Separate the strands of summer from my wintry wings
the frost collecting upon my frigid fringes
the truth of seasons hinges upon the blurred
each breath earned with voluminous absurdity
the energy succumbing to a stillness so unnerved

There is now rain in the place of light
It is in darkness where my veins turn into a glistening white
The bristling shades of the season cause reason to delight
There is never a sight to be cemented into the shifting scene
The brashness within the serene never offering a season too polite

Swallowed stories

Sea shells upon the sands hold sounds of the ocean
People in turmoil embrace stories of the broken
Waves crashing and smashing upon the coast
Threaten to take away what we endear the most
The stories from our breaths left unaccounted like ghosts

Endless fights and scars ill repaired
The lower you stoop, the more you find that people bear
Life is unfair and there is little we try to do
Let the walls break down to the ground
to create something beautiful between me and you

We can burrow and dig until little is left to uncover
Harrowing details of tales of one another
The things we do to each other in the name of vengeance
They say revenge is best served cold
but it is warmth that preserves the essence of our friendships

Barren blood

There is a hunger inside me
deriding the fuel in the veins of my actions
My blood turning purple with premonition
the world upending the calm in my essence
with a melody of sweet soft curses intent on demolition

Serenade me with the sour
the path to turmoil always surreptitious in manifestation
I stand with the defeated in the fruits of my labor
Happiness is the truth I cannot figure out in life’s nature

I know not how to stand softly
neither can I sit with violent intent
the grace in my eyes shutting into streams of darkness
When I lay in sleep, I dream of a life
toying with the essence of existence in a bearable likeness

Mountainous Memories

I cannot move our mountain
the pillars do not budge between our being
We just are
like two windows at opposite ends
Everything within these walls
the collection of our time spent as true friends

When you disappear into yesterday
I can no longer wave goodbye
When I catch a whiff of your passing in open spaces
I no longer understand why

Maybe you think of me at times, too
Like the sun does the moon
I once named a star for you
So I would have a reason to look up in the morning
with the hopes of seeing you soon

I don’t see the blossoming of our flowers
Or the growth of our garden
No more witness the wilderness of our youth
The only contents remaining in our memories
are to be cherished and released into the hands of our truth

From morning to night

I sleep sound under the twinkling stars
the blinking in the distance
unrelenting in calls of insistence from afar

Life blooms from morning to noon
from midday to night
patching pieces of colors in evening light to winter’s tune

I yearn for the rays of wonder
splashing across my windows again
extending across my balcony once more in their descent through thunder

The horizon crests with novelty
an unreachable destination
playing with the limits of our eyes and the creations of grandiosity

Never to be held

I breathe the night whole
until I find light in the landscape
I grip the darkness
caressing it with touch
until life churns out a lasting beauty
in the form of something that can’t be clutched

The beauty of the morning
knows little of the procedures of pain
flowing through the channels of the body
like the blood coursing through the passage of my veins

Upon the edges of darkness
the streams of morning light spark life to a new day
I revive the joys of hope amidst hardship
resuscitating the breath within my lungs
the beat drumming inside my heart
rising with the morning sun


I am a curse upon my mouth
The wings of wicked truths
manifest within the gums of those who whisper
worshiped words owed to the skeletons of sharp fanged actions
I carry a brush to clean out my words
Flossing between syllables to separate the livable from the absurd

Weight is measured in the gravity of reaction
Force is used even when silence is our undeniable retraction
Our attraction to dissent knows only of our pride so venerable
Will the judge presiding over our endless cases
forever stay honorable?

Expectation of hope is audacity unchained
Anticipation of pain never works in our favor or gain
The brain is a terrible master when the world is entrenched in grips of disaster
The faster I speak the more I stand a chance
to forget all that humbles the meek in the midst of their laughter

Wish lists

If I could reach for the stars
I would place a few in my pocket
For good luck and light
To take on everything I have to
Everything I ever might

If I could touch your soul
I would caress the calm upon your body
The winds of tranquility would fly me through grief
I would stand without shaky legs
Every sad moment would only be something brief

If I could be as happy as them
I would pose and repose upon bliss
My skin would shine like diamonds and treasures
Each waking moment
Would be a dream entrenched upon the plains of pleasure

If only I could pretend
It wouldn’t be a minute too soon
I would still gather the craters upon the moon
To show you the size of the holes in my heart
to the tune of being stranded on a planet marooned

Miserable Manifestations

The pull of torment
does much to grasp at our dissatisfaction
tugging at fabric of our sleeves
begging us to lay down into the hands of life’s deceit

You stand on shaky legs
with quivering hands and chattering teeth
doing little to appease the grasp of discontent
wearing misery upon your head like a wreath of defeat

When you lay your head
upon the jagged pillows of endless sleep
You still beg for life
hoping for one more gasp to breathe

Senses wither with time
pulling you inwards into the commands of your mind
Yet the slow steps forward into the unknown
promise nothing but inches of misery so divine

When all is said and done

The flourishing of flowers
no longer a sight to be savored
the blooming of the garden
now buried in the soil of the past
The greatest of growths
indented to the grips of poverty
The humble hands of our longevity
still rubbing elbows
with daydreams of sovereignty

The apologies in the wind
are stuffed within the whispers of hatred
the cynical sounds of their voices
deep rooted within the jungle of the ill fated
the voices of experience profess
that this, too, shall pass
The wick of our human survival
questions how did this ever last?