you say you love me
yet it is small and it fades
my mind takes it
and it blows it up
tries to copy it, flip it, turn it
morph it into something bigger
it tries to change the hues
make it a little less cold
and maybe when it's done
it'll finally be what I've always thought love was supposed to be
magnificent
breathtaking
mesmerizing
like watching the solid blue of the sky turn
red
orange
yellow
pink
purple
we could be the picture perfect moment everyone wants to see
we could be perfect
let's be perfect before the sky goes

black.

black, void of color

black, void of love.

you say you love me
yet it is small and it fades
my mind takes it
and it blows it up
tries to copy it, flip it, turn it
morph it into something bigger
it tries to change the hues
make it a little less cold
but

i think the kaleidoscope is broken
it's not getting brighter anymore
i'm waiting for you to take my breath away
but instead i'm watching you drift away
like the colors of the sky all fading to a void black

like the colors of the sky,
soon you'll be gone,
too

rough
sea winds
chase
our
ghost white sails
though
a
falcon gray storm

I've been stuck in the middle pages,
Hung up on a cross that I created,
Built out of the bones that I've been breaking.
life's not out to get you,
Despite the things you've been through,
Because what you give is what you get,
And it doesn't matter what you do.

Sometimes things will bend you,
But trust me you'll be fine,
I've been moving mountains that I once had to climb.

it is tempting to lose yourself
in the pleasure of wordly possessions
money, cars, yachts, beautiful things

the Dagobert Duck syndrome

as we know
even the pharaos of ancient times
together with assorted kings and emperors
chiefs, dukes, presidents, popes, & cetera,
could only take their toys
into their graves
and not beyond

we do not know for sure
    although we may believe
if immaterial possessions
have a better fate

yet even though we do not know
what our final moment brings

a thoughtful wrinkle on your brow
looks always better than
a bleak array of orphaned things

they give
their blessing
ask if
you're alright
not really
wanting to
know the
answer
because the
answer
might be
just what
they fear
and what
they fear
is that
they don't have the time
to hear
your cries
and not
be sunken
by them
they don't have the time
to lend
their compass
and not
lose their
own way
they don't have the time
to heal
a friend
a lover
a flesh-and-blood
who might
just feel
the same
as them
but
more gray
they have the time
to attend
a funeral