I have walked these fields
I have known this land
And though the years have changed the face
The memory still stands

Of a time when things were simpler
Of a time when hope was pure
Of a time when changing weather
Was all of which we were unsure

And I have seen the sun rise
Over fields of green and gold
Now that view is just a memory
And I know I'm getting old

Can it be that earth is failing?
Can it be that light has dimmed?
Can it be that we've abandoned
all the life that we once lived?

     Is it any wonder
     that our children can't get over
     just the smallest of infractions
     when the world falls all around them?

     For constancy is foreign
     in a land of no intentions
     where a lost appreciation
     for sacredness of life abounds.

I cannot pretend
To understand it all
For as often as I wonder
Equal am I inclined to fall

For I am of a generation
Which forgets itself began,
Wanders aimlessly through atmosphere
And defiles its fellow man

And over weakness, few have triumphed;
Through affliction, few have prevailed
And reverence for creation
Is an instinct we have failed

But our days are not yet over
For this one hope stands unmoved:
We are still formed of the same dust
Whose strength our ancestry has proved.

     Is there any remnant
     of the spirit deep within us
     that might once again remember
     the great faith we once achieved?

     There is far greater meaning
     found in one hopeful sentiment
     than in a thousand shouting voices
     denying all things once believed.

you can find me in old picture frames, hidden
in a box at the bottom of your basement.
you can find me in telephone booths, scouring
my pockets to find the meaning of change.
you can find me in the font of signed birthday cards, stylized
and nonsensical.
you can find me in your ashtray, waiting
to be reborn.
you can find me at the bottom of your coffee cup, a sludge
of accumulated words that fell out of your mouth
each time you go in for another sip.
you can find me in the pages of your youth, smiling
at the illusion of time.
you can find me in the lyrics to each song
that come on in your car as you drive, alone at night
that make you think of how we were.
you can find me underneath the carpet, a stain
that refuses to come out no matter how hard you scrub.
you can find me at the beginning of your dream, camouflaged
with scenes of sirens, snakes and skeletons singing lullabies
that make you forget what you dreamt of when you finally awaken.
you can find me through the eyelet on your door, as i float
above your head the moment you consider opening it.
you can find me in every embrace, every kiss, every promise
you choose to let fade from your needle-pointed memory.
you can find me in your shoe, a rock
that makes each audacious step feel uncomfortable.
you can find me in the ditch, roadkill
that quickly passes you by as you mumble a
“what was that?” to no one in particular.
you can find me beneath the apologies you didn't mean
and the iloveyous you forgot to say.
you can find me amidst the scattered shards of glass
that scour the linoleum floor from the glass of water
that you dropped in a bout of thirst at midnight.
you can find me underneath your pillow case, whispering
reminders like sweet love songs for the self.
the pieces i have left are ripe and over-cooked,
i can only resign myself to the fact
that you may never choose
to look.

Pale faces and even whiter smiles,
Big sweaters, flannels and the way your boots sounded.
Tell me you love me,
I'm forgetting your voice.
Once more darling,
You're my drug of choice.
Catch the snowflakes on your eyelashes,
Can I make a wish upon your lips?
Maybe you'll stay the night this time,
One, two, three strokes on my hip.
Pretend you care,
Just one more night.
Winter love,
Melts just as fast,
Even with your heart of ice.

I'm giving up too.
You had
forever ago
Stopped loving me
and started hating
You lied
Fake faced
We both believed
I see your heart
when I make you mad
every day
I talk less
don't know if you notice
You ****** me with your words
and when I look into your eyes
You turn sharp into me
I disgust you
You force yourself
to **** me
You tell me so
You want a different kind
of woman
I can't be her
I am me
or what I am now
I used to smile
I cry now
You don't love me
I'm giving up too

I.
So long are the thoughts of someone so beautiful
pulled in by a vision of body and mind so young
chasing inspiration to steal the gaze of a woman
like a fire that burns so to a heart seated in passion
and even harder to fight the warmth of attraction,
yet a gentlemen waits until he is given the pleasure.
II.
In a moment, one can see his eyes filled with pleasure
given a glow whilst reflecting something beautiful.
She never shies away from the design of his attraction,
hard to build a foundation on a ground yet so young.
Yet there is no limit, even one such as age, to limit passion,
rarely does time measure wisdom between a girl or a woman.
III.
His pheromones work magic to his beating heart for a woman.
She seeks to be the resting of his desires that fulfill his pleasure.
There is a slow creeping thought that feelings are merely passion,
and there is little but a burning lust rather than something beautiful.
Harder are the connections with the ones who venture young,
but an old soul has the experiences that altered fates attraction
IV.
There are those who walk away from such an attraction
Envisioning a different path with an older woman
Seeing little to gain mentally from a person fairly young
Never realizing that her mind was always his pleasure
Not just intellect, but thoughts that were oh so beautiful,
With words that reflect such a bright heart of passion.
V.
No matter resistances or distances, their connection is their passion.
They write to impress one another, flirting to increase the attraction.
Displaying their hearts for each other in writings so beautiful,
many poems composed for and because of, a certain woman.
Never by touch but a pen evoking feelings with written pleasure,
sharing in a cryptic way the hidden feeling from when young.
VI.
Still one cannot find the power to resistant a flower, young.
Merely looking for a fuel to fire our deepest passion,
never forgetting the strength of giving pleasure.
Baring his shyness to show complicated attraction,
in the pursuit of a hope that she is no ordinary woman.
Like hoping on a sunrise, but knowing it will be beautiful.
VII.
Intricate is the passion in the face of his attraction.
So too is the zeal of the wanting young woman.
Still the greatest pleasure is that she is beautiful.

Do you remember the sleepless nights?
When we could talk forever.
When we were focused on the small things, like
homework and sports practices.
When we thought the night would never end.

Do you remember the words you said?
Of love.
Of getting married.
Of spending the rest of our lives together.

Do you remember the moments?
In the woods, dancing under the tree in the rain.
On that rollercoaster in six flags, kissing, while our bodies got flung around on the ride.
Or the car crash, when both of us were scared beyond control.

Do you remember it all?
Because I remember every moment.
I remember every word.
And I remember every feeling.

If only I could know that you felt it too.