Wind Chimes float—
With effortless ease—
It’s something we—
Could never quite be—
Two souls swirling
In the restless ear of want.
Wind Chimes
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Huckleberry Heels
Silence falls like snowflakes
Covering the field
Where birds like statues watch
My huckleberry heels
With frost left underfoot
The hallow ground revealed
Where doe tread light as feather
And sun spill bleeds me home
for John Fante
Perhaps I’ve said too little,
perhaps I’ve said too much.
Whichever be the case Fante,
perhaps I’ll Ask The Dust.
To understand one’s suffering
To understand one’s suffering
Is to understand our own,
Knowing causes pain—
But still with hope we try
To understand one’s suffering
Is to be on their side, regardless
Of the awful many cuts
Through the tenderness of night—
Their aim is (not) to heal
But still with hope we lie,
To understand one’s suffering(…)
Like fruit picked from a vine.
Walking in the desert of night
For once in this hell of a lifetime
I’m not calling anyone out—
Walking in the desert of night stars
With my own well being
I no longer glance behind—
Finally I realize there is nothing left behind
Nothing that isn’t worth looking forward to—
My soul is clean, my eyes are clear
I no longer cry for those I cannot save—
Saving myself, one step at a time.
Eyes glazed open
Then you wake up
Eyes glazed open
Sleeping by her side
And again, you realize
What’s most important
Now more than ever
And without a doubt
Like the sun, you rise
Dreams
Isn’t it ironic.
The one place we go together,
we always go alone.
A story
There’s always a story to tell.
Always,
A story…
To tell—
Our eyes told stories
I’ll always remember that day
And keep it as a reminder—
That day in which you looked my way
And I didn’t have a clue who you were
And you didn’t have a clue who I was
That day in which our eyes told stories—
As to what is most important.
So if and when we lose our way, I know
Together we’ll find ourselves again—
Where eyes can say what words cannot express—
And stories, we, can only tell together.
(miss)Understanding
At some point you just let go,
and that need to be understood
just drifts by the wayside.
Like a dog is a dog, a cat is a cat—
with or without the mustard.
Words Of An Average White Male 