A 4000 mile trekA quarter till nine and the horizons still litA 4000 mile trek in Free Verse More Like This
with a tangerine effulgence - a melodious
emulsion of twilight and dusk. Yet you
are discovering the mysteries of our minds,
instead of seeing this wonder 4000 miles
beyond the benign crashing upon mellow shores
of an infinite tide of isotropic crests
and troughs. Yet you trudge through memories,
new and old, as your mind connects thoughts and
ideas, in monumental ways. My only hope is that
when I rest at a quarter till three, that my dream
will be yours, my memories combined
in new and old ways, and thoughts of tomorrows sunrise.
Three WordsIs it wrong to say, "I love you"Three Words in Free Verse More Like This
Having never known what it truly means
To love another individual, other than myself,
To feel the trickle of insanity
Flood from your flummoxed brain
Out your mouth in a stream of words
That you may regret in five seconds,
Not because they were negative,
But rather due
To the incomplete processing of information
That causes insecurity as to whether it was
Witty, stupid, or outright insane,
And whether in ten second if she will
Still be seated across the table.
Is it so wrong to be unable to imagine
A life that she does not exist
Commingled? That each breath
You long to take after each carefully crafted
Phrasing of words is not simply for me,
But rather just to express a mundane thought.
The idea that life is empty and infinite,
Filled with boundless opportunities
That I do not wish to bother with,
For I know there is one out of the
Infinite possibilities - specifically for me.
Is it really so wrong? I hope not,
But if it is, I long to be wrong
SerfdomEvery day wanders,Serfdom in Free Verse More Like This
Lost without purpose
Like a plastic bag
Drifting in the wind;
Meaning without logic.
A sense of where
Or even when
To stop and prosper.
Lately, I too,
I long to be
A simple plastic
Bag. I too
Wish to sit
And let nature
Too often, I am
Pulled, strung between
Two rigid poles
Drawn, and quartered.
Every time, I am I,
I am not I, but you;
Lately, my niche
Is not of my own,
It is yours and theirs.
Every day my mind
Fails to encourage
Creativity. Every day
I wander without
Decomposing air -
I'm so vainAll vanity aside, I am a narcissist;I'm so vain in Free Verse More Like This
I don't have an overly large ego,
I do not want everyone to look at me,
I don't want the world to revolve around me
Nor do I believe it should. In all hopes,
The world will continue to spin
On it's tilted axis around the radioactive
Gas ball just out of reach of every toddler's hand
And continue to provide ultraviolet light
To all those proud enough to not carry protection.
I have pride, I do believe I have talent
That someone appreciates what I do,
Whether that is truly talent, I have little hope
That someone will tell me as the comments die,
As the favorites decrease, as the supposedly
Two hundred plus watchers see my vile name,
Maneuver their "mouse" over the little 'x' and
In about as long as it takes for the clock to go tick,
If it did, as all clocks now tend to be digital,
And my work vanishes from their "busy schedule."
No, I am not vain, I simply wish to demonstrate
That for all the supposed love and support
And eager readers I have collecte
Cannot CompareI will not compare thee to a roseCannot Compare in Free Verse More Like This
or to a summer's day
or to anything for that matter,
as I do not wish for you to fade,
to rot, or to vanish from me;
you are much too precious to waste.
Immortality in wordsHow long will these words be relevant,Immortality in words in Open More Like This
even after crumbled dirt sifts
over glossed bling for your dead?
How often will my dreams persist
in a world where the air I breathe
has already undergone photosynthesis?
My dreams linger like my spirit;
although my life is spent,
buried six feet under compacted dirt,
these words are engraved
in Moses stones. Vertical granite
engulfed in unkempt valleys of your departed.
But my muse my muse, she remains
on this hardened plateau of shifting rock,
though her body is no longer encased
in your polished catafalque
she wanders freely wherever these words flow.
Her chestnut wisps of scrambled wisteria
cascading like boughs of weeping willows
over magenta framed spectacles
as twin emeralds spy
on other worlds and beings
caught in mans conflict
with man, nature, and self.
These lasting words conquer
what my dreams could not,
for my thanatophobia has been fulfilled
where my dreams have faltered,
fluttering on endless pages of d
Count the InfinitesimalEver try to count the stars,Count the Infinitesimal in Free Verse More Like This
The infinitesimal number
Of ornate star-burst specks
Populating the entrancing sky,
With multitudes of distinctive
Hues and intensities of light?
It's like that. It takes a lifetime
Of awe and admiration,
Of faith and determination
To trounce over the fact
That maybe I cannot count
To infinity or lose my place.
Should I count that shooting star
Or that comet, blurring the
Distinction between this star
And that? But I keep counting,
From that pale blue to the
Bright red to the intense yellow.
Each star its own distinct
Hue, flare, and intensity,
With its own distinct personality.
I've grown to love the green
Tinted star, piercing the abyss
Right into my hollow chest.
Number 2,358, 476, 894.
Each night I look for you
As I gaze out into the ocean
Of light to revive my endless
Quest to count the stars
In the eternal bewildering sky.
Ever try to count the stars?
I have, failed, and no longer try,
For star number 2,358,476,894
Is the only star I need. It's like t
Let Angels LayLet Angels Lay in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Sleep little angel, in your cotton bed,
the one we wrought for you today,
to rest beneath your head.
The stars bequeath you doze this day
to slumber forsaking dreams,
and take beyond what things you may.
Twice the heavens opened their faultless seams
to bring upon your tired remains,
a hallucination that God deemed.
When the sun shines, darkness will drain;
the earth bathed in sunlight,
upon which you shall refrain.
The darkness is your delight,
a home to which you were born;
dreams are your victuals, which you fight
once more. For my little angel, I mourn.
Misguided Devotion The current so strong,Misguided Devotion in Free Verse More Like This
As if gravity wasn't enough
To keep a man grounded
In one spot
For an eternity,
The constant surge
Of freshly strewn
From the duct work
Makes every stroke of my paddle
As if I partook in the lusty lotus.
Never does the river
Even as the light fades,
The violent rapids