Love is the sound
of your door closing
as I leave for the last time.

All too often we mourn
the fact that the fire's burned out,
but I WON'T think of the embers!
I'll remember the blaze burning brightly-
-those nights that you dressed in moonlight
those morning that you were there,
soft and gentle, still dreaming.

And it was in April,
that she first arrived
with the bloom of flowers, and the scent of rain.

I was never sure from whence she came;
some high rise, or maybe from Spring herself,
but I knew,
from the first moment she grasped my hand
that she was so many things that I didn't realize
my soul thirsted for.

I knew then, that she would be worth the
heart break,
and that in those shattered moments
I would love her still.

She was the finest of vintages,
and of her love, I drank deeply-
-knowing that my drunkenness
would be worth any hangover,
for a sweeter wine
I have not tasted.

Some women belong to the Spring.
They're meant to bloom,
but they were never yours to keep.

I’ve seen many fall
Watched even more
Rise to the occasion
Tackling oxygen deficiency
Then fall to the gusts
There are those
That died standing
Never a limb breaking
The surviving corpse
Of an era no longer in observation
Limbs still reaching
Clinging onto the faint hope
It’ll see the day
The children stop climbing
And start flying

5’11” tall
2’6” wide
I’m a pillar of nothing
A faceless headstone
Moving around
Scouring the earth
For my final resting place
My grave lost
A hollow tomb
Unmarked
Waiting to be inscribed
With all the horrors of my misdeeds
The only good thing
To follow my soul
Will be the worms and grubs
As they hollow out my eyelids

Oceans of green
Only making waves
When the wind blows
Leaps of faith
As crickets jump at opportunities
Bullfrogs moaning for attention
Oaks stretching up and out
Touching their toes
As time puts another ring on
Imagination making shapes
Out of cotton-ball pillows
The world around me
Quiet and quaint
As long as I’m alone
Without the bickering voices
Of politicians and dramatics
Peace is never too far out of reach
It’s just a few steps past the wood line
Where man has yet to travel