World's End

Shaken by minute minutes
counting concrete blocks on town sidwalks,
words melting out the mouth
passing through ears like
the fraction of sight
carrying a nameless face.
Dirt once was alive too
and for those seeds to grow
a log must rot
and for these foot to move further
my words must die
as my footsteps tread on fall blanketed
paths to a view
of sublimity where the rough rock edges
smooth over the cracks left
by sharp respite of thoughts
that always fell short.
No need to speak;
the river babbles below
telling me a gentle story
where I need not know
any proper noun.
To dark green pines and sun drenched fields,
you give me your grace
and I will give you
what love never was received
by flesh and mind.

Into the Shining Sky

Walking in search for no voice in particular,
staring at brick pavement and observing
how my feet lift alongside my legs.
Steam drifts from the cup on the bench,
as the book drapes its covers
alongside sun crisp hands.
I look into the shining sky
even though the clouds are gone.
Though my two eyes squint as I gaze upward,
I find it all the more jubilant
to see through golden light.
Fumbling through crumpled papers
to have a laugh at how lines and stanzas
faces, falls, seasons, sounds and lost thoughts
all blur into a single sentiment
which carries itself on my back
whether I dare to turn around or not.

Imbibing the Relativity

Yelling at the face of the moon;
seeing clarity in the beauty of
a thick haze that backs up against the wall.
Frigid night is all the more reason to be warm,
the jacket against arms gives pleasure
to set the hard cotton over the sofa.
The moon yells back as feet fall against carpet
and a nod gives affirmation
that we are all sharing the night sky.
From a bear's grasp,
drinking from the same glowing cup
spilling our senses onto ourselves.

On the Moon, the World Saw Its Shadow

Wash the sorrow stained eyes
with a glimmer of light in a gaze;
the messages of long thought lost bottles
have landed on sparkling shores
and the reader knows
that a lingering voice
gazes at the stars,
listening for an answer in the twilight.
May the message of bottled up burdens
ring true into the night
and fall onto ears
as a beautiful howl for hope.

Still Tongue

Shaken by minute minutes
counting concrete blocks on town sidwalks,
words melting out the mouth
passing through ears like
the fraction of sight
carrying a nameless face.
Dirt once was alive too
and for those seeds to grow
a log must rot
and for these foot to move further
my words must die
as my footsteps tread on fall blanketed
paths to a view
of sublimity where the rough rock edges
smooth over the cracks left
by sharp respite of thoughts
that always fell short.
No need to speak;
the river babbles below
telling me a gentle story
where I need not know
any proper noun.
To dark green pines and sun drenched fields,
you give me your grace
and I will give you
what love never was received
by flesh and mind.