Don’t you know love stemmed from you?
Filled up with soft venom from emerald eyes,
Sharp icicles flowed in my veins
To prod and pierce,
Your love with venom tipped points.
To live inside you I lied, alone with you
And the venom, a panacea to my pain
Focusing our eyes on a life within,
Though your life is out beyond this tainted heart
Where I am not, will I ever be?
Should I bear to part with this venom
Stemming from parts unknown yet so familiar,
I sooner could’ve done should’ve done
And sucked from you the venom clear.



Is it happiness this time around? Is it a consistent, persistent feeling that permeates and exudes itself through every action in my life. Will it last? Can I will myself into the position of seeing a positive outcome and being a beneficial force in the world? I do not know for certain. But this is certainly the closest I’ve come to a determined result. With the experience, wisdom, or naiveté to move forward optimistically, I reach and reach and hope to propagate growth. Not just for now, but until my body dies.

Maybe happiness will never be enough.

Regardless of that idea, there is opportunity for me to do better, to find better, to live better. A smile, carrying the weight and magnificence of thousands of lines of poetry, will live on longer in memory. The ability to affirm anyone’s traits will impact their experience more than any designed project ever could. The underlying communion that occurs in person to person interaction will always stand out above all else, and therefore it is that which requires the most focus and positive attitude.

Is happiness the driver behind these beneficial interactions? Maybe not, maybe it’s just a practiced skill. But I’d like to believe that good words come from a good place, and therefore inherently people are driven to be good. If not, where’s the hope for each other? For me, finding good is what drives me to do good, and to persistently do that well in the face of adversity requires the belief that good is inherent.

And maybe that makes me happy.

Do not forget what we are

Winds whispered shards
cut by the back shed,
lit lowly
over snow stepped asunder,
blindly hidden frozen within
reflected moonshine foiled
around, abounds
stilled in delight.
Left alone, left alive
distilled among cold light
relentlessly breathing,
long lingering
our broken hardened heart,
along a ‘nother eternity.

Look A Little Closer

An eternally whimsical pride
Set aside, along withdrawing tides.
Will you stand beside
Watching, waiting what betides?

For fear, fraught with hope
Left to fester in scope,
Derived of impunity
To deviate so discreetly,
Denies so close to your closed eye
An opportunity to lie.

Your head crumbling inside,
Around the ephemeral eternity
Belied by euphonic tides,
Sets pace for new identity.

Another Year Closer To Death

It’s amusing to consider life in function of how close to death we are. It would seem, there is a point at which it becomes more pragmatic to consider life in relation to approaching death as opposed to years lived. Maybe this changes as one approaches the upper echelons of age, but I would not know.

The truth is simple, no matter how incrementally time is broken down it is still finite. Finding pursuits worthy of that ever diminishing time becomes more critical and difficult.

Is wisdom the ability to discern what pursuits are worthwhile? Or is wisdom simply a tool that allows us to make decisions that excuse ourselves from blame or corruption? Or perhaps it is best that we ignore wisdom, for it is an inconvenience that leads to inaction over action.

Again, I do not know.

And that leads me to a new a question I have considered. What is understanding?

Is understanding the total and unequivocal acceptance of another’s position once an argument has been posited? Does it rely on the empathetic relation of someone’s position and their choices? Does understanding really convey a meaning of mutual coordination or is it simply a tool to ally oneself with another’s stance?

Once more, I say I don’t know.

I take the stance of an independent. Act in your own best interest. Whether that be to benefit of others or just yourself, at the very least you can lie at night knowing you’ve propagated the growth of your own goals. There is emotional interplay that affects the choices we make, no denying it. But to what extent?

For myself, I stop at shame. If something appears to cast shame onto me, or I feel shame, then that is not a valid argument. We must accept our own doings, as well as the consequences that stem from them.

It my seem that seems very capitalist or “Ayn Randian” but that is not the case. Acting solely in one’s best interest can not be ideal for the simple reason that human growth depends on the interplay between peoples.

Feeling other emotions is good, healthy, and normal. Feeling a debt to others is customary. Just don’t let it overrule your life. Don’t let it control the decisions you make.

One friend of mine, I respect beyond belief. Simply because he pursues his creativity to an extent that I have seen no other do. He creates with only regard to himself, even if the purpose is only to put ink on paper. He lets the fountain flow unrestrained, and that is the most important aspect of being a creative. No crevice unexplored, no rock unturned. To truly live one must let themselves believe in anything, even if it relies on others letting such emotions or creations exist.

Creation is an act of leaving oneself behind upon this world. That is fantastic in and of itself. To create is to truly bare the soul. To create and not amend or change or adapt or cower is a sign of strength and courage.

I hope to leave my mark.

You Know I Can’t Love

On the fringe of forgetting, once more you appeared, like wind, in my dream. You always return, adding another note to the memories I’ve tucked away of you. Down in the depths of my drawer are moments we never lived. Hesitations giving way to euphoria. Sorrows stemming from my expectancies.

Only in ephemeral atmospheres of dreams did you see my authenticity, my worries, my desires laid bare. Waking brings the knowing that no communication would replicate the feeling. I wanted to see your eyes hold mine, not in searching but in longing, since you understand all too well. To feel your caress, to be safely in your embrace, be held and meld with you.

But you are only in my dreams. There is no stack of dreams catalogued away in your desk of me. When you met me I was not the person I should have been. What would you think if we met now? Could I be your dream instead?

For now, I’ll write another note of you. Reminders of your fleeting, cutting appearances.

When will I forget again?

How can I love when you’ve forgotten me?

Creatively Dead Day

Couldn’t come up with many ideas today. A bit frustrating. I’d been a roll for the past couple weeks or so with working efficiently, productively, and expansively. But today I couldn’t put down any good ideas, regardless of what I tried to do stimulate my mind. Maybe I just need some days to recover, decompress, and reassess and allow my mind to loosen up some. Hopefully better content tomorrow.