When I reach for the words
Nothing ever sticks
What I mean to say
Never touches lips
It's a farcry from average
But it's all I got,
Afraid, unusable, confused.


Dont you ever wish you were in a dream, but that dream was so real, you could feel all you see. Intertwined with eternity, where the silent pools dwell, you find your way slowly to a deeper well, where the air coalesces and tells you things, what has been, what is now, and what is yet to be. I'm sure if I went there I'd see your face, but would you be looking back to me or to some other place? Afraid like non-other, I'd catch whispers of the wind, encircling its way slowly to the beginning, of sorts. Is it a sport, to always feel out of place, especially when the world keeps turning at its ferocious place. Did you leave me behind or was I never there? I'm afraid to look, as though knowledge changes anything. But the wells in your eyes, still trap me every time. I cant look away, no matter how hard I try. I see you in a photo, and I can't help but smile, and wonder if you think about me every once in a while. I don't think you do, and I don't blame you, If I were in your shoes, I'd look over me too. But that's hardly the point, with my heart on this blade, that cuts me deep with addicting pain. Over distance and time, I watch you live, I could wish for courage to show what I never did. In this forest, this jungle, this cranny abode, the loading emotions do not seem to slow.

Did I hide the sun when I got too close? Were the shadows cast over by the whisp of a ghost. Of the thing that never was, but I wished it would be. As we sat by the table, enjoying the tea. The ants patrolling their dutiful course, and the Sunday sun, slowly setting, behind the iron shed. I look into your eyes, and never wonder why, I can never look away.


Would that I were a butterfly
That you would see as I fluttered by
Perhaps to a twinkle of your eye
As I flapped my wings to your delight
It's a better thing, that one short flight
Than standing helpless in the night
To die in a day, not caring why
But to see the twinkle in your eye.



Sun sets to catch
the backdrop
between the silver platters
the dewdrop
catches fire, in age
thrice bequeathed
standing beneath
the oaken wood stage
we lay our scene
at the feet of a younger generation