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.

Not the Ones I Want to Say

It's funny, this little tickle in my throat.
The words of a poem that I never wrote
itching to be heard, to leap from my lips.
Sadly they'll forever live on that precipice.
Existing only in the world of what is yet to be
existing in a world that most will never see
Have these words, not the ones I want to say
but ones that are vague enough to see the light of day

Little Bits of God

I called the man who taught me God father
But he was not a priest
Not an ordained one at least
But still he lectured and lead men
Abandoned souls he did defend
And I sat beside him for enough car rides
That he made it clear where God resides
So when I cradled that baby in my arms
When I did what little I could to shelter her from harm
I knew I was holding God against my soul
I sang little rhymes in a language she would never know
I cooed and danced I hummed and I bobbed
I tried to give her back what humanity robbed
And as I circled around the room
I saw more little bits of God trapped in that tomb
And in a judicious sense of mind
I sought to more evenly divide my time
I tried to put her down while she slept
But from her mouth a fierce cry leapt
And though my flesh remained whole
Into my heart her voice stole
The pain raged through me like a filthy fire
Compelling me to fill the child's desire
Then sickness took me like a plague
forcing me to yield to what she did beg
So I took her up again and the cry did cease
And on her face rose a look of peace
Then falling sand did call me to depart
But before my exit could be made one last scream did she impart
and though I left the room with my prayers said
The sound lingered in the dark corners of my head
So I yet see her minuscule body wailing in her bed
 I recoil as though she could strike me dead
And I remember what that man taught
Then without a second thought
I devoted myself to the scattered
Because outside of those tiny pieces of God, nothing else mattered