Your Last Writes

Formidable scribbles flicker and flash
at the edge of the ash-pit, hearth-light panache
licking and scratching out sparks from the briar
pistol whip cracking your faded flames higher.

Somewhere is seeking the lines of the smoulder
last writes are wreaking a cry on cold shoulder
joyously burning in orange sashay
trembling in twilight, cast out of our play.

Your poems are leaving, iridescent, divine
curling to heaven on the passage of rhyme.

Freedom of Self

When you sit back and let the music play, you realize what's in each song. And by understanding the music, you understand yourself. It's difficult when your selection contains, but isn't limited to, Lamb of God, Papa roach, Korn, Jack's, Trans Siberian Orchestra, And Stephen Speaks. When the selection varies as such, so does what's within. My music is a polished mirror of self reflection. Troubled, random, confused, helpless at times. I don't really understand the aspect of future...But what 16 year old does? In all actuality, I may be the most down to earth person I know. Even when I have lines to follow, coloring my life seems...daunting. Like a Kindergartner, I go crazy with crayons. Mixing greens with blues and reds and oranges. With no regard for lines. I'm not coloring for the lines. I'm coloring for myself. And to color for the sake of coloring is a truly empowering thing. To live for the sake of living, is awe-inspiring.

My writing...everyone asks me what I think as if expecting some life changing reply. Sorry to be a disappointment, but nothing I say can change you. hell, nothing you say can change you. It's what you do that matters. Until you can prove your word to yourself, I won't listen. Until you live for yourself, I will have nothing to do with you.

The truly motivating thing, is that the aforementioned Kindergartner is happy with the "mess" they've created. The mix of blue, green, red and orange is what they've wanted all along. To achieve exactly what you've wanted is amazing. Kindergartners, not unlike myself, have no regard or understanding what's to come. At that age, love, loss, loneliness are things unrehearsed. Things unseen. Almost nonresistant. People say, "Not a care in the world." Well, I believe that, "Not a care for The world," is more accurate. It is when one is truly carefree (not careless) that one is truly free. And freedom is what I admire most. I'm not talking, civil rights freedoms, but the freedoms in ones self. To live to live, color to color. The freedom of self. To express without fear of ridicule. To speak without fear of boundaries. To write without fear of a dry inkwell. Because the truth is, your inkwell is always full, until it runs dry. No middle ground. This world is black and white. Guilty or Innocent? There is no, "I didn't mean to do it!" No take backs, freebies. No, 'Get Out of Jail Free' cards in this Monopoly. One shot. So set up Hotels on Park place, and collect your Free Parking. Color for the sake of coloring. After all, who cares about lines? Who ever listened when we were told not to play in the outlet? How many of us have been knocked on our ass? (If only that dime would have fit, We wouldn't have to force it!)

But alas, we're still breathing. So, the question is, Are we afraid of the socket? Or do we just realize that dimes don't go there?

Poetic Aesthetic

I wish there were a poetic way to remember back to the day, when I ripped my heart out of my chest, and preformed for you at my best. And there, when I was on my knees, I cried and yelled and begged you please. To take from me my last hope, and give me just a sense of home. But instead you looked me in the eye, and simply replied with a question, "Why?" So I explained to you my heartbreak, the landslides left in your wake. Explained to you all my pain, and how I'd do it all again, just to make it how it was, Torture myself again because the way you made me feel was real, the way our hearts beat was surreal. Pounding through my rib cage strong, not a single doubt of wrong doing. I knew that I was in the clear when you shared with me your deepest fear.

It was then you kneeled in front of me, and reminded me of what could be. I wanted nothing more than you, to make all of my dreams come true. And it was then, that night so clear, I showed to you what I held dear. The book I filled with scrawl of pen, memories of now and then.

It was then I realized my wish came true, Finally a new poem for you.

Baby, I Need Another Night With You.

Every breath that escapes these lips is yours.
Every word I write, and each step I take,
Are for you to read, and for you to guide.
I'm living my life for you, make no mistake
You've found me within the shell where I hide.

I scream and I shout,
But you don't seem to hear
I don't deserve you. [I don't deserve you!]
Don't come near...
There's no stopping the truth.

I find myself unable to be still,
It astounds me how you wander with me.
Hand in mine unafraid of anything,
It isn't the dark, it's what we can't see.
You can see it all in passion's bright flame.

We looked all too hard for my heart that night,
To find it hidden where it always was.
Cupped between your careful hands, deep within your heart,
I'd leave it in no other place because,
That's where it's belonged, I've known it from the start

I scream and I shout,
And now I think you hear.
I'm so happy to have you. [So happy to have you!]
Come over here...
There's no stopping the truth.
Baby, I love you.

The Race of Our Lives

Grasped in your hands when they're freezing cold,
Is one more life than just your own.
So be careful, please hold the wheel tight,
Do your best to stay here with me tonight.

Accelerate slowly, push through the snow,
I can wait for you, that you should know.
Keep a safe distance away from my heart,
We'll race through the forest, just wait for my start.

We'll strip down to naught but our skin,
With our thundering hearts the race will begin.
I'll open the door and the flood will release,
The rain will pour down uncovering me.

The tempest blows in with clouds over head,
I'm strumming these strings to what's being said,
The lightning is lighting the sky with a hue,
As I play and I play my storm-song to you.