Archaic

i lie sleepless in my bed. at a time when sleep should have come hours ago. my mind circling around a single thought, a single person that i wish to remember.

with slight hesitating i get up and re-awaken my computer from its own slumber. as if jealous that i cannot sleep so easily. i sit as it wipes the crust out of its eyes and i think.

motionless as a thought process begins to unravel. can i bring myself to accomplish what it is i set out to do; write about a missed one, someone who i wish to see once more? spiraling, twisting, turning, falling.

there it is. the answer. awaiting me. and i can breathe yet again. i don't miss him anymore.

Choking on Thrown Stones

I lay awake at night

pondering aimlessly in my bed

as I allow the music fill my ears

and await for a nightly visitation

from the man who keeps the sand

time passes and I lay awake

holding restless aches within

venturing as to where I may find

a glass of water to soothe my mind

returning to my scene of slumber

upon my bed an imp sits in wait

staring through me before upon me

it smirks and nods as to giving a gesture

one that shall suggest my bed lay empty

as to follow its benign nature

it preforms in an act of vanishment

the hour upon this night in which I wake

seems to have become too late

closing of eyes to ponder once more

for the coming of nightly tomorrow

it may lay in wait yet again

grief stricken

Tapping upon translucent glass as if none had seen it. Vibrations disturb the hands that hold so much responsibility yet cannot hold anything at all. Moments flickering, stopping, starting, then jumping to as where they do not belong, creating a sensation of dismay.

Tapping on the glass and moments pause, skip ahead and become lost, rewriting history as if never to have happened upon Earthly ground. Shattered thoughts, robbed from those who once dreamed of such delights.

Tapping on the glass and the memories fade, become lost and never to have happened.

Least They Know

cover your mouth
less the evils crawl out
twist and turn
to mold into what
cannot be seen
under the power of control

Speak of Black

i stand upon the top
it over looks all
and all i wish to see
one step to make me
take it and i could have all
that is there that lies before me
yet i dont know which way it is
one step to break me
take it and it all comes crashing down
nothing or no one to save me

Five O' Clock Shadow Before the Dawn

you hold a gun in your hand

but can you see what I hold in mine

that tongue of yours never seems to sleep

as mine is always looked upon

for an answer that cannot be heard

for I am nothing like you nor will I be

you may choose to turn your head

or close your eyes in this changing time

but mine are open and hand stretched forth

for we both know things will change

regardless of how ignorant

you may choose to be

ignorance may be bliss

but your bliss is just a defence

for what is and has come to be

like all defences this one too

will begin to crack and come to pass

Nothing But Lines

rain drops filled with a single memory

each falling of rain like the telling of a story

here within a time and a place

each rain storm is transformed into

the telling of a thousand lives and beyond

wind does blow an the words are shaken

they fall one after another

coming together altering rainfall

into an endless story

puddles grow and time does fade

the rains are gone and the words have stopped

reflecting emotions grow louder as the

air is filled with an abundance of an earthly silence

once rested grey skies now begin

to transition into a speckled black

a nightly abyss holds its own secrets

flickering, twinkling, telling;

this endless endeavor too has something to say