You,
like the autumn leaves,
are dying.

Spectators gather
to admire the beautiful colors.

I know you feel me
galloping around in your heart,
’tis me, that little child,
still finger painting art!

I know you hear me
when I tickle your ear,
“Hey, Mr. Grown Up,
you’re still my favorite Crayon engineer!”

I know you see me
when you look to the sky.
Remember us collecting the stars,
and when we first learned to fly?

I know you taste me,
when the snowflake dissolves on your tongue.
The feeling ripples through you,
the flavor of “young.”

Oh, Mr. Grown up,
who cares what they say.
Let’s frolic about freely,
lets go out and play.

Her every word rides on the breath of disrespect and negativity,
infecting me like a virus, it spreads,
and slowly the life-force of my heart dims
swallowing my once optimistic nature
into darkness.

I come to a crawl
slithering like a snail,
destined to the endless tortures of her well aimed daggers.
I begin to think, that even death’s speed would be kinder
than enduring her heartless motions.

I used to be happy, I would smile, and could have fun.
But now, my every attempt
is cast in the tar of her selfishness,
and my contentment swallowed in the abyss
of her lack of appreciation.

It is here,
with these words,
I find a temporary escape.
Through poetic release,
through these keys,
for a moment
I can breath again.

Oh, victorious fireworks,
cast from our Fathers pipes,
the Fourth night you are the Stars,
and the rest you paint in Stripes.

Your explosive lights and sonic booms
echo our Independence debut,
the commencement of Freedom and Justice,
and the meaning of Red, White, and Blue.

Every home in the nation
breathes the smoke of your glory,
hotdogs, parades, and barbecues
around bonfires and a story.

Oh, victorious fireworks,
Illuminated explosions in sky,
our heart beats with you,
on this day, The Fourth of July.

Dear love,

Your heart beats
to the rhythm of the rain,
I feel your pulse,
in my every vein.

I see your smile
in every sun-drenched day,
I feel your kiss
and I become your clay.

I wipe away the tears
when I hear your cry.
I carry you like the wind,
carries goodbye.

Some say I’m crazy
and that love knows no death,
because I never stopped loving you
since you took your final breath.

Memories take hold
when the moment becomes still,
dear images from the past,
become today’s current thrill.

Archives taking refuge
in minds unable to let go,
another life,
to which every hour does owe.

Reflections of yesterday
escape into our lives,
a passenger of the present,
that sometimes still drives.

When the moment becomes still,
and memories take hold,
the paintings of the past,
become today’s new old.

The center of the sky,
my mind flutters
with the long, white, linen curtains dancing in the wind,
circulating the scents
of fabric softener
throughout open abodes.

It is there, I rest my back against
a centered Romanesque pillar,
casting it’s shadow upon the many
dried paint brushes
that color warm complexions
to the surface of the ground.

The surface of sound
echo’s
of wooden wind-chimes
soft reverb, complimenting
the zephyr’s breath,
fulfilling my heart
with a cucumber
freshness.

Breathless
walls
collapse,
and my soul
becomes
one
with the center of the sky.

Let go of the rabbit ears
and satellite dishes,
cable transports of terrorist militias.

Let go of this
polluting encyclopedia,
this box of brain rotting media.

Changing channels, reflect a violence,
of a world where politicians roar
and the honest are silenced.

Signals of hostility are hypnotizing our heads,
In turn,
turning our couches into brainwashing beds.

A murderer is set free
and an innocent accused.
“Watch today, on your local six o’clock news.”

…and couch potato fools,
Eating popcorn in the comfort of your rooms,
sitting there watching the massacre of schools,
you’re consumed
by the tubes countless costumes.

So please, let go of the
television’s buzz,
and release your right mind,
remove that static filled fuzz.

I see you hiding below your skin,
secretly waving to me to come hold you when
your tears fall revealing your soul
out from the chambers of bodily control
your cloak and dagger psyche pays me a visit
I see it, I know it, but I wonder what is it
connecting us so, I see it in your sparkle,
I feel it in your glow, your tears continue falling
revealing your soul
take my hand
and feel my whole
heart
and start to remember who you are,
where have you been, where are you now
allow it to burn, let it all go

listen to my voice
when I say,

“You are more then a memory,
you are the show.”

I threw myself off a building, donating my body to the air.
My cloths ripped off and went twirling, as did my head, with a tear.

My limbs twisted round, bending backwards into flames
and oh it felt good, compared to life’s wicked games.

With a hollow “thump,” my body smashed into the cold cement,
lifeless and raw, undoubtedly - my greatest descent.