Fall
For me.
Rushing wind to brush your cheek.
Plummet,
Heart to stomach.
Crush your doubts with gravity.

Clouds.
Hang above.
Shielding heaven from our love.
Fires burn
The skies, they scream.
Lament the angel lost to me.

Passion.
Flood the lands.
Oceans drowning ancient sands
We float
And ride on waves
That carry us toward better days.

Awaken yourself,
You’re sheep and you’re sleeping,
Engaged in sweet scenelets of jumping white fences.

Hoof on the ground
With your foot in your mouth,
Does it taste like the shit that you’ve stepped in?

Bleating, and bleating,
Your heart won’t stop beating,
With a glimpse of those shiny steel shears.

When you’re dreaming, you’re seeing
A world without meaning,
But wool makes the world far less cold.

I lost myself.

There beneath flourescent bulbs

I forgot of who I was.

I had known a past,

I had slept,

I had run,

I lived

I learned

And I loved.

Yet enjoyment in life was quickly gone.

Because, when they said the time right,

I was cast into this world.

It eclipsed my soul

And I could not breathe

I felt the ground beneath my feet

Quake, with a million others just like me.

And now I sit,

Between the boy I was and the man I’ll be.

They say my future is in my grasp?

No, I left it in the past.

Floating on our crimson tides

Following our hapless lies

Slowly still our conscious dies

Open mouths spew forth flies

Mechanized sheep follow in tow

Nothing starting or stopping the flow

It’s as if they don’t even know

Mindless abandon continues to grow

Absorbing, consuming, forever refusing

Forgetting ourselves, we keep on abusing

The world that we grace is of our own choosing

It may not be war but still we are losing

The corpse covered story of a human race

A conclusion we all eventually face

Was life simply an honest mistake?

Cold winds wrap you in their embrace.

I call your name, sometimes.

And this empty house echoes

With a mocking chant.

A litany of your name.

In every corner I feel you,

But it recedes, from day to day,

Until I curl beneath these walls,

A space completely emptied of you.

I was told to redecorate,

So I tore down your pictures.

I discarded your clothes,

And I use a towel to cover

Your spot at the table.

But MY clothes all smell like you,

My spot looks upon yours,

And the walls of my mind

Are plastered with pictures

Of smiles that mean nothing at all,

Nothing but absence.

I was told to move on,

So I brought in a bust.

Unparalleled in beauty

I set it upon the mantle.

But through the nights,

And in the shadows playing

Upon her marble face,

She has become you.

Your memory pervades and

Not even stone can withstand it,

How could I?

I was told you were gone,

On a “perfect” day.

The sun was brilliant,

Streaming through the windows…

You never liked curtains.

I remember the smell of grass,

Cut as short as life itself.

I remember the dust,

It seemed to settle as those words,

Spoken in the softest of tones,

Floated into me, dreamlike, crushing.

I have climbed Everest.

I stand atop, chilled to the bones.

With the sky above me,

The expanse around me, the greatest height attained by man

Resting in my grasp,

And I’d rather be on the ground.

Breath comes shallow

In these heights I’ve reached alone.

Every frosty inhale,

Steals the warmth from within me.

And I seem to breathe less and less,

Gasping, sputtering,

Greedily searching for more and more,

Taking what I will,

Until even these thin-veiled skies are mine to own.

But soon my lungs will empty,

And blue will return to the heavens,

Leaving me with nothing

But the taste of what it was.

I was made well,

Solid as the mountain beneath me,

Yet I am tossed about,

A doll in the clutch of these winds.

The same winds that bring

With deafening silence,

The sound of emptiness around me.

I am toppled by these winds

And the emptiness alike.

And as I fall, from amongst the gods,

From the very pinnacle of mankind,

I’ve never felt quite so alone as I do

When even the echoes are too far gone

To reach my ears.

Swirl, leaves.

Content your hearts on autumn winds.

Fall slow and far and free

But most of all, fall beautifully.

Birds may fly

To get wherever it is that birds go

When they think that we aren’t watching.

But you leaves are unique.

You exude a sense of dignity,

That stills the heart inside my chest

To slow this world and help me rest.

Land upon the earth, fair leaves.

The womb, the tomb and the eternal throne.

Sit upon her, if she lets,

And know that you’re her honored guests.

Ride the winds, my friends, my leaves.

For now it’s you, but soon enough, it shall be me.

Strewn about the floor, in the spaces you once filled,

Lay papers thrown in crumpled haste

To the wayside, in reflection of their master.

When I whip them with pen, I hear them scream.

They retaliate in my dreams, becoming more,

More than the fiction which I bash into their pasty white skulls.

And no sun can pierce the shadow round my head.

The memory of all that’s been written,

Crushing me into a tiny, infinitesimal point.

Revenge? For what I’ve done to them?

When all I’ve ever done is revenge for what you did?

And written on me, bashed into my own skull,

Is the memory of whipping dealt by your sweet hand.

You are an author yourself, a poet of great renown.

Paragraphs, Chapters, Volume upon Volume,

Scars in my person describe the language of hate.

But can I hate these papers? How so?

They do not hurt me, they channel me.

They channel me away from you.

You are the seed

Stately, serene.

Hide inside your shell

Till the morning sun is seen.

Race against the rising storm

And bring yourself to me.

I’ll fight the urge to keep you here,

You’re the flower soft and free.

Blossomed in the meadow

Forget about the weeds.

They’ll only try to pull you down

And crush your harmony.

But seasons change as time flows on

To wilt your golden leaves.

And as they fall, I’ll pick them up-

Each a piece of you-

To twine them twice around my head

Something old to something new.

They call me gardener.

The sun above my head, it warms me.

And I lean over, plucking from the earth

The smallest, most incredible diamond.

Against its rough skin I drag my fingers,

Trying to learn from it the secret

To being the best of everything,

To be that which sparkles, the best of me.

I wish to be as it is,

Uncut, primal yet desired.

But too long spent with my fingers there,

Upon these fruits my labors have brought,

Has cut me, the scars white against my hand.

I place it before my eyes to block the sun,

And in exchange for warmth

I am blessed with rainbows of light,

My eyes swimming in pure joy.

And with my face in the darkness

I would like nothing better,

Than to stay here forever

Bathed in this stone’s sweet shadow.

But I am the gardener.

I have a job to do.

I sow, but cannot reap.

And who would keep such a thing?

To hold for yourself a gem, as lovely as these,

Is an offense, against the very ground it sprang,

And so I take that diamond,

So perfect in its imperfections,

And thrust it into the sky.

A shine, among billions, unique.