pretenses

Calculated emotions and words,

play the space between love and hurt…

you step forward, i follow, then you take my hand,

and i take a step back and leave you alone again.

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Undecided, oh my soul, be at ease.

If it’s the right time, and the right one, God will speak to me.

Oh my love, i don’t know who you are, but i’m trying.

To find myself and you before too many more years sink.

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I’m fading into a sepia memory’s slide.

back when my heart spoke to me all the time.

I’m looking for some saturation to return to this black and white.

What a colorful mask I wear to cover the dull light.

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forward.

keep going keep going, the little engine that could.

move on. move on… not even close yet to the end of the world.

And just keep on swimming, running, walking, moving forward.

but all this energy spent sometimes makes me wonder what for?

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I don’t believe in giving up, but i just want to binge watch movies tonight.

I believe in a challenge, but i feel a little too uneasy to make this ride…

And i can preach to my friends, write songs, write poems online…

but it’s just to convince my own heart to keep on keepin on with the tries.

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My heart it beats too fast, I swear i’m headed for an anxiety attack,

my friends they’ve moved on, it’s all been different since I came back.

Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s them, all i know is I’m too tired for this all…

so. God. you are the only one left, the only word I have left before I fall.

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Oh Lord, I know the desert is always where the silence speaks out loud.

So money, so time, to music, so rhymes, they weren’t enough i found.

So i’ll watch a movie, write a poem, get some sleep and set my alarm and

tomorrow, I’m gonna wake up, and fight, and fight, and try and try again.

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And oh, i’ve been through too much, this isn’t it, enough, enough

you can’t break my heart, this winter is almost over, moving is tough.

I care what they say, i won’t say i don’t, but God knows I’m the one he chose.

we all are, in our own little battles, i’m ready to rise from this smoke.

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I’m not done. oh i’m not done. the little engine that could.

the little girl who did what nobody thought she would.

the little victory nobody will notice in the morning but me,

but God, let’s you and me, have our own little little party.

 

 

 

 

underneath the frozen tree

underneath the frozen tree,

I walked out in eerie peace.

Over sculptures of the wind,

snow drifts lay in waves of again.

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I thought spring had finally come,

but the weather answers to another one.

I hoped I could entice the sun,

but clearly winter is still having its fun.

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So over a frozen lake I dance,

all alone to make-believe romance.

The cold kisses my cheeks and leaves them red,

the silence echoes music in my head.

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I explore a white world of sparkles and green,

It feels like there is nobody left but me.

I guess it’s normal to feel so damn alone…

I might as well make this new world my home.

 

 

The Spider must be fed

It poisoned me from the beginning

and cast on me a curse.

Now I’m foaming at the mouth,

and bleeding words out in verse.

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Can’t hold all the poetry inside,

can’t fight the burning bite from within.

It’s exhausting to stay up writing,

but even more so to deny the itch…

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it uses me like a parasite,

I’m just the hand to unleash it’s words.

Caught in the drama the message ignites,

until I feel another sting, another burn.

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Now my insides convulse with toxins

and I hallucinate flashing scenes

until I can tame a pen

and vomit out a new verse for you to read.

.

So, I hope you enjoyed the taste of my blood,

for it was all I had in place of ink.

That my pain, torment, illness, and vomit,

has oh, so entertained thee…

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Oh, but I need the pen, i need the ink.

I need to let the poison bleed out of me.

I’ll take the foaming, for we are all sick,

and at least I can temporarily get rid of it.

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Life bites, life poisons, and life must eat.

For life is a spider, slowly spinning its meat.

With verses for threads, and time as a web,

Life is a poem, and the poem must be fed.

 

 

 

 

 

I can’t promise safe.

Oh heart of fire…

you have the Midas touch…

everything you touch burns

and all is felt so much…

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Oh love, how it burns…

and passion how it spreads.

I wish it wasn’t time that made you learn,

that passion isn’t always best…

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Oh heart of fire,

don’t overwhelm the other lights…

let the stars, the sun, the moon,

and fireflies all have their lime light…

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Oh heart of fire,

don’t look for the fastest flame,

look for a steady wax, a wick to catch,

and a burn that can be sustained.

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Oh heart of fire,

the world bleeds and begs for you,

but inside, doesn’t it scar, doesn’t it hurt,

doesn’t it feel like you’re just being used?

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I’ll protect my own fire…

keep the wind away from my heart.

let it be tamed, let it be real,

but don’t try to force or control the spark.

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And little heart of fire…

I refuse to hide you away.

I beg you please, keep aglow, keep warm,

and I’ll keep you alive, but I can’t promise safe.

 

 

 

To reach… and reach again

A baby’s hand reaching out to be held…

A child reaching to catch fireflies.

A couple whom keep reaching to hold hands,

A poet reaching for the right words to write…

 

There is something beautiful about reaching,

Reaching beyond that which we have always known…

Whether reaching for a dream, a heart, a loved one, or passion,

Those whom are willing to reach are never alone.

 

So reach for the forgiveness within your heart

reach for the strength beyond that of any man

reach for the peace to love and risk broken trust,

reach beyond the depths, reach and reach again…

 

uncertainty of sanity

I don’t want to sleep tonight…

My eyes are begging me to give them a break.

I don’t know what I am afraid of facing,

besides all the thoughts and doubts that I create.

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Dreams aren’t the enemy, and neither is the poetry,

it’s that laying awake in between that comes to haunt me.

When the worst case scenarios gain momentum in the dark,

and all those things I pretend I don’t care about begin to spark…

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When I am just alone enough to face all the deeds I’ve done,

and argue with my conscious to justify how many times I’ve run…

When pride and humility battle, and hope and fear flirt and dance,

When memories shape shift and I talk myself out of romance…

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I think what I’m afraid of is that I will judge myself as guilty,

or lose internal funding for the shrine I’ve built to myself…

I think what I’m afraid of is growing arrogant or indulge my vanity,

and i can think and argue, but even worse, is the thought of losing my sanity…

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I’m not sure if I fear my future, or if i fear my past is not as I recall….

I’m not sure if I am confident, or obsessed with my own fall…

I’m not sure if I am able to love like they say, or figure it all out with time,

and all these uncertainties will be self-fulfilling prophesies, as I slowly lose my mind…

 

 

 

what remains

My soul is depleted of its childlike faith.

its been vomited out by poisonous relationships,

its been worked off in sweaty sprints,

and then poured out in tearful fits.

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My rose colored glasses have been scratched,

and bleached by the sun’s burn.

my wide eyed wonder was answered

by those who looked down on all for which I yearned…

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Sooner or later, these things happen.

Sooner or later, you’re too tired to chase after love,

sooner or later it doesn’t really matter,

because you grow content with what life has become.

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But..

What remains of the hope is solid grit,

What remains of the faith is the golden core,

what remains of the wonder is education,

and what remains of love’s quest? only God can answer for.