That quintessential flower
        resting between thy breast,
               crowned with thorns,
         silver, chalice cup of flames;
               the light within light,
         the spirit that remains;
              far from extinction
         the scarab of all ages
                    rises as the sun,
        and I the phoenix, just begun.

    These constellations, Orion's belt,
        and illuminated fractals in the sky;
       as iridescent clouds shift by
     The cold breeze, and that creaking tree,
         For I am the snow, and the stars; I am

  Everything that you are:

Why does it seem that the most beautiful things are the most fragile?
My glass heart must'ave been blown mere molecules thin
because as much as I thirst to be yolked from within
and find union with the soul of another just as agile

I am broken, shattered into pieces, every piece repaired in time.
And as selfish as all of this may seem,
there is nothing about me, I have committed no crime
in wishing that my life were held dear... a dream

I suppose I am asking too much from these droves
of human animals compelled to suffer and starve for meaning
Meanwhile I cry out of sanity for their suffering and mine, which proves
that there can be no sense in leaning:

Reliance on other leads to sorrow,
when I look to you, you see you, do you see me? I wonder
do you see me? I will be here tomorrow
to ask again and again, do you see me, or is that your blunder?

Were all just machines, bound for the train station that’ll hightail us out and over
To the junkyard where we never sleep and the foundry melts us down to make room
For the new undead, but non-living, to starve for what their computers say they need.
But when you smile, your eyes show me that you have a soul inside that’s beautiful,
And it proves my heart is something more than what the factory made it for;
That my love means something more than a series of chemical reactions in my brain,
That the mornings and nights we spent were worth more than we ever knew,
And that you are someone more special to me than I have ever known.

So, as we fly down the track of grayest metals and coldest weather, into the north country
To God knows where to as the sun is at dawn and dusk at the same time,
Remember that your heart doesn’t need to be held like coal, that your eyes are soulful,
That someone, somewhere thinks you’re more than a piece of electric meat,
That I think you’re worth more than my life,—my holy hunk of steel—but don’t let that
Get to your head missy! And that when we’re laid upon the cutting board
To be scraped and melted down, I want to be laid there next to you
To kiss you one more time, while I look into your eyes, searchingly.

We Lost,  
are children now—
though we aged quickly
to become loveless, depressed, and
sighing.

Lying
a moment next to you
incognizant, impressed, reminiscing,
forever Immature.

Simple, damp hair down,
resting on my face, loved;
true eyes emoting.

Calm cinnamon lips
kiss my heart, (beating inward)
my life, to die slow.  

Gentle
is the lover
who dies to spring more love
and kiss soft upon the shoulder.

Riding in that car beside my father so,
Windows shut, a silent-glide,
The pond below
Was fingered up—and mirror glow--
And out, to the black-purple sky.

Hanging was an orange slice jewel  
Shimmering like an opened furnace
--A door to hell, but only creaked—
I even saw a daemon eye,
Scowling for my left and yonder sins.

I’d have plucked its cat’s-eye color from the sky,
But by god, I tried, and tried and failed.

A portrait of the pain:
   Endless time and sorrow in the soul
            Evoked. The arid vein
   Of blood that wanders wax and wane.
  
           Aimless feet and eyes
     Pursuing air, in breathless love,
          Seeing not of aching lies
     Of longing hearts that now reprise.

           As arrows, seeking not the mark,
            nor the pleasure or the pain
           instead the hour when we embark
    to discover love in vain.

I am not my self,
And nothing is as it is.
Everything is nameless, blameless.
Truth is perceived thoughtlessly;
I ignore them.

There, in truth, is no language to make simple
the complex.
Reality is truth.
Experience is now.
  Everything is now.

Beauty is a symptom of rarity.
Everything is relatively rare.
Everything is relative.
Time, now, exists as a singularity.
Love, now, is life.
  
“I’m sorry.”

Nothing is incomprehensible.
Everything is incomprehensible.
I am incomprehensible.
You are incomprehensible.
Love is accepting anyway. Love is life.  

“I love everyone.”

But you do not understand me.
You are more understandable to you.
Make me more like you, your Desires!
You love falsely.
I’m sorry. I love everyone.