It's Not Complicated

This love I say

it's alive,
it's alive.

They say a great one

will keep you wondering,
should you sail

or set it free 
to be released into the sea?
 
But we're alive,
we're alive 
to live for today.
 
So when the past

comes to cage you in

keep an eye open
for a place to descend
into the wild

where you belong.

Into the wild

where you belong
to live for today,
because you're alive
you survived
yesterday.

And Being Strong Enough to do It

Today we woke to discover
our once loved regrets have become
an empty shoe-box in our heads.

Books full of memories can fill a warehouse
but when we become too blind to read them,

we sink deeper and deeper
into the blackest hole of hurt.

Where aching hearts feel looking forward
is the last thing you should ever do,
and you realize there are many things
you will never be able to see again.

That's when holding on to the one thought
which made you smile most
is the only thing worth reflecting on,

and when you can't remember that smile,
search for the kindness those around
would lend you in your saddest hour.

Be lost,
for a moment,
in an array of recollections in your spirit,
because at times,
the only way to find your way back to today,
is a peak back at the past.

Burn it Down

I'm an outcast of your criticism,
I am the warm sunset
glowing orange with agony
on this rainy beach.

You see me so unpleased
with your insults,
but what you don't see
is my lightening strike
as I set fire to this lonely tree.

You don't see the beauty
in the flames that rise
to make this tree
fall to nothing
but the ash
which is dying
our beach sand black.

That tree will forever
be buried in the sand,
and the tide will carry it off
into the unknown of the ocean.

It's there that you will
meet an orange sun
of your own making

and let the tide
wash away what's left
of your lonely tree.

Ideas

Gathering my thoughts,
getting rid of them.

Clearing my head,
filling it back up
with new ideas.

It's a new day,
of course
it's a new day.

Where does it all lead?

To more days alone
in this empty house.

A dimly lit room
where my thoughts
can take the lead.

All I need is to empty my head
and fill another room
with each thoughtful thing inside.

The Truth of the Matter is

That book was filled with all the pain,
regret and torture endured in the past.

If left alone with my thoughts,
I'd fall into a pit of self harm and self pity,

it was there I leapt off the edge several times,
but never fell knowing how dangerous
I was to myself or anyone else around me.

I held on tightly to this book,
filled it with everything missing in my life,
so someday it could be found.

Thriving for the possibility of my words being dropped
and picked up by someone who could understand
the need for substance in my empty mind.

It became a list of everything wrong with me,
what needed and seemed impossible to change.
I held them deep and close to me,
and often ripped the pages and replaced them
with new ones full of more or less detail.

Reality showed that I wanted to rewrite myself everything
down to the length of my bleeding fingernails,
all because I felt no one could ever love me as I was.

So I began to live the lie I wrote myself until
I met someone who finally read me.
Someone who asked why I felt as I did.

It was a question I never could answer.

That was when everything changed,
when by my own omission, the lies surfaced,
yet this someone could still love me
despite being under the cover of this book.

Someone saw more. . .

The book still exists, but the confused self
and lost people in that life who would follow no longer do.

The someone who asked,
who changed my life,
never left me feeling empty.

Your Lonely Windowsill

She left a candle burning bright
in the darkest shadows of her home-

Where the hills were her finest friends,
and her greatest vision-
a sunset lined with white lace
which she poured on paper in black ink.

Her last request was to torch
what remained of the beautiful scene in ink,
for to her it felt so incomplete.

And for what reason does she throw away
all of her wearisome work?

Is it a vanilla scented casket?
An orchid?
Some blue-field violets?

We left her to rest,
but the world will not
until every single character
she scribed has been seen
by our human eyes.

She yearned for death so long,
yet still lives through every word she once wrote.

Now she's gone,
and all the world wants is her return
for a simple explanation.

It's a cold hint of irony,
an unforgettable one
we all must someday face.

It's all Wavy Lines

No one sees the world the way I do.

Even the lens in my eye is angled oddly,
but that's beside the point because
I'm talking about perspective in it's entirety,
a whole wide view of the world.

Not the separation
between my beliefs and yours,
the big picture.

How I perceive you as an individual,
how I associate your name
with an emotion, color, or your attitude.

I'm talking about how my emotions
move like pictures in my mind,
how I see them as actual colors
and odd shapes of all kinds.

How anger is nearly always red with fury
and often combines with other colors
to show complete indifference.

It's not cut and dry,
as I'm never feeling just one emotion,
and no two are ever alike.

While most people sway to the left or the right
with the color of their individualism,
I swirl and spiral like a crazy combination
of deep reds and violet blues.

I've drawn it several times,
still no one seems to understand.

Although I've never met another like me,
I know I can't be alone in the middle
of all the motion pictures in my mind.

Posthumousity

My life is hanging on a wire
for all of you to acquire.

You see all of my ups and downs,
and all the in-betweens.

Today I could be a Melting Clock,
or maybe a Monet,
or maybe I'm a piece that never sells until
my composers death has come.

Why our accomplishments
suddenly matter more in our death,
I'll never know.

Maybe I was agonized over,
but no one ever lived
to see me thrive.

I do hope that I'm not what my composer
worked a lifetime for,
but felt they never did succeed.

If I do have to be a legacy
someone left behind,
hang me high, light me up.
Let everyone see how hard
someone worked to complete me,

because now that I can finally be called complete,
my creator can rest in peace.

The Power Trip

She left them silent
listening to every lie
she let out,
but the guilt got to her
like a shepherds crook
around the neck.

A bad performance
in bad taste
by a very convincing artist.

She says persuasion is the key

You can make anyone believe anything,
but always at the cost of your conscience.

If you want to be believed;
be realistic,
be relatable,
play the part you know
they'll choose to believe.

Because they only ever
choose to believe
any lie you let out.

Convince them that
you're an honest person,
but wait a second. . .

Wouldn't it just be easier if
I just said no thanks?
I have more important things to do
than learn to be a good liar.

I told her if you want to be believed;
be realistic,
be honest.

I'm here Everyday

The happiness you lack is only temporary,
in our best moments it creeps out to greet me
in the most amazing ways.

So relax and trust me,
I know the feeling is real.

I see how the sadness and anger seep from you,
moving their way into the lives
of those around you every time.

Focus on what to be thankful for;
your wife, your house, your health,
and the life you've worked so hard to live.

Let the lesser fall to dust
and focus on everything
that kept you alive today.