Archive for August, 2013


Blowing winds tend to lead one to where
right and wrong become clear as pure water
inside of a pair of crystal goblets
among crude mugs of stone and molded clay
next to men whose power over our world
never takes into consideration the welfare of
everyone making up the populace of this planet.

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Place with No Sound

You’re the most brilliant girl I’ve ever met,
but if I can’t be your man, then I have to forget.

There isn’t a point in waiting for the sake of poetry.
This is real life, and I can’t keep pain from flooring me.

While you’d be worth the patience of sticking around,
I can’t remain rooted in this place with no sound.

You told me how you felt before,
and I realize every word you spoke was true.
I’d never heard such genuine speech,
but it killed me to know I wouldn’t be with you.

So please forgive me for moving on,
and giving up on what may come.
I’ve loved you more for far too long,
and no response has left me numb.

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Coffee Shop

The night is coming to a close
as the baristas clean up the local café,
placing chairs on top those tables
at which no caffeine addict is sitting,

and I suppose since I’m the only one
still occupying a spot here, my mug long empty,
the poem I’ve been writing, the one
about the coffee shop closing for the night,
should be packing up and going home as well.

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Pour out your mind onto a book of blank pages.
Free your thoughts from their suffocating cages.

Share your creativity with the world if you’d like.
When it comes to writing, there’s no wrong or right.

Don’t be afraid of the colorful places your pen might take you.
No matter where you go, one piece doesn’t make or break you.

The process of putting all of your words together may appear hard,
but just have patience, building something beautiful shard by shard.

Any form of art will always be worth it in the end,
for it continues to exist even after you’re dead.

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A pleasant, subtle breeze
tiptoes its way into my bedroom
through the open window,
thinking it’s passed by unnoticed,

but little does it know,
I’ve been recording its every move
in this journal of mine,
now the subject of a humble poem.

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As we danced under the beauty of the tender, glowing moon,
morning sun was trying its best to gradually creep up on us,
a jovial yet sinister object that would inadvertently shed light on
what night had the ability to cover under a blanket of ink.

But to focus on that then would have been to spoil the moment,
where even lust bore the convincing appearance of glamour
and the only thing that stopped us from owning the universe
was the choice to let a piece of it go for the sake of manners.

I took your heart in my hands because you said I could,
and to feel its steady, reliable beating reminded me of
the comfort and ease in which I once lived my insipid life,
so I desperately placed it back into the cage of your chest
and grabbed your curvy, bewitching hips to pull you closer.

Our lips started smoking as fire devoured inhibition.
The earth was our bed of most logical, passionate love,
and never again will there be a night such as that one,
a series of events no writer of fiction could imagine,
a mount of shared secrecy no climber will ever scale.

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At times the skies above become a most depressing gray,
but your deep, brilliant eyes are continually blue.
They make up for every cloud gorged with looming rain,
and through them I find eternal rest beside you.

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