I've dreaded that day for quite some time
The flowers aren't mine, they're hers
The smiles aren't mine, they're hers
The love isn't yours it's hers
and not only hers
but mine

Love,
Love that is real makes you forget
makes you depend
makes you forget
all of the lovers that have gone
makes you depend
when your heart beats louder than you hear
and when kisses are an escape
or a taste of chaos in your brain

love is the simple act
a simple act of feeling
feeling you
feeling through you

love is not the red red roses
but the long night talks to a silent television screen
love is the simple closeness and intimacy

a word you know nothing about
a word you judge you know
but intimacy is not only physical
but the way that I knew what you were going to say before you would
and catching the lie beforw it came out
and understanding your eyes don't lie

I hope you fall in love as many times as you please
but for what it's worth I'll never fall for anyone else
not for you
but for the thought of you and what it gives me

I was pushed today,
farther than I have been in many years.
I felt no tears, nor fear. I was aware.

pressure within was building
and needed to get out.
though I knew I could control it.
I did, with a slight jab of the fist.
though I only hurt myself.
I realize there is still some anger to be dealt
with, I am a work in progress.

though this pressure also allowed me to
know, that I am my best bet. I am
the one capable of maintaining it,
this beast within.
I tell her what to do.
I push through.
I teach her how to act.

Its a delicate balance where I
have much room to develop,
what else are these days for?
what else could this time here be to show?
I've asked for my days, the why.

though I think its coming to me,
not in entirety though enough
to piece something up.
its these moments, these fluxes
of space.
its when I feel something and I wish
for another thing to take place.
its control of the fire I burn with.
I burn within, few seem to know.
fewer are burned by me.

I burn, into the night and well past the day.
I burn, the intensity always keeps pace
and there is a balance on most days.

though today, I did pretty well.
there was a moment when I turned my
head to the west,
I glanced and the sun captured me.
I was caught in its glare.
then I felt the peace again.
I knew what I had to do.
time to give birth again,
a new me awaits.

Hope
Rises
Like
A
Phoenix
From
  The
Ashes
Of
Shattered
Dreams

He is a link between this and the coming world.
He is
A pure spring from which all thirsty souls may drink.


He is a tree watered by the River of Beauty, bearing
Fruit which the hungry heart craves;
He is a nightingale, soothing the depressed
Spirit with his beautiful melodies;
He is a white cloud appearing over the horizon,
Ascending and growing until it fills the face of the sky.
Then it falls on the flows in the field of Life,
Opening their petals to admit the light.
He is an angel, send by the goddess to
Preach the Deity's gospel;
He is a brilliant lamp, unconquered by darkness
And inextinguishable by the wind. It is filled with
Oil by Istar of Love, and lighted by Apollon of Music.


He is a solitary figure, robed in simplicity and
Kindness; He sits upon the lap of Nature to draw his
Inspiration, and stays up in the silence of the night,
Awaiting the descending of the spirit.


He is a sower who sows the seeds of his heart in the
Prairies of affection, and humanity reaps the
Harvest for her nourishment.


This is the poet -- whom the people ignore in this life,
And who is recognized only when he bids the earthly
World farewell and returns to his arbor in heaven.


This is the poet -- who asks naught of
Humanity but a smile.
This is the poet -- whose spirit ascends and
Fills the firmament with beautiful sayings;
Yet the people deny themselves his radiance.


Until when shall the people remain asleep?
Until when shall they continue to glorify those
Who attain greatness by moments of advantage?
How long shall they ignore those who enable
Them to see the beauty of their spirit,
Symbol of peace and love?
Until when shall human beings honor the dead
And forget the living, who spend their lives
Encircled in misery, and who consume themselves
Like burning candles to illuminate the way
For the ignorant and lead them into the path of light?


Poet, you are the life of this life, and you have
Triumphed over the ages of despite their severity.


Poet, you will one day rule the hearts, and
Therefore, your kingdom has no ending.


Poet, examine your crown of thorns; you will
Find concealed in it a budding wreath of laurel.

And a woman who held a babe against her ***** said, "Speak to us of
Children."

And he said:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit,
not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you
with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that
is stable.

in my heart, there's a hornet's nest
But we can still be together I promise
the only difference is, it might
sting once in awhile honey - and
I chase toxins like a lit match
I used to read my thoughts aloud
with metaphor, and wit
And nowadays it's like I barely get,
A chance to step past this shadow
I blame the acetone in my sleep -
I blame the lights down on me
Like a hospital table