When I’ve fallen from the path:

Remind me that the cavalry is merely gathering

Strength – in numbers – to find me in their best

Spirits.

 

Draw me water from the river, but don’t call the boats.They don’t have time. They’re running late. They have mouths to feed, women to love. Dogs to catch. Games to play. Kings to please. Coffers to fill. Gods to appease, and coffins to fill.

I’ll be here. Curled up in snow banks of destiny and revenge and love that never made it into the memoir. For Christ’s sake, I will unravel when I want to unravel.The sweater of my conscience is too warm and I must shed it.

 

On second thought, dear friend,

Don’t send help.

Once I finish eating the dirt,

(Which most men refuse to see)

I will transcend to Jupiter,

Where my arms will turn into sapphire swans.

–

I spent today burning pages.

Titles and names crowning words and phrases

Equally useless.

Evenly spaced.

–

–

The sun crested the hills, green and orange,

But soon fell below the flaming lakes across the sky.

Verbosity:

Fake curiosity.

–

–

–

Forgive me Father, for I have been

Giving gifts without telling God.

I have been doing Good in my own name,

And I think he is mad.

I sat down to write a poem for free;

It did not cost me

To tell the words and form the phrases of

Thanks for all the fighters I have found

In the last few months.

Writers and Readers and

Singers fill up my days from dawn to dusk

And I want to say that they must

Know

How much that meant.

I am a poet by choice and nothing else.

I write people into rhymes and the skies

Into a measured out time,

But I cannot force your eyes to read me,

Just like I can’t make the Earth tilt to my will.

I cannot brace the world for news

and I cannot make it hurt less for the few

that feel it everyday.

I can however create catharsis

If only just for myself and some guests.

—–

My doors were open most days and then

most nights as well.

I watched strangers and friends and different types come in.

They brought stories and worries but left some at the door.

Inspiration.

Inspiration.

Inspiration.

—-

–

Anyways. I just wanted to say thanks for reading. I’ll still post, but this is the end of my daily poems.

Nothing like

The scent of pages

The sound of spines untouched by hands

Or minds

Through all those generations of thought.

Eons of new 

Ideas

Slip down to me and people like me

Who want to know

The wisdom of kings and

The choices of lovers and

The adventures of knights and

Everything there is to know,

Learned from our ancestors with

Their flair and 

Pomp

And sometimes grit.

We want to know.

We want to know.

It’s been a while since lights were bright and birds took flight

along their southern projection.

They have such lovely schedules, never delayed nor full up for new passengers,

and always punctual.

Their perfect unity inspires trees to shed their memories of the summer dreams

and restart the beautiful cycle.

I sat and considered from my favorite park bench, and then went

to a shop down the street.

My notebook open, and the patrons’ minds closed my pen

danced across the pages.

The birds were breathed into writing and birthed

upon the lines inside.

I had a flash of fear when deciding upon their fate,

to capture them and tie them down.

They follow their breeding and, once captured, stop leaving

with their families.

I am not a prison warden, but I wrap them in cages and guard them

in words and leather binding.

I am sorry to the creatures of innocent involvement and their freedom I’ve taken down.

I told my

friend

of all the issues I had

and again

to leave me be.

I can fix

what other’s can’t see

If I believe just

hard enough

Just

Right enough.

She managed a single thought

To form

Inside her vacuum of

What she knew she ought

To do. 

So along the darkened dreary 

Tracks,

The stones all upturned and

Spurned with lack

Of yearly upkeep,

She walked in her sleep.

The porter cleared the way for her,

Lifting the 

Latch and failing 

To catch her name,

But welcomed her nonetheless.

Precisely before the waking point,

She blinked with empty eyes,

Filling up with daytime,

And everyone saw the

Insides. 

Forest creaks my fellow freaks of natural progression.

Empty assignments followed by impression

of leaves of the ground

and heavy boots with heavy feet.

I met a woman in the woods.

She told me

about

her enemies

and empty dreams

where she told strangers

about her wagers

on the outcome of the universe.

She was convinced she was correct.

I was

convinced of other things.

Like watching her in the rain

and wishing her away

until the nighttime power lines

criss-crossed my pupils.

Electricity.

Family is for watching you fall and making you feel like you’re flying.