All There Is

They say that romance is dead,
but you'd never know it from the way we behave in this place,
like lovers in a race against time,
a poet who has finally found his rhyme.
And this line is mine
for but a second.

Then thoughts of you
drip through my tiny veins
to do more damage than I can manage
without repair.
Do you care?
It's a silly question, but I need to know the answer.

If romance is dead,
what is there instead,
feelings of dread and regret
that we subject ourselves to for momentary bliss?
No, I can't believe this.
I'd rather be misinformed and naive
than concede that this is all there is.

There must be something else.

Everything About You Is Wrong

Rainbows in shades of black and white
come out in the pale moonlight.
Reaching for stars, I come up with ash.
Lightning strikes and thunder bolts crash.

Look in the mirror and you'll see
a monster standing where the man used to be.
Soulless creature, body still intact;
the paper trail's been picked up, now you're being tracked.

Slithering skin where you touched it,
you can fool the others but I won't forget
that you made the rainbows dark as night,
and sent the heavens into a state of blight

What are you, so powerful and dark,
a disease scheduled to destroy when you miss the mark?

Blind

I live in a world of browns and blues,
brown like your hair and blue like your eyes.
I can't escape the colors even in my sleep.
All the secrets you keep in those azure pools...
is one of them why you left?
Deep as crystal, sharp as glass,
did they see my flaws magnified?
Too large to defend or look past?
Were my hands too rough as I stroked that chocolate down,
soft as rose petals?
Was it the scars on my heart?
They were yours from before,
and they were healing nicely, I thought.
I forgave and forgot, and all for what?
To have my wounds ripped open
by the only one who was still capable of hurting me.
Now I am stone,
not so easy to tear,
while you feel sorry for the next guy.
And while you see a statue, cold and immovable,
he sees a sculpture, a priceless work of art.
And it is I who pities you for your lack of perspective,
your inability to see.

Nonsensical Musings at 4 AM

Cold toes in rows that float away
in a sea of tea to China
with fees to please me,
get off your knees, you foolish tease!
Convince me to stay with your words
if you can.
I demand an explanation for this obsequious vacation
and my elation at your absence is ludicrous at best.
Suitable attire is provided
if you stay in bed 'til all the flags are dead.
And now, as you depart,
my heart must learn to start beating without
your rhythm as a guide.
You can hide all you want but I'll find you anyway
with your cold toes in rows.
You chose to leave,
but it wasn't your choice to make alone.

Prophecy

Molded to perfection by the depths of despair,
the prophecy unfolds, but we are unaware
of our participation in the rebuilding of this civilization.
Destroyed by fire, condemned by the stars,
what are we waiting for?
And then the past revisits, but history does not repeat.
This encounter is different, changed.
We barely know each other after all that has passed.
Awkward and stilted, we converse in seemingly different languages.
How did we manage before?
Then faces and places break through my dreams
and it seems we are joined together again as friends
by visions we don't comprehend.
And as we strive to stay alive
I realize you are not as different as I once thought.
And one day we might even be able to love anew.

Apathy or Cowardice?

Ribbons coat my throat until I choke,
a symphony of cacophony.
Humility abounds as I've found little liberations
among the grounds of coffee in my mug.
Your alliterations allow amnesty
and those who follow me say nothing of the days
when we were judged for our poetry and little more.
Whore!
The accusation rings true for all I do with you,
but it's news to the troops who fight by my side
in a battle of the mind to try to spy
on those who shut them out with barbed wire.
Do you smell fire?
Smoke appears, steering clear of here,
but it's near the aberration of our land - the heart.
Ain't love grand?
So ask me now or hold your tongue:
Am I the one?
Or does it matter?

Untitled

Decipher the meaning as twisted tongues sing silly songs of storms and birds
where every word is nonsense until the proper place and time.
Sing another line.
Write me off or write me out.
It's not about me anymore.
Ships and shores have nothing to do with you or me.
Can't you see?
I'm free from the verses of your undiscerning key;
I deliberately stepped away,
so say what you want to say, it's okay,
as long as you know how far away I've gone from your technicolored dreams
with themes like love and loss
demonstrated by vindication while your purpose is forgotten.
And no one knows that the phrases which are mazes on pages lead to the end
Which lies in your heart.

Lover's Lament

Renegade with a whispered will,
Death holds you close, you draw me closer still.
Silent pleas sink away from the violent reverie;
a touch of masochism finds us retroactively.
A pinch, a dash, a dusting of gold leaf to cover over all
the rottenness deep within, now beneath a gilded wall
of jealousies and sweetness, a silhouette of verse
comes quickly, lovely, fickle, Epicurean in it's course.
And like the fall of Troy or Rome or a dismal fantasy,
your whispers are cut short, too soon, you are taken away from me.

Death Becomes You

Hot as hell with hearts cold as ice,
we dance around the argument with words so nice.
The shots ring out, the losers fall.
And I stop pretending you mean nothing at all.
No retribution, stolen sacrifice;
Forget about me, your unspoken advice.
Coffee splashes my tongue to keep me awake,
Away from dreams of me and you, your biggest mistake.
And while the hidden tears release, hot and sharp on my cheeks like a knife,
I know now that I told the truth when I said I would ruin your life.