November 17, 2014 § 1 Comment
I have so many
beginnings, too many to
count, but not an end
November 13, 2014 § Leave a comment
Sometimes I feel the weight of everything directly upon me,
but I mean, in a good way.
Not in a way that suppresses or brings anxiety aloft.
In a way that frees.
When I’m driving at night and the streets are full of cars
but everyone is reduced to two lights
and I ask myself where I’m truly going
and the stars form a welcome blanket overhead
guiding me and everyone, all of our lights,
along our individual journeys, I feel it.
And it suddenly becomes so apparent
that our individual journeys
are so far from that.
The depth of this huge, gigantic world rests
upon all of us, peacefully and meaningfully.
It grasps onto our shoulders,
and urges us not to forget that it’s there.
November 7, 2014 § 1 Comment
I wish I could be introspective every single day
I dream of molding thoughts abstract, like artwork out of clay
Construct idealic phrase so fast, leave audiences beaming
Pen existential metaphors, of which no ones knows the meaning
I wish my mind was free to mull over eloquently structured phrase
I would write down all my profound thoughts and not run out for days
How nice to conjecture Kafkaesque verse with flair and frequency
It’s just a bit hard when my mind is filled with thoughts like, “Gee, I have to pee.”
October 14, 2014 § 1 Comment
it’s easy to get stuck,
perhaps your head
is at the surface
and you’re breathing,
like everyone else is,
to tread or float or breathe
submerged in depths
you’ve never seen,
you may be all alone,
but at least you’re
August 7, 2014 § 3 Comments
if we repeated the same words
again and again, like heartbeats
keeping pace with life, like drumbeats
shouting above the melody,
calls of meaning and rushes of sound
that keep time with our rhythm
it’s like we want something to change
it’s like we need something to end
but those words just keep beating,
like my heart for you.
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
July 10, 2014 § Leave a comment
the worst part about forever
is not knowing if i’ll ever be
completely immersed in it
July 10, 2014 § Leave a comment
I find hope at the bottom of drawers
caught between pages
stuck together by time
written in a hurried hand
rushed ink that speaks
meaning from years ago
still waiting on wilted pages
for an ear to listen
calling from its home
to be lifted from those pages
July 8, 2014 § Leave a comment
When you hear that Canary’s melodic song
and have a sudden urge to sing right along,
do you ever wonder if your whistled reply
is heard by that bird simply flying by?
Does he hear your innocuous far off hum,
and wonder if you’re speaking in some foreign tongue?
Or maybe he simply assumes your distant call
came from a bird with a twangy southern drawl.
But what if your nonchalant whistled song,
was the response he’s been waiting for all along?
What if your call out into the sky above,
was actually a proclamation of true bird love?
That Canary hears your tune and he knows this is real–
this bird may sing off-key, but has so much zeal!
He answers eagerly and without any delay
but you unknowingly just continue to go about your own day.
Completely unaware you’ve just led this bird on,
you keep planting your flowers and mowing your lawn.
And after singing for hours, the bird gives it a rest
and sighs and goes home to his lonely bird nest.
Maybe he’ll move on and find his song once more
and never wonder again about that strange whistle of lore,
but then again, maybe, he’ll keep singing day and night
still searching for that bird who was the love of his life.
So next time you have an urge to sing back a reply
to bond with that innocent bird simply flying by,
consider the repercussions of whistling a song even sweeter
and instead perhaps opt to just buy a bird feeder.