So much left unsaid About the daily struggle, The hard-fought, battles. Where nightmare and reality collide. Suppose we could see it coming, If foresight was stronger than Far-sightedness. The calm before disaster; A moment's free-fall before the Inescapable impact. Time to remember. The only memories, what we've forgot. Caught in the silence, Release of energy. Explosions of light, explosions of sound. So many things left unsaid. Her storehouses empty, The exhale of energy, sighs deeply. Dust frenzies, dances, then settles. Suppose we weren't caught in such silence, Could our eyes adjust to the picture, Explosions of life, lay strewn on the ground.

Impact

Images moving forward Motion never ending Bodies orbiting space Never imagining Giants, lost in their journey Forces unforeseen Steady, sturdy, whole Searing through velocity Light on the surface Explosions of lines - found in their journey Tracing their roots Through the time and the space Feeling reality in the breaking And the pain Giant explosions of lines, once lost, join in the impact

Bodies in Motion

Sometimes, for lack of better subconscious material - We don't dream. We simply fall. THE FALL. It always seems so explanatory, "I fell," I think to myself. Naturally, it happens all the time. But how did I fall? And from where? Of course, who ever answers? We simply wake up, suddenly. Jolted awake by an impact imagined. Then we begin walking. A series of measured, controlled Almost-falls, quickly caught by the next. We live that way. We "fall" in love. More of life is spent falling, It would seem, than standing.

Prisoners, ghosts, and images

We never travel alone. Necessity, or Providence; Something bigger has taught us. Though our hearts are hard - Harder than stone. We carry impossible weight. Stepped up to our eyes in earth. The earth we turn to ocean, Filled up with our tears. Polluted by our own hate. I trace the lines across my arm. Ruts as deep as dermis, Down to muscle, blood, and bone. Feeling the weight of eternity, In the presence of momentary harm. But we choose to stay here. Because we cannot see another way. There is nothing so great, Nothing so fine, it seems - As my prison-kingdom of fear. I wonder, do You kiss away tears? Does the crystal ocean move Your heart, In a torrent of compassion Stronger than the grave? Can you hold me, when I am left here?

"Because you asked me to"

In a peaceful valley, I wonder if my heart has any place here; If its presence will undo the beauty all around. Because, you know, I'm a trembler, a bender, Adrift against each crashing bellow. Lilies dance under your fingertips - Mr. Sunshine's rays kiss your skin, and leave us new. Feeling transformed; transcended - undone, and lightheaded. I came all this way because you asked me to. Each grasp comes untied in my arms, Falling sheathes flowing out of my heart. Mingling with these new tears we shed - Mingling tears with joy - we dance them underfoot.

"this is the ride of your life"

there is a lot of summing up in each passing day. putting your day into a few chosen words. putting those words into a strand to describe a month, and then writing a brief synopsis of your year based on your summations. it's a lot like a child learning to hang words together in the right order. we gradually pick our descriptions, till we no longer provide "useless" information, with too many words and facts, until it is exactly how others will want to read it. but we don't get to pick our stories. so it seems right, that we shouldn't get to pick how they are told, either. life is indeed a gift. and stories, these passing moments that we spend, are all a part of us. not to be cut down to size, or re-shaped into a flattering picture. how much do we lose telling stories that are only half ours? and wanting desperately for what we seem to never be able to hold? be content with your story. if it is not heroic: then live heroically. if it is not self-less: then live selflessly. if it is not loving: then live in Love. but do not simply try to alter your story in words - for even the simplest child knows that the primitive words they use are only a dim reflection of the true story that they tell, that which they have been.

A Painful Reminder

Nothing goes out.
But nothing gets in.
The price of a synthetic,
pharmaceutical skin.
Never awake,
Not fully asleep --
Just barely lucid enough
To know it's not what I need.

You pass a day, a week,
a month, even - a year.
Yet nothing can change in me.
This stagnancy is what I fear.

A balance elusive,
Is it made-up instead?
Of these small, chemical battles
That rage war inside my head.
I don't know why they're fighting
I don't know who will win --
But I know just now I felt a warm breeze
As it moved across my skin.
I felt a sun ray,
And saw the sunset
As the light was growing dim.

The whole world looked on,
As it's only continued to be.
The whole world hasn't changed much
But, for now, I can see.