Man of science,
Only sees what is there,
Wants to build the fence.

Man of religion,
Out of nothing sees everything,
Wants to envision the fence.

Man of philosophy,
Out of everything sees nothing,
Wants to sit on the fence.

******* flame in my bloodstream
Sold my coat when I hit Spokane
Bought myself a hard pack of cigarettes
In the early mornin' rain
Lately my hands they don't feel like mine
My eyes been stung with dust and blind
Held you in my arms one time
Lost you just the same
Jolene, I ain't about to go straight, it's too late
I found myself face down in a ditch
***** in my hair, blood on my lips
A picture of you holding a picture of me
In the pocket of my blue jeans

Still don't know what love means
Still don't know what love means
Jolene, Jolene
Been so long since I seen your face
Felt a part of this human race
I've been living out of this
Here suitcase for way too long
Man needs something he can hold onto
Nine pound hammer or a woman like you
Either one of them things will do
Jolene, I ain't about to go straight, it's too late
I found myself face down in a ditch
***** in my hair, blood on my lips
A picture of you holding a picture of me
In the pocket of my blue jeans
Still don't know what love means
Still don't know what love means
Jolene, Jolene,

She was all the world a beach, laid out in a thousand story grains of sand.
Her thoughts, the constant crashing of waves along the surface of her life.
Her beauty, the gradient of colors created by the setting sun on the horizon.
Her strength, the tide pulling the ocean over her shoreline like a blanket to comfort the coast.
She was all the world a beach, laid out in a thousand story grains of sand.
And I wanted to read them all.

This isn't a poem,
It’s only a thought.
This isn't a poem,
My mind’s just starting to rot.

This isn't a poem,
Don’t read it like one.
This isn't a poem,
I just have no where to run.

This isn't a poem,
Please understand.
This isn't a poem,
I’m just another man.

This isn't a poem,
At least not to me.
This isn't a poem,
It’s just a place I can breath.

Waiting.
I’m always waiting.
  I lie awake at night waiting.
   I don’t sleep out of fear that I’ll miss it.
    I live in constant anxiety that I will miss what I've been waiting for.
  
    I’m also afraid that I’m not quite sure what I have been waiting for.
   I guess that’s why I’m afraid I’ll miss it.
  I guess that’s why I’m waiting.
I’m always waiting.
Waiting.

Trapped.
Once Again.
Unable to talk.
Silent.

Panicked.
Once again.
Frozen in thought.
Mute.

Afraid.
Once again.
Gasping for air.
Incoherent.

Withdrawn.
Once again.
Crying for release.
Wordless.

And just like that the rain was gone.
The puddles were the only thing that remained.
They reminded me of the rain.
How it fell so beautifully,
How it spoke so softly,
How it left without saying goodbye.
All that remains now are the puddles,
Until they too wither away in silence.

We’ll meet again some day, once again as strangers.
We might talk for a bit,
maybe even pretend like we don’t remember what happened.
Maybe we’ll run into each other in a coffee shop,
you with your new love and me with mine.
We’ll act like old friends should,
but your familiar face won't carry familiar feelings.
To know I've been replaced is disheartening.
To think about what we once were makes me wistful.
It’s even more sombering to think of what we are now, strangers.
How is it that someone who once meant so much can become nothing more than a stranger?
Emotions are now rendered into nothing but memories.
Memories are now distorted from hopeful wishes.
Hopeful wishes are now abandoned like a coin into a wishing well.
Yet even after everything that happened,
I can’t help but hope that somewhere, somehow,
We’ll meet again some day, once again as strangers.