Dreams die slow
Unlike passing comets
In a flash over our eyes into the constellations
We have time to sit and think
About the demise of our days
Into the hands of regrets and consolations

Dreams are created from a seed
Like the art of our existence from the start
Dreams are made for the sleeping
Dreams are sparked for the waking
Dreams are certainly matters of the heart

My dreams often check before they leave
Letting me grieve their departure
The tears on my sleeves
Products of what should have been
cutting in and piercing harder and sharper as I try to breathe

My dreams hang tough
Clawing and scratching my skin and blood
Through storm and flood
Through rain and mud
My dreams thud against my bones for what they love

In the same boat (friend ships)

Friends will always remain whether different or the same
There are people who have many friends but not a dollar to their name
Some people go away with the quickness with which they came
Some use others to establish their grip on worldly gain

There are a few who are genuine and hold true to good
There are those who feign friendship only to be misunderstood
Others work hard to create relations because they were told that they should
Some roll solo without caring when others would

Chums, buddies, comrades and friends
some love each other to an infinity with no end
others follow their peers like they’re the hottest new trend
some friendships break where others would just bend

They say to judge a person on a handshake every time the hand extends
If you don’t know who’s real then you don’t know who pretends
I’ve seen friends fight dirty only to make eventually make amends
Billions of people on this planet but nothing as hard to find as true friends

The dreams we forget

The sweetest of soft serenity
a calm comparable to divinity
living for peace and affinity
in a world that will no longer diminish me

The colors of nature shine brighter
for close and loved ones held tighter
the burden of our baggage much lighter
such a complete world for lonely writers

We will find the meaning of our desires
a passion lit with the flames of scorching fire
Spending time and thought with those we admire
Pushing through our purpose until we perspire

One day we will stand tall through the ages
Released to wilderness away from our cages
Free at last from the clutches of the outrageous
Flying high and away with the words on our pages

A poisonous perseverance

As hot as the afternoon sun
my breath overcome
the life in my lungs
succumbing to the pounding
of earth’s deafening drum

Wheezing and wasting
coughing and pacing
the dream in my depths
burning to ashes
facing the flashes of memory awaiting

We are the poison at best
dioxides and monoxides for the rest
taking but unable to give
cursed by the walls we build
that are still unwilling to forgive at our request

What is the sickness called
to bear witness to our fall
tripped until we land lopsided
colliding with the world
while trying to makes sense of it all?

The world in my hands

The creases on my palms
are numerous in their carvings
Each streak an experience upon the hands of time
Impossible to erase
Unable to reconcile with the being within each line

My fingers are no longer straight
My hands bent out of shape
Adding twists and turns to the years
Bending my contorted limbs
My palms a summoning of my tears

I stare at my palms for direction
For memory and reflection
To ball my hands into a fist
When my continuation is in doubt or question

The world is in my hands
My experiences embedded into my skin
My fingers crossed and twisted
Each crease a memory of experience within

Choice and chance

How can I know who you are
when the hands of existence and experience
distort and dissolve who you were meant to be?

You will be years older with different features
packaged and molded for the now
reshaped and refined
a shell of who you were
once upon a time

I will never know who you might have been
who you were supposed to become
when the alignments and balances of the earth
are distorted from the outcome

Maybe you will never be
what was intended
what was imprinted upon the outset
on the slates of destiny
written for our characters
…or was it all our choice
gently coaxed along
by the blueprints of our ways?

You are not to blame
neither are you responsible
for who you are
or what you have become
We are all a small part of a larger sum
just a beat upon an endless song
played upon a larger drum

Scenes of early winter

Strumming strings upon the instruments of winter
Each melody a mélange of snow and ice
bring cold and darkness to tunes of a vivid chorus
a more frigid landscape we could not devise

The flurries of endless snowflakes
fall upon the sidewalks of streets neglected
the slush and slop of the first snowfall
pile into the mounds of snow collected

Children create their angels upon frost
in the midst of frozen rain
Snowballs fly through in the distance
the unsuspecting are prime targets in the fun and games

Making the most of the seasons we have
a pause from the contrast of summer’s vein
The arrival of another winter brings
a period of calm and change

Ode to the defeated

The turning of the tongue
twisted upon the torture of words
bitten and swallowed whole
with blistered skin and a barrage of bruises
unbecoming of the frozen cold

Heads lowered to the ground
surrounded by countless selves
eyes spinning around
beaten and astounded
without ever a flinch or a sound

The bruising of the lip
a product of tormented quip
slipping between words of pity
gritted teeth together in unison
A million mouths sealed shut in the heart of the city

A senseless life

I am unable to feel the touch of my desires
My senses numbed over time
I am a ghost stumbling over the notions of existence
without knowing what it truly means anymore
to be alive

When I look into the eye of my dreams
The swirls of fractured visions wishing to save me from destitute darkness
are only a distant hope
A mirage of magnitude
Pulling me along
Begging me to trudge onward
For just a little longer on this endless rope

An undesirable anger

The flurries of fury fall
Close to the beating of chests
Distracted by the demons of disdain
Retraced upon skin to mark out the passage of pain

Rage unleashed as a form of the punished self
As a loss to the hearts upon sleeves baring naked passion
Of mind and abject thought
Of anger wrought in the hands of the fraught

A barrage of words as weapons
A tortured torment released to freedom
Lashing and releasing of an inner contempt we never forget
Exorcising an angst in darkness we will always regret

There is only so much we can hold
when folded far from our natural form as we grow old
Descending the highs to lows from our summits
Adaptation while formed is necessary as we plummet