Friday, June 17, 2011

The low rumble of approaching trains
Silences the clashing of lumbering machinery.
Crickets chirping are soon obscured by the serpentine boxcars.
All of this noise makes what only I hear a lot less dissonant.

I think of you, you, and you.
My priorities are sorted out by the pensiveness evoked by this place.
From love I still find frustration and anger.
A fire still burns, engulfing everything furiously.
The condensation complimentary to this dense humidity, does little to help.

Location is everything.
At this spot, seclusion calls for romance,
But I find it best left untarnished;
There is no need to spoil my Bodhi tree with company.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

I've always been partial towards the north.
It represents a chance for escape,
A chance to relive fond memories,
A chance to create new ones.

Arrival is signified by: ample wood and the scarcity of architecture.
There is more wildlife to converse with than people,
And the people you do see, you might not fully comprehend.
But that's okay, they are there for the same reasons you are.

Clean atmosphere scented by pines and wildflowers
Feeding off a brilliant sun, and lulled by an orchestra of distant stars.
I see my bedtime stories in the night sky,
Offset only by the orange flicker of a fire.

Even on the days which there is no sun and the breeze buckles my knees,
I may find myself cursing the cold, spitting into the wind,
Wondering, "Why am I subjecting myself to this?"
But then I see a break in the overcast,
And glories shine on the horizon.
The light deafens my ears from the sound of crashing waves,
and with the thought of you, I feel warm, if only for a moment.

Friday, June 3, 2011

Love sickness brings home sickness,
Where a warm meal can comfort.
Where someone who you know,
Who loves you, who tells you,
"Everything will be alright."

If "Home is where the heart is,"
Then I'm homeless.
I gifted all the copies of my keys
So I had to leave the door open.
I've been ransacked, stripped clean;
Not a single memento remains.
It seems squatters have taken over.

I have nothing left to do
But move on, and rebuild.
This time I'll never loose heart.
This time, the only way to get in
Will be a secret knock.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

I get stuck thinking.
It's dangerous to be contrary.
The implications overwhelm,
And impulses are suppressed.

Knowing what's best,
All logic is exhausted.
Hours of deliberation,
Beating around bushes,
Only to always agree,
Upon all that we should.

Yet my mind's still turning,
Yearning for clarity
On a muddled path.
Only knowing my desire;
That is clear.

In the silence, take part
In counting the disks
Along the curvature of
A spine hunched over,
Weighed down in the dark;
Rigid wanting to act supple.
Not a care about looks
In any light, let me
Ease your burden.
Am I sick to think that
I am that strong?