Finding God

I am wearing white, and forget how easily it stains,
As I sit beneath a tree and examine the ants.
Who’s laugh can shake the mountains?
Oh I met Him when I was young, He’s here.

I firmly believe God is always at my back,
When I turn to find him is when he’s not there,
I must never doubt, and walk forward,
Oh I can hear the Ocean, Oh I can hear the Ocean,

In the silence a voice can be heard,
Once unplugged we are able to find the river,
Water can be the closest thing to His love,
For water can fit into my every groove and surround me like Him.

Zealous voices screaming, trees start dreaming,
Boys learn how to kiss, Girls learn how to wish,
Some swim in the bottle, I swim in the music,
Words are but a sea, and I must stay afloat.

Plans are but dreams, and we must sometimes awaken,
His hand can guide a world, and yet we escape the fingers,
How we tear each other open like packages,
Looking for something that may not exist inside.

I am a hopeful romantic, I hold fast,
Through all the sea of faces I look for one.
Maybe love is overrated, but for God’s sake,
I will find the package that needs not be opened.

Softer Thoughts

In a place where the rotund mirror,
Never commands any soft surprise.
I can see myself ever clearer.
Very slowly I open my eyes.

For what they are I see them here now,
A curious existence of mocks,
For a greener blade of grass they vow.
They cow the sharpened hands of the clocks.

Upon a wooden porch swing with sun,
Contentment finds me waiting this time,
Gently warming my legs there undone,
In this floating world I am the mime.

Slipping in and out of that calm place,
I am a reflection I can face.

Centered

I lay sprawled upon the grass gazing at the sky.
I see the seasons change; I watch my life go by.
More like a menagerie of ever moving sights.
Passing by so quickly like these dying nights.

I feel so very centered, not behind, nor ahead.
I feel so very centered, not alive, and not dead.
This flickering ticking tocking clock moves without consent.
I wish sometimes to hold its hands and learn where my time went.

The answers will come to me in time.
I feel so ever sluggish and sublime.
It's like the sun is perpetually in a race.
It flees from my ever upward looking face.

Boundless and pale, the moon runs too.
They pass my time running, always becoming new.
I'm right in the middle of a beginning and an end.
I just wish I knew what God would recommend.

(I just rediscovered this poem today. I wrote it I think almost a year ago.)

The Language of Innocent Criminals

Words are twisted like vines,
Cultivated unnaturally, pruned to fit,
The desires of the lofty gardener,
Who does not understand the seed.

Like primates we scream at one another,
Never hearing what sounds hang in the air.
Always trying to defend something dear,
Which is never under any kind of siege.

Our composition leads our minds to falseness,
Spouting raw emotions to save broken hearts,
Down upon the mattress we lay out our sorrows,
Staining our hands with unneeded anxious liquids.

Solid forms seeming so distant in our reality,
We grab the ethereal wisps of dead situations.
We realize too late that our footing is anchored,
Upon the precipice, so that we cannot help but look down.

Many planes coming together to create this one,
And yet we can only imagine the ones most familiar.
We are all souls who are moved, yet we pretend stiffness.
This lack of openness allows the wars to exist.

Bleaching our teeth to seem much mightier,
When in truth our yellowed bone is out testament.
A testament to the words that have exited us,
A testament we always bury deep beneath the garden.

Eyes meet eyes, and faces relax.
When I am coming in clear and simple,
You know you are no longer listening,
To the language of innocent criminals.

Smoke

I throw change out my window,
It lands at the feet of a charcoal dog.
As it strikes the pavement, it changes.
Instead of money to buy food, there lie pills.

Despite the objectives of the origin,
The pills are accepted as if more than money.
I eat leather cases, and shiny metal.
There before me lies the pistol I choked on, haha.

Julia and Romaine can shoot themselves.
I am not interested in the production.
Suicide lovers, well at least they’re free.
I am busy drawing birds with my words.

So, I have no lens, and I have no brush.
I spend no money, and smoke no cigarettes.
I need no mess, and no paint need be spilled.
Am I not an artist then? A yoyo could answer that.

Shade my thoughts, and pinch my tongue.
It seems to be getting hotter with each breath.
If only I had learned some respect from father.
I’d be less of a jackass with my loudness, alright alright?

I'm not emotional, I just have feelings.
I can't help but fall when you lead me forward,
And then move out from in front of me.
Que sara sara, and I keep my hands in my pockets.

Can't Wait to Be Home

As if they didn’t trail enough,
I’m still dogging feathers.
A feather that leaves behind feathers,
The origin is about as clear as my plans.

Fire on the wind, embers floating,
A city that’s empty, an eerie cemetery,
Gorgon faces frozen in the mirrors,
Hands severed still writing, how efficient.

Vintage toys, back in style,
Calamity seems so ridiculous.
June lingers in the sunglasses,
Worn indoors despite the shade.

I can’t wait to be home, real home,
I’m not quite sure where the turtle moved now,
But I can spot it from afar an island on the sea.
What a great place to build a house.

Cat Runs With a Purpose

Brushing the surface as he walks,
The cat never touching the ground fully,
Furry feet fleeing from foul friendships.
The monkey lied, and laughs from a tree.

Riding on the back of a pickup truck,
Casually licking a paw, nonchalance a lifestyle,
Hurrying helplessly hoping he hides his hurting heart.
To a cold city, strings still exiting his fur, he runs.

Keep cool eyes, yellow ice, lazy keen.
Body still, yet ready for movement,
Signals sound slowly so simpleton steals solitude.
No matter the raucous twittering, birds can be silenced.

Jumping from sinking stone to sinking stone,
The cat chases his dreams while flying from the mouths.
Oriental orifices outing obscene oaths of oblivion.
The dogs can stay beneath the glass, cat scurries atop clouds.

Never staying too long; no dust settles on his coat.
Each objective fresh and new; hands keep turning.
Time to tell the thorns to take themselves to the therapist.
Shadows flickering from the quick feet of the feline.

The Walk with Subtitles

It’s a winter come early,
On my way home, well house,
Light poles, tinkling like bells,
Boots stomping and hands clapping.

All animals mechanical, on the screen,
Change the channel before I close my eyes.
At the dinner table, or at the locksmith,
We all try to get inside, we’re locked out.

I am the one who is always plugged in.
Singing songs without sound,
Moving my lips without words,
I walk along acorn walkways.

Like a chicken with a rhythm,
I move my head back and forth,
The sound grabs me, and shakes me.
The lights drip and run, like my nose.

Kleptomaniac for ideas only,
At night where all the windows look in,
And I am walking alone, a stranger.
Unwelcomed is an understatement.

Dead bodies frozen in a puddle,
I feel his eyes and smile, that cold,
As I feel my face falling off,
I realize how much I miss a dear friend.

Everything I Have Come To Know, but Accept As Temporary

Life,
Here now, we are, we can, and we will,
Breathe, and create for we are the creators.
We are the forever young, for our souls,
Are detached from our bodies, they do not age.

We can absorb the knowledge deep within the shelves,
If we wish to learn, and we can experience all,
Hidden in caverns and train stations, we can,
Be a part of everything, we are alive.

Live like you are aware of life, and know the gift,
You have been given, so much it’s incredible.
Never assume anything, except that tomorrow,
Will never be like today, have hope, or fear.

Change,
I throw glitter that doesn’t sustain,
The illusion I try to create,
Although, I understand I need no illusion.
I can be without being made of glossy glass.

Here now, and changed a day from now.
Metamorphosis on the run, a chameleon,
Who does not repeat his mistakes.
Learn and relearn what colors work.

Learning most of my lessons face down.
Then having the strength to stand back up,
Wipe the tears away, they are temporary,
Stress relievers and nothing more.

Death,
The man on the bench disappears,
Who notices? A life gone,
I notice, and that void cannot be filled,
He was never anything, but everything at once.

Facing candles we let loose our grief.
Running your hand down that dark wood,
And begging to see that face again,
Filled with life and able to exist once more.

We all have each other and the world too,
Nothing is eternal but eternity, and,
That we shall not encounter here, only elsewhere.
Little one, no more tears, we are a blink of an eye.

Legacy,
When we are but uncomfortable shadows,
Cast upon the walls at night, where we were,
But now are not, sleeping in another world,
No longer able to spread ourselves among the living.

What have we been? In this world we feel less,
Than what we realize we are, we really are,
Stones that, cast upon the pond shake the surface,
And create ripples from our point of exit, they spread.

Nobody is weightless in the end, and we pull,
Upon the fabric of the world around us,
Bringing down heads in all directions,
Whether or not we were gods among men in life.

The World

Mother is being pulled by the hair,
When we breach her cells, we throw our hands up,
We surrender her unto the dead among us.
We do not fight because we are numb.

When will he arrive from the mountains?
A homemade Jesus, covered in dirt,
Walking slowly, giving us a chance,
Before he arrives, to give us the truth.

How much more blood will surge?
A waterfall to fill a pool of hatred,
We feed the beast, it hungers for more,
Oh Jesus, speed, we are in need of wisdom.

A human dies and we ferociously lament,
A species goes extinct, and we shrug.
We melt the world, our ground is shrinking,
We cannot stop for fear of being thrown off.

Surely she will take back her domain,
As I listen to the knife sing, I hear her,
A static hiding behind every cohesive sound,
Begging me to stop and listen, beneath the leaves.

We blind her with smoke, suffocate her.
We scrape the minerals from her bones,
We suck the oil from her veins,
We burn her hair to plant our own seeds.

I can hear her scream, through the static,
A woman passes my window, wearing heels,
They click to the beat of Mother’s rapid breaths,
This woman is unaware and continues on.

Deep within the silent scream I find myself,
Another one of her children, made from flesh.
We live only because we were chosen; we hold life.
Yet we murder our mother, we are condemned.

As I run against a million faces and words,
I cry out, but nobody hears me,
The sound of coins falling catches all ears,
They swarm towards it, I run away.

Other children fight for her, ignoring the mechanisms,
Of the machine that reaches higher and higher,
The machine calls my clock everyday to drag me,
From my bed, I allow these things, I feel helpless.

“Take it All” Said the Capitalist, the Poet, and the Believer

I have become diseased.
A build up of abuse,
Has taken my body and mind,
So far away I fear they’re lost.

All I have left are coals,
They heat this shell at night,
They keep me writing, breathing,
They burn hotter and brighter, rarely.

All of my passion travels the skies.
I can only touch pieces of it,
When it flows past me in rivulets.
I wish I could hold it, all at once.

Did you think I was new to this game?
I am no amateur, I am years ahead.
Childish creatures, fly away,
I will devastate you, surprise surprise.

Be like the night and crumble,
Crumble, with my smile, sunrise.
I hate people, I am misanthrope.
Equality is a fainting prostitute.

A gray shadow wanders,
Down the streets at night,
To rest upon a tree, to ponder,
Why are his eyes black holes?

I allow these pains into my life.
I am the gate, the one, the door.
Let yourself inside, find out who I am.
Just don’t expect to feel the same.

Thief, rogue, destitute, die.
I am hate, hate you so much.
Take my hard earned work, cherish it.
You could never have touched my accomplishments.

Put me on a stand,
I am your whipping post.
I want it that way, my choice.
Mock me like the birds in the trees.

Silence is my wall, my language.
When I feel this coldness, loveless.
Letters can do the talking, communicate,
My feelings, words are pitiful ghosts.

Have what you want, I have my God.
Take what you want, I have my God.
Say what you want, I have my God.
Hate what you want, I have my God.

You only have my paycheck.

Ink Stains

All bad news is sponged up so easily.
Like black ink traversing white fabric.
In frustration; I smudge it across a yellowed wall,
Where pictures of us in innocence have hung for so long.

As I finished making a mess of things, I heard,
We are always going to know the bad.
But, why not also know the good?
Why can’t our world be like it was when we were little?

Even you are still a child; your eyes betray you,
Every night together we still learn something new,
Your face sparkles and shines like aluminum foil,
Like the kind that wrap my lunch in elementary school.

Once, under the boughs of an old oak tree,
I carved our names inside a heart.
Until the bark comes back again,
That tree will spread the cheerful news.

Good news is the best news, let’s listen.
People constantly look for the darkness,
Why can’t they touch it without absorbing it?
I just want to see smiles, and feel nostalgia.

Well, I feel that old kind of feeling when you smile.
A feeling that takes me home, Shenandoah.
Wide opened fields like golden seas,
Blue Mountains like giants on the horizon.

You laugh like my mother, chimes on the wind.
Her laugh could realign my world, and heal me.
No ink stains can blacken my clouds anymore.
All the painful truths I’ve learned disappear to the back burner.

When I wake up on the floor of your bedroom,
I feel like a kid again, you constantly remind me,
The world is still full of wonder, and newness.
Everything seems fresh, and anything seems possible.

We are all children, beneath the same sky,
We are all lost, still learning how to fly.
We all say things that make our loved ones cry.
And once we’ve got it figured out, we die.

Even when I’m nothing more than bones,
I can still look back and my throat will clench.
Throughout all the visits to the hospital,
Throughout all the turned backs, and bad news.

I’ll know I was always alive, free,
And the world was a wondrous place that we could see together.
We don’t have to stop looking,
We’ll never find all the goodness, it’s limitless.

So, with pots on our heads,
Blankets on our shoulders,
And sticks in our hands
We will explore every inch of our backyard and beyond.

Remnants of a Past

How long have I been sleeping?
I awoke to find myself surrounded.
Everywhere I turned stood familiar ruins,
White columns and walls lie crumbled, nostalgia.

In an instant was overwhelmed with hope.
These were institutions I had invented,
Collapsed by their own faulty design.
I was a blank slate, a new world.

I was free, to start over, to sow new fields,
I decided to walk amongst my past.
The poor quality of thought was evident.
My ignorance had built me a muddied city.

I could now see why I had been wrong.
I built with intentions of elitism, greatness.
I did not realize that by default we are all great.
The butterflies descended; flowers on the breeze.

They perched among every stone remnant,
Of my broken past ideals and desires.
When I saw them I felt God smiling.
His love washed over me, and I was silent.

I breathed in deeply, and released with a smile.
A great wind disembarked from my lungs.
All clues of my blindness were swept away, disintegration.
All that remained were the butterflies and me.

Jail cells, perfect statues, and rivers of tears that eked,
All were dust in the wind, all were no longer me.
I was a child in an attic who found an old truth.
After building blocks of mud, I found marble.

From this place of utopia I will rebuild.
Hope has me by the hand, she will guide me.
Into a brighter tomorrow I float away.
Only until I awake again, remnants of myself.

Stakes, Ropes, Nails, and How You Use Them

Birds flee from me, exodus from a bush,
Colored red, with autumn’s hand,
I draw closer to you, you mimic me.
My heart begins to tear at its bars.

I know the reality, yet I return.
You smile at me, I am yours,
A marionette despairingly dangling,
From cruel fingers white as hospitals.

I hear your laugh in my dreams.
I am a prisoner, you are the warden.
My feelings are your toys, like a child,
You throw me upon the carpet.

You make me remember my worth,
I choke upon dirt, I swallow rocks.
You hold me down, I cannot move.
Claustrophobia wreaks havoc upon me.

You are a massacre to my emotions.
You speak sweet air, but lies,
Set off alarms in my mind,
I disregard dangers, they wilt and peel.

I cannot be my own, so waste me,
Dispense me, I am your object.
I am mud; I am nobody, place me in flames.
Yet, there is always hope.

What?

Pig the Nihilist

Pig would travel to the hilltops,
Oh, and he would sit looking down,
He pondered the boundaries of life, sky.
He wanted to know why he couldn’t fly.

Of course, the answer came to him.
Like some dead goddess the world answered.
She told him that he was vain.
The pig had spent too much time on hilltops.

Looking down, he always was looking down.
He had thought himself smarter, he had changed.
Nihilism had become his mistress,
Absurdist pig, how could you do that?

Narcissism was his speech,
He had been on hilltops far too long.
Solitude had made him a lunatic,
For lunatics come in ones.

Poor pig, why did you have to think?
If only you had stayed level with your kind.
Now you are a monster, a rooted statue.
You can never be moved, by anything.

Your nose smells clouds.
Your hooves stand upon,
The bodies of your kind.
Your mind is not of this world.

Simple pig, floating in a universe,
All your own, ideas and illusions,
You said you could fly,
Now you are, only lunatics dare fly.

Come back down, come back,
The end is not everywhere,
Stop chasing ghosts, taste life,
It is before you pig, take it, truth exists.

Poor pig traveled to hilltops,
He would sit and ponder this world of lies,
Ponder his death, all ends, fire.
Now he has been stolen from us.

Pig is a nihilist. The end end end end end end end end end end end end.

Mood Swing Swing

I tried to close the dark timber door,
The hinges were doused in slime, swing swing,
A thousand fears pushed against the other side.
I was a child in the ocean, a wave on the horizon.

No matter how hard you push,
The water slides between your fingers,
Outstretched your hands are useless.
Things you wish out come through, swing swing.

Sadness crashes upon my soul.
I succumb to the wailing, I weep, swing swing.
How else does one empty themselves?
Else the ocean drowns you, lose the ocean.

I am a withered leaf, life unspoken.
White mass upon the floorboards, swing swing.
Slowly I melt into my abyss, lose myself.
I hang there lifeless, as if from a noose.

I am so noisy, like a flock of parrots.
Screaming, mood swings attack, swing swing.
They steal my smiles away, I am all that’s left.
Alone, heavy, clenched, and sickly.

Swing, swing, the hinges of my sanity,
Back and forth without a decision.
Where am I, and what do I want?
These choices I fear to make.

Pale flesh outstretched in an empty house, swing swing.
Splayed on a sundial, telling the time, I am lit.
Burning inside, a bird has flown away.
I watch shudders of shadows from the wings.

Haunted by past mistakes, today’s mistakes,
Every mistake lined up like trees, swing swing.
Their roots run deep within my heart,
I try to burn them, but they are made of steel.

I feel so small, then happy.
Light switch, on off, off on.
Flip like a gymnast, fall like a kamikaze.
These are my trials, swing swing.

I open my eyes, I see the sky.
I wallow, for I am not one of the stars.
Pity for me, swing swing, swing swing.
Stop the pendulum on the right side, forever.

I nail the golden disk to the wall.
The angle is that of a rising wing.
It will always be ready to come down,
To lift me higher, swing swing.

Like a seagull flapping down to go up.
I die, I am born, I wish for more.
I want to escape the chains of emotion,
I am stuck in my childhood, swing swing.

My window is a memory, reality.
I can see the cars pass by, lives unfolding.
I stay in my room; I bar the door from the water.
Still flooding, I am drowned daily, swing swing.

Justify my hatred, condone my sadness.
Make me one of you, one of me.
Frost upon the eyelids, frozen shut, swing swing.
No more water may pass this icy wall.

I am alteration, hear me swing swing, swing swing, swing swing, swing swing.

No Space Stars Fall Here

Whitened face deep in the sky.
She watched me as I cried.
My tears shimmered like glass.
Shattering upon my windowsill.

She whispered to me with hope.
Her voice was that of a distant star.
She sang me into slumber.
That night I dreamed about white sand.

I stood at the edge of the world.
I looked out upon an ocean of deepest black.
The water was bursting with stars and entire galaxies.
In these dark waters I found a dancer.

Her skin was of wood, and her eyes of stone.
She was bound by a million strings.
I swam to her and cut her free.
She spun about me and became like wind.

From star to star she leaped.
Her feet knew no bounds,
And her heart shined like a sunset.
That glow made her transparent.

The dancer had nothing to hide.
She only wished to create.
I followed her among the sea of stars.
The colors of space were brilliant hues.

In a cloud of green she left me,
There stood a child, waiting expectantly.
Short brown hair, face like a doll.
She smiled at me, and giggled.

She led me further and sang along the way.
Her songs lead us bravely forward.
The air began to chill, the stars dimmed.
With a start she stopped.

She daintily pointed to a great crystal.
It was suspended in the heavens.
I approached with caution, beating heart.
It was made like a mirror, I was blind.

I could see nothing inside, and I turned back.
The child had evaporated, like water.
I turned back and stared at my image.
An eerie light came upon me.

Hues of green, pink, and deep purple,
Gently descending from nowhere.
With their arrival the crystal changed.
The hard surface began to melt.

It looked like quicksilver as it fell through space,
Disappearing deep within the depths of darkness.
Like lanterns the stars hung all about.
The colors gently blended around me.

When the crystal was dissipated,
There stood a being.
His eyes were hot ice,
His face was kind.

I knew this was the end.
The white woman beckoned me.
Her round face came into view.
I immediately returned to the World.

Her white face no longer hung in the sky.
Her brother stood smartly in her stead.
I yawned from my journey’s taxation.
I rose to my mirror.

In the reflection were eyes,
Hot ice,
Kind face,
Behind me, holding me so lovingly.

Bad Father

The lights convulsed above her.
The street light hummed in the silence.
She was nothing more than a silhouette,
In the neighborhood, dogs barked.

Her heart held no guilt, only freedom.
Her bag held her sins, and her cigarettes.
She wore a pale veil of calm.
Her fire red snarl gleamed against her skin.

Daddy wouldn’t yell.
Daddy wouldn’t swing.
Daddy was finally paying,
She dabbed at the stain on her lavender dress.

Like a tree his arms were inanimate.
He could no longer break the silence.
Only a distant echo of his last words,
Hung in the cold night air.

Fingernails scratching upon the walls.
Like a cockroach he scuttled.
Across the floor as he crawled.
Little, lying, wicked roach.

The clock’s hands were tied.
The windows stayed sealed.
The walls covered their eyes.
The door stayed fastened shut.

In that little shed where he would lock her.
She dragged him with the strength of vengeance.
Nonchalance became her blue eyes.
Her breath froze in the air as the door shut.

The key in her bag would hide.
The heels she wore kept her tall.
When the bus arrived she approached.
Two quarters, and she was away.

Memorabilia

Signs across the street from my house,
Bright yellow, lines and word, yield.
Who are these signs for?
They are, after all, outside of MY home.

I fall into a cup full of memories,
The scent of lavender tugs me back,
To a single mother, and three young boys,
And how she would lull them to sleep.

Lullabies are my favorite byes.
Sang as you fall into slumber, not waking.
In sleep dreams chase me.
They are more pleasant than reality.

A sunny warm world where you hold me,
And you and I are meant to be together.
No sex is needed, just warm intimate company.
Why do I wake to find only empty walls?

Sitting by my window I ponder these things.
Rain falls upon a carpet of fiery leaves.
The slick black pavement glistens like my eyes.
I cry like the clouds, and I empty my pain.

Don’t smile at me anymore.
It hurts to know I cannot touch you.
I ache for arms to hold me, but all I have are my own.
I wish I could learn from the trees; they are content in solitude.

Thinkers are the saddest people alive.
How could this not be so?
Only ignorance is bliss for me.
If I didn’t know you, I couldn’t love you.

Eventually this too shall pass.
The feelings will be buried deep inside of my heart.
Until, somewhere I see you in a reflection.
Then I will turn back, and remember how I miss you.

We are nothing more than a myth.
We are nothing more than a dream.
There will never be a “we”.
There will always be an “I”.

How lonely the “I” must feel.
One line and no shape.
Cursed is the “I”.
To look and never find.

Starry Eyes

He said to himself “I want to see stars”,
As he brushed crumbs from his desk,
From two day old birthday cake,
He happened to be eating with a plastic spoon.

He then found some stars,
He cut them out to fit his needs,
He taped them to the ceiling,
He can see them as he falls asleep.

Now at night he needs nothing,
He can lay in bed alone,
Without feeling like an island,
He can see the stars.

Now when you see him,
You’ll know his face,
Because his eyes,
Mimic his ceiling.

He no longer needs coffee,
He no longer needs sunlight,
He can be happy every day,
And he never had to leave his house.

June will go by with hot nights,
October will fall past him,
And December will tempt his heart,
But he’s not the same person.

His ceiling has eyes that look into his stars.

Soul Mate

Diamond mirror, I stand looking upward.
I never peer down, for I will see myself.
I am crushed by the thought of my reflection.
It is only a single reflection, a heavy heart.

I run from possibilities, looking for perfection.
Yes, I believe in soul mates, yes.
I know this hardened surface I live upon,
Will be the death of me if I cannot face it.

I just can’t bear looking down without seeing you.
I will break if I realize my own solitude.
A crumpled soul in a desert of a world,
Holds on to something that may never pass.

The skies will shatter before I let go.
I have the tenacity of the very last leaf in winter.
I will let go when life is ripped from my breast.
I scream out will all the voices my heart can muster.

I refuse to find myself with anyone, but you.
I will know you when I see you.
I am ready for you, and my tortured heart may burst.
The day I see you is the day I will see myself.

Miss Zoie

Stepping into that old house.
I hear the familiar tinkling,
Of glass ornaments in the window.
The window is now dust covered.
The door squeaks louder than before.
The floor groans as I enter.

I can still smell that smell.
The archaic pungency that made me high,
When I would lay upon the carpets as a child.
It still makes me heady, even now.
Who knows what could have made that scent.
I used to blame the wrinkled dust gremlins.

My eyes slowly glide across the room.
It’s not like before, it’s dead.
A dirty, rosy pink carpet, broken blinds.
These are remnants of a happy home.
The wall paper peels, and the ceiling fan rotates.
Furniture from another era stands ever still.

We are the laborers sent to dismantle this world.
I help lift a table with a peach marble top.
How many tea cups rested here?
It used to sit by a sea foam couch.
And a menagerie of odds and ends.
These all were watched by a girl and a well on the wall.

She cried when we took her car.
She marched two miles to the store alone.
She told the neighbors such a passionate thing,
“They can have my car, but they can’t take my legs!”
The children just watched Miss Zoie,
As she made her way down the street.

It hurts us to admit that she cannot be here.
It hurt us seeing tears from such a proud woman.
If only time wasn’t so greedy, and relentless;
Then maybe she could still care for herself.
None of these thoughts help as I work.
I can see her standing outside just standing.

Her legs do not tremble, and her chin is set.
Miss Zoie is more courageous than all of us.

A Glass Bottle

A life in a bottle is smashed upon the sidewalk.
The essence of freedom found so suddenly.
The life set free is forced to live,
As a parade of ants marches by.

You turned from me like a rose before winter.
Frost glazed your eyes in the shadows of a poorly lit room.
I needed not your redemption, my crime is none.
I am the murderer of a life in glass.

I do not regret setting free the pale white leaves.
In the earth they will find green.
Escaped from this chorus of wails,
This life can breathe, and know death.

In reflection I see myself as water.
My paths are my own.
I suffocate at the bottom of a lake, and I see the bottle.
It passes by me, and I know it by its true name.

Assault on a crystal world,
I bring destruction, I bring renewal.
This brittle web that surrounds us, it isn’t mighty.
Beat upon the strands, and see lies crumble.

Cities, worlds, walls, and words all make mud.
A vast swamp we fight to traverse.
When the sun dries our path we may walk.
There the glass bottle cannot exist.

I see a tree from the life I freed.
The shards of imprisonment lie at the roots.
The roots dig deep into life, and leave the artificial.
A multitude of silent birds make this their new home.

I see all things fall to tears.
By this covenant of water they are freed.
The glass that held them was only an illusion.
Unlearn everything and you shall find truth.

Kaakermi tehofi eaenhiv segndai arheit amiybi ouryi ordwi tehllai higstin segreai ademi newaika.

A Tower

In order to grow,
I throw a million pages off the roof.
They spiral in the air, they make a cloud.
My words rain down, black ink splattering.

The faces turn to ice, I fall.
Everything I fight against pulls me down.
Every other light is lit, on the street I live.
I could lie here on the pavement forever.

A woman comes, she bears gifts.
One is life, another is strength,
She cares for me when no others would.
I rise to my feet; I see my words, now frozen.

The woman gives me one last gift,
She gives me her compassion.
With this flame I free my words.
I recollect my thoughts, I recollect myself.

She has taught me how to build my towers,
Blades of grass laugh in the wind as I work.
I am constructing something very special.
Her liking will be instilled.

She has taught me so much.
She wove me a radiant scarf with her own hands.
I wear it to keep me warm, I feel her soft fingers.
They caress my face, I can hear her.
“An endless world lies at your feet, make it your own.”

With these words I begin to build my tower.
It is a work in progress, but a beautiful thing will come of it.
I will see the entire world when it is finished.
And when I do, I’ll have her there to hold.

What's an Ohmu?

<--- Two Ohmu holding up Nausicaa.






So, I figured my readers might wonder what an Ohmu is. To fully understand what an Ohmu is one must watch Studio Ghibli's Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind. It's an amazing movie that has inspired me, and changed my life. Although it is animated it has depth many movies can't achieve.

Back to the point, an Ohmu is a giant insect that attacks people who are violent, or harm the Earth. They are an unstoppable force and when angered they are impossible to stop. I won't ruin the movie by giving away an secrets, but the Ohmu play a huge part. It may seem strange that I choose such a bizarre creature to name my blog after, but the Ohmu is a symbol to me of the world around me. The Ohmu symbolizes everything alive on the planet, and all ancient things. They are silent and communicate through feeling, so by saying an Ohmu speaks is like creating a bridge between the natural and human. I hope to live up to my name by putting out work that is powerful, insightful, unstoppable, and a protector of life. I want to uphold the different pillars of existence this life has to offer and to uncloud people's eyes from hatred and ignorance. I also want to dig out all the beautiful and uplifting things in the world and give them a place to roam here. I hope I can accomplish all this and just like the Ohmu I want to preserve the goodness in the world. I hope this was a satisfactory explanation for anyone who was unsure before about my blog's naming.

Dragonfly

I wasn’t expecting company,
When a dragonfly stopped upon my foot.
I did not dare move my new friend,
For in a second we had become inseparable.

Its wings were beaten and battered,
I sympathized, for so have mine been.
I put down the letter I had been reading,
Corporate America loves me more than my extended family.

I leaned over to speak with it,
It’s been so long since I last spoke to a dragonfly.
They would whisper to me during my youth,
In the various yards I grew up in.

The dragonfly didn’t have much to say,
It seemed to suffer from a learned helplessness.
For, with each breath of the wind,
It simply shuddered.

I reached down and extended a finger.
Ever so lightly it grasped on.
I lifted my hand to the sky,
The little creature spread his wings.

Though he had been aggrieved,
His wings still remembered flight.
If woodwinds could become voices,
So would the dragonfly speak thanks.

That day the clouds were miles of smiles,
I watched my little friend disappear into the white.
It seemed as though I had lost a dear friend.
How funny a simple encounter can be.

I sometimes think maybe it tricked me.
Perhaps I held not a dragonfly at all.
Perhaps it was a little angel,
And with nothing more than a finger,
I helped it rise back to heaven.
A finger can be the mast on the strongest ship.

My Boat

I stand on the pier alone, but for my ghosts.
The fog creeps upon my fettered feet.
I am shackled to my past.
I await passage into my future.

At the water’s edge my reflection goes ahead.
I am assured we will reunite when I am again whole.
Whispering ghosts call me back to the shore.
A corner I have yet to turn beckons in the sea.

With no luggage I await my passage.
Then, a great boat appears on the horizon.
With golden cherubs carved into the wood.
White sails like the teeth of a smiling star.

As if by some force of fate it speeds towards me.
The wind smiles upon it always.
I know this boat will always move forward.
I step cautiously, and with each step pain springs forth.

As I continue the pain grows less, and less.
Little black ghosts cling to my shoes.
They wail as I brush them onto the solid wood.
The gangplank lowers with confetti and whimsical music.

I board with an expectant heart.
Like one who has been hurt I cringe at my welcome.
I flinch at the happy visages that approach.
But slowly, like syrup, my heart is filled with perception.

As it begins to spill over I know I am free.
I turn back to the shore to see statues.
Everybody I have been stand as stone sentinels.
They will guard me from ever returning to who I was.

A silver cat smiles at me gaily and beckons me.
I approach with hope, and tears of joy.
It tickles my ear as it softly whispers to me.
“Welcome to the fastest voyage to heaven.”

I smile, and nod knowing I am coming home.
But, before I can leave I want all my loved ones to come.
The angel at the helm shakes her head sadly.
I can only send letters of my journey.

I understand that nobody will ever be on this ship, but me.
It is made from my will and my mind.
I can accept this, for if I can sail the seas so can all.
I take the hand of my brother’s ghost and he smiles lovingly back.

I depart now from this place.
My demons line the shore screaming hatred.
I can’t hear them over the revelry that surrounds me.
The one legged lamp, and the green umbrella sit at my sides.

This is an incredible journey I have embarked upon.
May the winds be fair, and may the seas be kind.
Even through the storms I know I am only moving on.
At the end I will know the shining gates, so says the silver cat.

I believe him.