empty horizons
once rich and budding, the world is
now too heavy for my back
what’s gone is gone,
the wasteland reminds me every day
they laugh at me, each word strikes the banks
of the dunes and echo for an eternity
I grasp my brush taut and gaze
at the empty horizon, the boundless blue
and paint myself a new world
a blank canvas
a blank canvas is a fresh start
it’s not abandonment of failure
a chance to renew
a life I can no longer recall because two years feels like
ten while ten blurs with today
they call to me
whispers and wonders and wisdoms sit, stare
for i can brave myself with my brush
worlds beginning
when two worlds collide,
what happens to that blade of grass?
will it grow again, adapt
or find itself plucked from the darkened earth
cast to the current
distanced
sand swirls and stab each swing
sky and land link and linger
condensed to a calculated point
the power, compressed,
when the floating remains left nowhere to stay,
struck the canvas and painted a new world
rush
i debut myself covered in paint
i jumped through a canvas to get here, and
like the rest of my body
the world is finally bursting with color
my arms and the sky a blossom pink
my legs, feet and the earth, vivid and intoxicating
my chest and the air breathe united
my soaking green thumbs hold tight
a bad knee that could run a marathon, and
the good knee that could run two
a palette in one hand, juggling
blue grape skins in the other
to run from those infinite dunes
it hits me all at once, a rush
i’ve painted this world to save myself
apple tea
the pleasant marriage of crisp and sweet
a subtle cool drink on a soft autumn night
i stare at every pretty light along the way
too bad
disaster strikes in the blink of an eye, and
looks coldly at me as i hug the pavement below
i halfway off the sidewalk for hours
my limbs soak in the humid air
sudden gusts greet me and my body awake
and i wonder if I have stolen someone else’s
identity to get here
the perfectionist
it travels for days on end in admiration
of the beauty that holds its throat
in a field of a thousand snowdrops,
i shout and scream and sleep
his body of limestone watches from afar,
guardian of that beauty
illuminate with new brilliance
every stride roots me in soil
in a field of ten thousand snowflakes,
i stand and step and surge
and i commit
asphalt heart
my heart is made of asphalt
layers of aggregate emotion coat my body
it has long been hardened so that cars and people alike may pass over me
this dark adulterated heart, petrifying
has remained stone-cold for years
and all the heavy traffic
yielded emotion too
but now this pavement is wearing down, finally,
as I decay from the wear of seasons
like a potter discard his fractured work,
I’m ready to break out of this shell
My asphalt heart is cracking and that tingling
sensation in my thumb tells me
to write my story of departure
departure
This beautiful world, hand-painted
I cannot stay
Idyll winding grapevines and waxing honeycombs
The world that came to me in a dream is leaving.
It’s difficult to leave for seventy three reasons,
but only cause it’s difficult to think of any more
Heartbreak is good way to describe it,
But it feels like something further is missing
Whether that’s my choice of words or
the fact that the world chose to stop spinning around the sun
Those other two worlds have remained in stasis
Reality hidden far away in a small chamber
and so I can say for certain
it is time for me to go
to embrace my hard-fought truth, and to let go
of the fabricated cloth before me and breathe
all good(?)
things come to an end.
Well, in its due time,
all good things come to an end.
So does the bad, too.
The disjointed soul
cannot always crack their shell
It’s okay to fail.
Mysterious mind
your overwhelming rusted
haze softens the blow
Well, in its due time,
I say to myself, all good(?)
Things come to an end.
rush
i debut myself covered in paint
i jumped through a canvas to get here, and
like the rest of my body
the world is finally bursting with color
my arms and the sky a blossom pink
my legs, feet and the earth, vivid and intoxicating
my chest and the air breathe united
my soaking green thumbs hold tight
a bad knee that could run a marathon, and
the good knee that could run two
a palette in one hand, juggling
blue grape skins in the other
to run from those infinite dunes
it hits me all at once, a rush
i’ve painted this world to save myself
apple tea
a blank canvas is a fresh start
it’s not abandonment of failure
a chance to renew
a life I can no longer recall because two years feels like
ten while ten blurs with today
they call to me
whispers and wonders and wisdoms sit, stare
for i can brave myself with my brush
the perfectionist
a blank canvas is a fresh start
it’s not abandonment of failure
a chance to renew
a life I can no longer recall because two years feels like
ten while ten blurs with today
they call to me
whispers and wonders and wisdoms sit, stare
for i can brave myself with my brush