He stood there, shield in one hand and sword in the other, ready to face whatever odds would come to face him. He had been fighting for days without any sleep nor had he eaten a bite of anything. It was hot, he was sweaty.. Tired and weak.. He stood with all his might, his back facing the edge of the cliff.. His shield pulling him down.. He let it go, he did not need it anymore. His sword too. He had given up resisting... He had done enough fighting.. He leaned back and let fate decide his destiny.. He fell.. Drifting in the air with the breeze. His armor gently drifted from his body and all that was left was the bare leather of his own skin... He closed his eyes in ease.. Ready to rest for all eternity.. Weather it be for pain and suffering or heavenly glory.. He was ready.. He just wanted to do one thing with his life.. And that's leave with those he met knowing his journey, his adventures, his joys and happiness.. His sadness and his worry's.. His accomplishments and what he stood for. He wanted to leave with everyone knowing that no matter what he did or who he met or whatever choices he made.. He always cared.. He always put those before him and he was humble... Kind.. And courageous..  Even in the face of Tyranny. Or just a nemesis.. Or maybe someone he could never understand but tried to make peace with... It was time.. Goodbye.

What hurts the most
is believing you can't write
So you let the demon, like the final wave
crash upon you and win the fight.

You love passion but you've forgotten its meaning,
searching for the bold letters in the dictionary like puzzle pieces.
You love something that doesn't follow the final print
So you let the ink tear away your paper mâché.

Stop feeling like one word can't mean another.

Love can mean cherished can mean adored can mean perceived.

We are lost in our meanings.

Every **** one of us.

Whether you like it or not, we are all lost.

Don't you realize it?

Wake up!

We are lost dolls scurrying in an open field trying to find the reality different from the one uniting us right now.

Look around. We are right there. You are here too. Beside us. That's you.

If you're alone, then the definition must mean we all are too. Alone together.

Unitedly lonely.

She belongs in the poetry of someone else now,
I loved her so much, and yet lost her somehow.
So perhaps this could be it, an end to my verse,
for I've no longer muse, but hey, could be worse.

Dontcha just hate trying to finish a poem?
It's always like there could be just a hint of this, a dash of that;
too much seasoning, not enough time spent simmering;
did you use the right amount of ingredients;
was it tablespoons or teaspoons?

Dontcha wish you could just pluck one out of the freezer:
One wrapped up in a neat little package?
Leaving it on the stove-top to thaw a little,
before heating it up at your timely convenience?

I wish I knew when these **** things were done;
Wish I could stick em in a microwave, clock in the allotted time for a work like that to be well-cooked and consumable--
Wait around zoning out to the droning tone of the toasting note,
then awake from my spell by the sweet dinging of completion.

I'd take that steamy sucker out of that commodious kiln
in such great haste I can barely hold it in my hands!
"Boy oh boy does this one look tasty!"

I'd sit down with my necessary utensils and have a go at it, chewing thoughtfully and enjoying this wonderful piece I have prepared by myself for myself--and without all the hassle and wasted time
spent slaving over books and pages and pens and inspirations!

But ****;
Nobody likes poems cooked out of pre-made packages;
they're a little too rubbery, a little too mushy, a little too bland--
and worse off they were made by the assemblyman's hand! (or claw).

Nobody likes their poems coming out of pre-made packages;
They ain't nothing like the real thing.

The release,

Adrenaline,

Addictive,

Fuelled,

Fired,

Final.....

never again will I look into your eyes like they are the ocean.
you're not the ******* ocean.
you were never mysterious and charming
seashells pressed against my ear only muffled the words you said, what sounded like the soothing whisper of the ocean waves, were really the tides crashing violently onto the shore.
I lay now on this beach, I wait for a storm to follow me to my spot here on the sand, but I am left dry.
I see the water steady, and you are so far gone past the horizon, that when the sun sets, your silhouette is all that appears.
perspective sets in,
and I remember how you were a poisonous creature captivating me with every lethal injection the power of your words compelled.
I remember I'm alone.
I know that it's okay.
because you are not the ocean,
you are only one of its inhabitants,
and there are so many more creatures worth diving in for,
there are so many reasons to swim deeper.