene
I tip toe through images hungry to dive into the backdrops
Even when the colors of the world scream of a scenery supreme

Magic does not fall from the sky without our acceptance
The amazing does not surround us unless we unbind the chains from around us
When I close my eyes, I still see enchantment within
The beautiful transpires when inspired by passing moments so boundless

Spaces

There is oblivion
within these walls
cold and dark
hovering in the morning air

The mattress flattened
under the burden of weight
the blankets opposing the chill
of the winter inside and out

A hot coffee warms the chest
the milk lightening the dark liquid’s consistency
bread and butter for breakfast
the rumbling stomach’s desire satisfied
momentarily

The countless books scattered in the corner
dog eared pages, old novels
await eager hands
to swallow the stories
strewn across the infinite pages

The little bedside lamp in the corner
forever emitting an orange glow
warm to the touch
illuminates the cold soul of the studio

Words are to be written
pages to be turned
food to be cooked
cleaning to be done

During the morning hours
the sunlight trickles through the blinds
the studio is simple like many others
this morning it’s one of a kind

Wingless birds

The wings upon my back
carry me no further than a step at a time
still I dream of flight into the bliss of the horizon
my feet firmly gripped to the ground in spite of trying

If I cannot escape the confines of gravity
at least I may have visions of freedom
my thoughts on course for departure
my body bearing so signs of torture

I wish and want
need and desire
to feed my inner strengths
upon my knees so worn and tired

Kneeling and standing
for days so demanding
Laying and sitting
contemplating the darkness forever emitting

In the depths of the night
my wings flutter without flight
the fury in my muscles without drive
I may yet dream that I’m alive

The test of time

I met a man once
his appearance laced with grime
he had all the answers to the world’s problems
but couldn’t pay his bills on time

I once saw a woman
she was as happy as a clam
wishing nothing more than to share her joy
but she could never find herself a man

I once petted a dog
who greeted every passing stranger
he was big and build for guarding
but could never sense a whiff of danger

I once touched a tree
running my hands over its bark
it was beautiful in its texture
but its roots were dying in the dark

I met many people
saw animals and nature at their best
each shining in their greatness
while suffering the burden of a test

I couldn’t always see it clearly
people do well to protect themselves
sometimes if we look closer
it’s easier to see past the outer shells
 


Senses

The wings of fervor
upon these lips
carry sounds of excitement
into infinite darkness

The touches of flight
within these bones
take sensation to new heights
away into the galaxies

The feelings of fortitude
at our fingertips
mold steel into softness
caressing hardship into perspective

The sights of serenity
in our vision
turn desolation into beauty
every entity an artwork of excellence

The senses surrender
to the demands of our days
all the wonders in our vicinity
the objects of our fascination

Purpose

When the winners go home
and we are left to our own devices
the nicest of intentions
do little to console the depths of our sacrifices

Grace is wrought from raw iron
every silent moment is a penance for trying
rising with our breaths, ambitions are still endless
their pursuits without shame, infinite and lawless

If a crawl to reach glory would suffice the soul
many would be happy to pursue their goals
much can be said of chasing a dream
reality often has plans cutting down what they seem

I smash the pieces of my life to the ground without worry
knowing that I’ll pick them up soon without a hint of hurry
If a lapse in intention is the judgment for some
we would all be at the mercy of our being come undone