the omniscient sound
July 15, 2014 § 1 Comment
it’s the song for the wandering man
lost somewhere south of France
for the one who believes in madness
and lives in a starlit trance
it’s the song for those who can’t decide
if time is worth the wait
it’s for those who live in the valley
to hide from mountains of hate
it’s the song for those who chase
but can never reach the edge
the song about that forgotten match
flicked from the 8th story ledge
it’s the song that was sung by odysseus
as he sailed the immortal sea
the one that was sung by the crowds
as they lifted the gates and ran free
be it heroes or dreamers, those who fly
and the ones who have simply joined hands
it’s a song for those who can see eternity
in carvings in the sand
it’s the song that reminds us that even though
we stand dispersed beneath our sun
there’s a force that tethers us all to its words
and has turned our souls into one
beyond
July 10, 2014 § Leave a comment
the worst part about forever
is not knowing if i’ll ever be
completely immersed in it
each other
July 8, 2014 § 2 Comments
like a single raindrop
in a storm,
we fall quickly
in an unwavering path
rushing
toward what seems to be
the easiest ending
we blindly streak
through skies
and let gravity’s pull
control our speed
often forgetting
we’re one in a storm
of a million
all crashing and racing
toward the surface below
and never fully grasping
that when we reach
the hardened ground
we’ll need
a thousand others
to break our fall.
and a thousand others
will need us
to break theirs.
facade
July 2, 2014 § 1 Comment
anyone can talk about beautiful things
puffy white clouds and shiny jeweled rings
good hair days and your five year plan
how far you and your dog just ran
but it takes a certain kind of guts
to tell the whole world that your day sucks
what if truth was shared on Instagram
about how you baked those brownies without the Pam
and how you spent your paycheck way too fast
and worry about things that are long past
how you fear you’ll fail when you let others in
how you still regret turning down that boy with the grin
but what if into the wind self-consciousness was tossed
and we all talked freely about fear and loss
what if we shared real moments while forgoing a guise
and looked each other right in the eyes
a world without the pretense and the shiny veneer
would this reality intrude on how life should appear?
or would it provide something else completely freeing,
the beauty of truly connecting with another human being
next
June 24, 2014 § Leave a comment
I can’t wait for tomorrow
the next hour, the next second
and to scale mountains and look down
i can’t wait for leaping through the air
into shimmering waters and floating
next to the sun’s reflection
i can’t wait for the sun to set
then rise once more
and carry with it even more meaning
i can’t wait for spinning
it’s my favorite thing to do
dancing with souls and closing my eyes
i can’t wait for new songs
and hearing the old ones a thousand more times
and shouting out every single rhyme
i can’t wait for the mystery
that never seems to end
and the complexity that lies in everything
end of the day
June 18, 2014 § Leave a comment
if there was ever a greater feeling
than thinking about absolutely nothing
and staring up at a spinning fan
spilling icy air across your face
after collapsing theatrically
onto a pillowy queen size bed
after ripping off constricting clothes
and putting on sweats and a shirt that’s too big
after pushing your way persistently and slowly
across crowded asphalt roads
after staring at a computer screen
for eight to ten hours,
then somebody better tell me right now
what it is
the spiteful haiku
June 18, 2014 § 2 Comments
it’s harder than it
seems, to write a haiku that’s
syntactically clear …and syllabically correct
the man on 7th street
June 3, 2014 § 2 Comments
a mournful saxophone,
just one. its noise like a sermon
echoing above drunken yells
and tires treading. over the constant hum
of street lights and broken voices,
night after night, he plays. making loneliness
cry out into a crowded street of half-hearted
listeners, who sometimes toss him a smile
or a dollar, or two and then shuffle heels
across the concrete walk to catch their friends,
yelling about the a taxi. bar food. a lost wallet. what time it is.
and the man remains, alone and still,
sans his dancing fingers and heaving chest
loyally blowing lonely life into his instrument
filling the crowded air with ups and downs,
a mournful jazz hymn, showering
notes onto an unsuspecting crowd.
they yell about life,
but they may never actually stop to listen to it.
rosepoems 