A Man of Substance

There are days
when the sun beats me
with its rays

There are times
when all I want to do
is decline

But if there is a sweeter torture
it is yet to be found

For you, of you, with you
I am forever bound

You are a life, a lie, a truth
But there is none
as consistent as your pleasure

You are a life beyond skies
found in heaven above
where birds soar

And I find no greater pleasure
no greater stance

Than when I am carried
between your hands

And if this love is a lullabye
I will make you sleep too

In an endless slumber
I will love you

Behind Eyes

The road of a thousand roses
facing the thorns life poses

Reactions of being understated
walking the paths to be fated

Shores of unseemly conscious
doorways of hated conscience

Green

There stood the hickory tree
leaves of life falling to the ground

There flew the bumble bee
torn wings making no sound

There is the shattered sea
shore rocks the water has found

There I see the bribery fee
metal and paper thrown down

There I find my rusted key
a lock so smooth... so round

Papyrus

Words...
They evade me
Running from me
like clouds in the sky

I cannot touch my pen
so hot and scalding

The paper so treachorous
It pleas and cries
"do not bleed on me"

Fear not my dead tree
I have no ink to bleed on anyone
My will is gone
You will not be injured further

Find my peace, paper
Perhaps I will bleed on you again...

The Beauty of My Pen

Black like a raven
Wet like the ocean
Smooth like a serpent

Temperance

The forevers captured far away...

Que Sera Sera in an age of races...

Thinking only before counting paces...

Distant in the quantums of emergence...

Revelling in pain of akward penance...

Sordid smoke mapping past figures...

Fragile glass shaking cement borders...

The foolishness of now begging to stay...

Misanthropism

No use for sorrow
Self-apology so hollow

Forgetful is what I am
Among memory I stand

I cease to bleed
No worries left to feed

My hand so empty
My heart removed fully

Fumes now instead of gas
Weary of been and has

Beautiful Endings

Conceptual is the artist
An artist of letters
These sounds synchronized
In soulless epiphany
Wishing in dreadful melancholy
Where to go, what to say

It's all the fateful chance of luck
Nothing concrete in this world
Water upon water
Soaked in minds

A world of surrender
Immersed in alphabet
Written to be read
and not set

Where can I find
This hard solid
world of mine

Perhaps in my own eyes
Perhaps I am solid
and what was water
has now become stone