he.

far across the deepest blue,
under great waves of force,
swirling sea gulls and blue tunas,
lies a boat without a row,
and he stands there.

deep inside the darkest caves,
under scary webs of silk,
creeping spiders and black scorpions,
sits a lamp barely lit,
and he waits there.

high above the whitest skies,
under the gazing stars,
swift eagles and bald vultures,
floats a balloon unattached,
and he wonders there.

he gazes upon these wonders,
and he looks up,
closes his eyes,
and he navigates from one to another.

myself ain't thyself.

the mind thinks of wonders,
the eyes see shooting stars,
the ears hear classic and jazz,
and the mouth speaks of everything.

in thyself, much is said not done,
in thyself, much is thought not rethinking,
in thyself, much is provoked not considering,
in thyself, much is consumed not digesting.
and in thyself, flattery fills.

in you then i place my word,
in you then i put my self forward,
in you then i lie silent.

and we wait,
for all that is bound to take place,
and we see,
for all that is about to happen.
and we make progress,
in thyself and myself.

to you.

these words shall not last long,

for it is said and then it is gone,

gone in its way,

it leaves a track,

a track so hard it's indelible,

these words shall not last long,

for it is uttered and then is heard no more,

leaving behind nothing,

but a crying child and an abandoned wife.

these words shall not last long,

for it is muttered so hastily,

it is soon forgotten,

yet it stalks from time to time,

denting the tough spirit,

breaking the soft heart.

these words shall not last long,

for it is yelled out without fear,

and then it dissolves away,

into the deep hearts and minds of a man,

making the sane insane.

these words shall not last long,

and in irony, 

no matter how few it is stringed,

or how elaborate it is explained,

the words never leave without a scar;

i love you not. 

 

by the passing of you.

in this passing i realized,
never leave what comes to you,
love, happiness, pain, tears,
for it leaves soon before you know,
leaving a pang of emptiness behind.

in this passing i realized,
it is difficult for one to commit to what others have,
without a choice, we take it,
and in this glory of faith we put it,
of the things that we hold,
it turns back at us,
leaving a pang of emptiness behind.

in this passing i realized,
no matter what grief it gives you,
no matter how deep it hurts you,
no matter where it stabs you,
no matter when it hits you,
ask him for less than more,
ask him for little but much,
ask him for lighter not heavier,
and in this passing,
it will be become better.
soon.

not me, no, not me.

no this is not me,
lying in this place,
lurking from the corner of the block,
awaiting for you to show up,
only to run into hiding when you do,
no this is not me.

no this is not me,
sitting here alone,
perched on this seat with tea,
looking out in case you'd showed up,
and then i look back at my drink,
put the bill in and walk away,
no this is not me.

no this is not me,
waiting for the bus,
poised on this stop like a washed man,
with his umbrella in hand,
and then it comes,
along the rain it washes us,
both me, my umbrella, in this stop,
no this is not me.

no this is not me,
tapping my feet,
and thinking of how much we have drifted apart,
and then i bit my lip,
and it bled,
and then you were there,
and i walked away, leaving,
no this is not me.