When alone in the narrow hours...

When alone in the narrow hours of the night,
my reason takes it's leave, my memory it's flight.

All I am left is with this feeling of doom,
All I bare are the thorns of my anguished gloom,

from the poisonous flower of dismay and unbliss,
for nought, I cannot dismiss,

the keen stings of many a lost ways,
is this how I am destined to pass my days?

Nothing consoles me, I lose my breath,
and wait for the sweet release of death.

Just as I am at the end of my rope,
I see your face and I restore my hope.

Your presence removes the ill and darkened layers,
You are just the call of my unanswered prayers.

I am at peace and I know this to be true,
that boldly, madly, deeply I love you.

Your shining and smiling countenance,
gives me unending subsistence.

And makes me complete and happy in so many ways,
that I be content and blessed for the rest of my days.

Follow the sound of your heartbeat.....

Follow the sound of your heartbeat, for it beats seventy times what you want to do.

Every thump, every beat, every sound in it’s conviction is true.

Go out on that road that calls to,

your steps upon it, the path unknown,  cleared for you.

Forge your way through this quarry of hard stone and desolation,

The end of which rests your elation,

Perhaps your salvation,

From your own created damnation.

At the end of this road, you must stand,

And face your destiny as the man,

You want to be,

With all your temerity, and resolution.

How I write a poem

I have found that I write poetry much easier than prose.  It seems to just come to me, organically.  As though, an instantaneous outburst from within. Words take form, themes take shape, all I have to do is wait and catch the flow of creativity like filtering small specks of gold from the flowing river of inspiration. 

It is hard work indeed, what to write, however to write. Shall I write about the mundane, or the magical of the day to day, or set my task to find for the right moment and subject.

Sometimes, the words appear and then just as soon as they form, they disappear and dissipate like a mirage. Though more often than not, I do find my way in the wilderness of my mind’s own created desert. 

And it is my words that sustain me and quench my thirst, in so many ways.

Other times there is silence; thundering, deafening, roaring silence against my ears.  Sometimes, I listen to that white noise to find the voice within. 

After some struggle, it does speak out to me, like a single note in the cacophony of melodies. 

I seek it out, I tame it and I let it pierce and roar at the world.

The ruined boy's echoes....

Innocence lost, 

once and for all.

In the quickness with which you wounded me

with the weapons of your lust. 

I was left quivering, 

thinking you would have protected me, 

but no....

This story repeats itself,

a thousand times, ten thousand days and more.

I cried for months and moons thereafter,

looking within me 

for the emptiness that still remains. 

How I search still to fill the void, 

with fleeting moments of conjured bliss. 

But it is not to be. 

I still see you as the one who smiled at me, 

and held my hand as you led me to the uncharted lands, 

from where I still have not returned.

All that is left 

are this ruined boy's echoes.....

The Rivers that run bloody...

The Earth bleeds it's life force to nourish her children,
yet the ungrateful progeny only let their mother down.

To Want, to Profit, to Plunder and Reap,
the loot of her virtuous valleys and streams,
her oceans and dreams,
of beautiful lands and grassy reams,
They take from their mother,
She gives back to her sons.

To what end does this destruction persist,
how much longer must she resist,
for they destroy their mother at the expense of their brethren,
the rivers that run bloody with slaughtered kin.

She only knows how to love and give.
Her sons rob her of serenity and bountiful grace,
and insist that she rewards them with an embrace,
and let them ruin her in order to live.

I run

I run,
I run after you.
I run after my happiness like a crazed man in fits of madness. 

I run after the elusive, the unseen, the unfound, I run.

The melancholy,
that swells within my soul's hardened pit,
sharpens the daggers of memories
against the grindstone of my own aging self.

Maybe this time,
it will be different.
Maybe this time,
I will run across the finish line,
to win the champion's wreath.

You ask me if I will run away.
I will run after you.
I will run away with you.
I will run for you.

Will you run away?

Let us both run together,
let's run away. 

The Familiar, the Well-known

The familiar, the well-known,
the company of an old friend.

How your images run in my mind's eye,
laughing, joking, full of life's zest.

I am at peace with you and hope for your return.

Though the spring was sharp in it's sting,
of a lost love's keenness,
I survived and still thrive,
and strive forward.

But you,
you are colorful,
vibrant,
full of mischief and mayhem.

I remember watching you for the first time,
how you made me laugh,
and you still do.