Start running, push off that gravel and don't stop

Keep reaching, grab that next rung and pull yourself to the top

Don't look back, there's nothing there home is gone

Keep running, let your feet fall in rhythm and don't stop

Keep climbing, that summit is all yours, you belong at the top

Don't look back there's nothing there but things done wrong

Keep running, ignore your aching muscles and don't stop

Keep pushing, those barriers wont keep you from the top

Don't look back there's nothing there you've been away so long

Keep running, breathe deep, breathe even and don't stop

Keep moving, you can be still when you've reached the top

Don't look back, there's nothing there but a cliched song

Stop running! Rest now let me see you before you start again

I can barely see you from all the way down here

Take a look back sometime, we miss you back home

Counting Up

I live in moments,
each second is a millenium in which I can define the world and all that is in it
and still forget it in the next eternal moment.
With each tick the world changes
and is reverted upon the tock,
new meanings new hopes,
 but still the same dream,
 the same illusion of control,
like we live on the face of the clock,
at least you do.
I don't.
Because the only timepiece I  keep is the measure of heart murmurs,
but my heart does not murmur,
it shouts
speaks out
 has mind of its own
and though it can only give voice about once a tick
that seems to do the trick
because by the time tock comes
I have loaded my guns.
You live like target acquired,
I live like a poet inspired
and don't you dare get tired
because every second lost upon yawn
is day done until the next brink of dawn
and like a child sprawled on the lawn
who you claim does not realize what he's losing
you've already lost too much.
You say youth is wasted on the young
but moments are all too often wasted on grown up humdrum,
our years are numbered in days
which are constructed of hours
which are made by minutes
which are counted in seconds.
So everything comes down to this next second
which is really the next minute
which rolls into the next hour
which falls into a day
which concludes this year.
Now as you walk into the daily drivel you call maturity
I want you to see,
we youths know our days are numbered,
we are simply unencumbered
by the weight of wasted moments
because we did our best to spend them wisely,
not upon completing the next task
or rushing to get to class but by sprawling on the lawn
watching the coming of the new dawn,
 in awe of moments which last eternities. 

Let Me Sleep

Well this is awkward, I started to feel for a moment.
For a few futile seconds words I wrote became a world
and here I was living in that world like it wasn't purely theoretic.
Like it held some corporeal substance like it wouldn't soon fail
like I wouldn't soon fall and like I wouldn't soon lose it all.
So hold for a moment, let me write, let me recreate.
let me lay down letters that loop together into lines and lacerations
that leap from the page and surround me.
An imperfect illusion I dare say but one of my liking
and here I rest my head for another moment
let sensation creep from those inscribed wounds
until gravity pulls me back down to reality's crumbling ruins
that now feel darker and more like an inescapable tomb
where bone dust covers every surface
and nothing we do really has a purpose
but to perpetuate this failing state
this homeostatic conclusion
so much duller than my created illusion
and the red of my blood is a useless infusion
because it lands black on the page
as i stand in the back of this cage
with all the pain and pent up rage
because at this point it seems nothing will ever change.
The bars may rust but what is the difference?
Does any effort at all make sense?
Every movement, every action seems useless
and so I stop. Lay down. Quit.

You know the folks out there they'll say you're one in a million

but really you're not that lucky you're one in nearly seven billion

and that doesn't make you unique, but welly, truly alone.

I owed someone a poem

It's a funny thing her smile
'cause it doesn't always reach her eyes
and it's not that she's telling lies
it's just a granted courtesy
kinda like "Why yes, that's nice, here's my smile, see?".
Once in a while though, she loses control
and she ends up baring just a tiny piece of soul.
Her teeth flash and her eyes wrinkle
she giggles a little and her nose crinkles.
Then she hides behind her hands
and I think i might be someone who understands
It's cause she's let that bit of soul out before
and it seems like every time she does someone lets it crash to the floor.
but once in a while, when my gaze lingers
and I see the fleeting smile when she lowers her fingers
that little bit of soul is still there and it has bruises and breaks
it has seen its fair share of and liars and fakes
yet, I think, if she's given the time
that piece of soul it will be just fine
and maybe then, she'll let her guard down

Let the winds roar and the waves crash.
Let thunder roll and lightning flash.
Let the clouds close like curtains across the skies,
Let tears flow like rivers from her eyes.
Let the her be taken by the dramatic intensity,
Let her be awed by that single action's immensity
Let her fall limp against your chest as her heart swells
Let her be when she dreams of wedding bells
Let her look into your eyes and let her smile glow.
But don't you ever, ever, let her go

In my mind everything is ablaze
hotter than asphalt after a week of long summer days.
Everything glows orange or is tinged red,
sadly this excitement is only in my head.
For though I dream in tongues of flame
I know you do not see the same
and whilst I breath passion and fire,
your cold seeks to quench my desire.
It creeps along icy tendrils of word play
Seeps into hearths and hearts leaving only an ashy gray
Collecting in sullen recesses of shadow and despair
invisible to the eye but oppressive in the air
that same air that escapes your mouth with every breath
clawing its way across subtle spaces and bringing with it death.
Not that my fire is any more gentle
In fact the gouts of molten need all but drove me mental
No it would be that to sate the fire's need
would char our hearts indeed
for I am heat and you are cold
you are coy and I am bold
so here: take hold of my hand let loose a laugh
we'll ignore the cruel cold and the heat's wrath
for it is clear we are not meant to be.