A boy floating in space,
lost amongst the stars,
dying to make it back.
He freezes and thinks;
you’re the only place,
that ever felt like home.

Satellites go round and round,
stuck in their tedious orbits,
as planets do much of the same.

The stars are standing still,
the moons are swinging madly,
the gas trails chase meteors.

The systems bring no comfort,
just as the ticking of the clock,
only screams boredom and age.

We all dance in our orbits,
unwilling to look at mechanics,
and break off of the rails.

I spin in circles,
floating aimlessly,
hoping to generate,
momentum and speed,
and move anywhere.

I’m still spinning,
in the same circle,
no gravity anywhere,
and no change comes.

Some days are harder than others,
last night, logic fell out of my eyes,
severely injuring itself upon landing,
it struggles to crawl back into my mind.

An emotional beast has taken over,
walking through the aisles of my life,
slashing it’s way through old memories,
stopping to stare as a savage beast does,
at some of the warmer, fonder, moments.

It breathes heavily on the glass,
that separates reality from memories,
and I can see her face through the fog.

The pictures do not do her memory justice,
and i don’t need a foggy window to see,
everything that she has meant to me.

The years haven’t softened the memories;
the drugs don’t work,
the girls have failed,
everywhere the face of love lost,
rears it’s infantile, ugly head.

The beast will eventually walk onward,
leaving the image in perfect condition,
but he always returns to it now and again.

Echoes abound about the love requited,
but they are only echoes, and echoes alone,
not from the mouth of the one that matters,
creating a naive, and distracting, ambiance.

Some days are harder than others…

Four days out of eight,
and it was hard to take.

Nobody knows,
what we’ve been through,
or all the ways I see you.

They way your eyes light up,
when they look deep into mine,
and everything worth knowing is known,
in that singular moment of revelation.

I ascend from that,
with my soaring dreams,
and the way life’s dots connect,
bring my mind to an unknown peace.

I am granted the strength of Goliath,
in combination with the cunning of David,
and the world could bend to my incredible will.

The moment passes;
the dream died somewhere,
between my grand delusions,
and my renowned perseverance.

The passionate ones,
break their backs,
on the rocky shores,
of unrequited love.

How long does the ship,
stay its unsuccessful course,
before searching for another port,
where the shores aren’t as difficult?

When the soul dies.

Will a new year bring about new things?

A new lover,
new friends,
new changes,
or a new life?

Doubtful.

All this optimism created,
over switching to a new calendar,
where has our sanity raced off to?

Maybe we’ve thrown it all away,
into the trash with all of the,
old calendars and day-planners,
that we structure life around,
as if they were our prison-guards,
dictating where our time is spent.

Life crawls along,
at the exact same,
pace it always has,
despite the new date.

If you’re unhappy,
change your life,
don’t wait for,
a new calendar,
to
do
it
for
you.

Seize life by the throat,
choke it into submission,
and become what you want.

After all these years,
I’ve failed you.

Not just this time,
but every time,
and I live that way,
day in, day out.

You always meant the most,
and you’re better off now,
without my flaws,
dragging you down.

I hope you can hit your stride,
take off from here and become,
something better than the sum of us,
without our weight hanging from you.

They don’t have it in their eyes,
in their voice,
in their souls,
and it isn’t the same.

Broken shells falling,
clumsily through life,
collecting sand as we roll,
face-first down the beaches,
that looked so sunny and warm,
until the storm came to roost.

The wind and rain beat me down,
as I watch you spread your wings,
soaring away from the disaster;
I smile, the last time it matters.

The echo of your wings carries to me,
and warms my heart through all this,
as thoughts of greener grass for you,
bring a bitter happiness home to roost,
once more, somewhere in my soul.

Fly, beautiful one,
far from me;
love matters.

A scream ends conscious thoughts,
silencing the world’s revolution,
nothing else matters now or then,
aside from the feeling of defeat,
and the gaping chasm of true loss.

A hushed evisceration,
in the slowest of motions,
and life flows away freely,
I care not for protesting it.

My blood follows my emotions,
growing thinner and more pale,
as the hands of the clock twirl,
and everything else cognitive stops.

An overwhelming sense of being numb,
perculates to the surface and takes hold,
as if it were all that ever mattered.

My world freezes entirely,
I see the ice on my eyebrows,
on my nose and on my heart,
as the greatest cold begins.

I can hear you screaming out,
touching out,
reaching out,
too far now,
getting further.

Time ended then,
you reached out,
but I failed,
I refused your hand,
and fell down,
the frozen man shatters,
and nothing important remains.

Days on a calendar don’t bandage,
anything that needs healing,
or ever slow the bleeding,
enough to matter now.

A conflicted soul killing himself,
and maybe thats what you loved;
my self-destructive passion,
that reminded you life mattered,
before leaving you at the altar.

This time, it seems,
you won’t be coming back,
and there will be no open arms,
or reunions stolen from heaven.

This time, it seems,
was the last time,
and my failure,
is almost complete.

I remember days in our distant past,
when you would read my poems and ask,
if they were really about the two of us.

The two have changed over time,
gone and shuffled down the line,
but yes they’re always about ‘you.’

Some have inspired my poetry of course,
and some had destroyed my creative force,
but in the end the writing marches on.

None more important than you,
as time marches on two by two,
your golden hair and eyes of blue,
inspiring me to see the world anew,
even in my darkest moments.

Thank you.

The snow swirls as vortexes of frost,
cutting through the scarves and hats,
of the poor humans caught in the way.

Love’s a cold bitch sometimes,
and it tears at your precious face,
with talons of ice and sorrow,
always digging for your next layer.

Relief comes,
in the form of the sun,
scorching on,
through the walls of snow,
comforting you,
as it begins to warm you.

Reprieve is a temporary partner,
often elsewhere with lost souls,
much like yourself and your kin.

The desert cools your heart,
slowing it’s torrent beating,
enough that you could swear,
it had stopped long ago.

It beats on,
hope shines through the madness,
it beats on,
despair’s footsteps give chase,
it beats on,
your mind is a rusted file cabinet,
it beats on,
oblivion is a gunshot at midnight,
hammering down a nail in your coffin,
as ravens and crows fly carelessly above,
and they wait for the winter’s frost to thaw,
before they start to dig a lost soul its new home.

There are millions of questions,
bouncing around inside my skull,
begging to be answered by you.

Most of them aren’t important,
and there is only one of value:
Would you take that walk with me,
even if we didn’t know the way?

I would.