Out hereOut hereDotted on the pavementGuitar picks tatterShallow chimes latherOut hereBlack topped grass dewSmell resonating stillGenuine wispy glowDescending with aimUnknown toOut here
RelateWrapped in your armsSafe from the flat shadows externalWe become poets of a new kindHatchets scrape the surfaceYou say they're only leavesAnd once the butterfly whistlesIt'll embed itself deepA backward rippleA correlation continuumNever againNever blendIn no wayWill we see the subtletiesWhere lakes are sent awayTo lie down on thorns and putrefyBut for now I just can't seem to let &
EmotionWhen you read my workDon't read it for meCast me out of your mindAnd try to let the words form a faceOf their ownI can not promise you'll feel anythingExcept a dull numbness or throbYou may not feel at all ButEven if a finger twitchesToward my outstretched hand...Real inspiration comes from what has already been accomplished
AnalogousA distinct gentlemanOf honorable heritageDies crippled and aloneThe beggar behind the railroad tracksThe one with shattered teethSmiles openly toward his timeAs he becomes Death's sheathThe lady in silverWith combs in her hairStares out through the windowWith fruitless despairWhile the maid in the cornerWho fondles a ringGingerly waitsFor what night will bringMany are those who sit on the branchOak and ironySanctioned thoughts, bewildermentIn a leafy canopyTrapped in a mental breakdownRepeating lines of guiltTrapped in a mental breakdownRepeating lines of guiltRepeating lives better offUnspent
InfantSomething carvedSoft and slender.Something breathesSlow and even.We call it 'something'Because it is unclear.But this essenceAligns with memories we envisage.Figures opaque, padded silhouettes Slouch on the unctuous flow.Something washesIn glowing gem azureThen rests on the rim of intellect.Gently cooing membranes shedSomething lullabies protect.Something perplexing,Evoking, forming.Someone emerging.
To Realization This is a story about something terrible. It was planned to turn out good and strong in the end but lacked the proper structures. She knew it could go any way. Any at all. But she still gazed up at the sky with a kind of longing: a muted despair wrapped in the terrors to come. She walked through what she was told was a real life and exiled any rebellious thought that threatened that balance. But everyone has his or her limits. And this girl was no exception. A fight broke out that day. She happened to be walking by. There was a simple decision to be made and that's when it happened. Every single atom of her, every odd and end that made up her being, halted. She found herself on either side of a thought. Through this notion she could hear yells and the sound of fists flying to meet their targets. I do not know precisely what she was thinking or why she did what she did next. Maybe she was waking up to discover what she and her