the price of poorly written dreams
gets lost in the cost
of what we will never be

the edges are beautiful
once you peel away the pain
the soul you become
is mirrored by the rain
oh how I love the rain….

perhaps more a tempest at heart
raging against the shapes
I have become
whittled away to something
I am not

the tides that leave us here
crawl back to us in time
and by the shifting rays of sunlight
they hold us up to a discerning god
marking our segments of maturation
as we fold into the fragments
of what we have become
what life washes away
leaves us sculpted in the sands
we stand facing a wind
that has called out to us
since before the tides
or even time

This whisper of a voice
swirling through the jungle
entwined in symbiosis
her veins and skin
create a grand house
of a verdant refuge
silence is such a sweet song
I sing within
letting these creatures
chorus the day
pushing a distance
from the entropic din of survival

blank
thoughts
contradicting
concepts
blood
coursing
furthering
days
clouds
hanging
blanketing
us
tears
yearning
blank
thoughts

desperate fragments
stanching some belief
in existence
how many times do we speak
some vestige of a faith
childlike and vacant
am I broken enough now
am I broken enough now
to turn this mold to dust
crushing the structures
of false interpretations
falling to nothing
such comfort in zero
words crawl through the veins
of what we want to be
not what we are....