Drop Your Head To Avoid Eye Contact

"fair point," said Greg the robber.

"although the pond yet lies stagnant," proclaimed Colby as he noticed that Greg began to stare at the sky while saying "i blame it on the moon with such a luminous glow, she confuses what to be day and what night."

"She cannot always hold the sway of the water, as she does hide herself to mirror the pendulum's swing," defending the one who cannot speak.

"they mustn't be allowed the pleasure of loosening their tongue from teeth," Greg protested in alarm to that of Colby's defense.

"all cannot be controlled my friend," Colby uttered throwing his words to the wind while moving toward Greg, "let us go home before we shame another that cannot raise a hand in anger."

Only When You Close Your Eyes

leaving you entangled within its wake it doesn't look back for that is not in its nature. saturated eyes hidden under red hue of swollen mess. lungs without a hold on the air they so long for, you gasp in search of more but find nothing in a state of panic. body trembles in a state of disbelief as a fear lingers above that it might once again show its grueling face. images in motion with voices to match make up the thoughts that force their way before your eyes. once place to rest your heavy head now has become a tomb to the tears that you've shed, dampening the fabric for more than just the state of evaporation. the lights have long gone and the room looks solely at you, amplifying the reason of needing contact with another.

They Paint Their Eyes Into Dreams

her pale skin and coarse hair

forces moments to pass by in pieces

stone melts before the caressing touch of rain

while leaves are conquered by the fluttering of gravity

striation upon silken skin maps her thinking at will

easy spoken doors open into a drunken state

leaving the stiff face of time to shutter

courteous clouds grace the unwanting face of moon

Catalyst for Transcending

Without essential items, nothing can or could be. A thought cannot become reality, silica cannot become a window, and a seed cannot flourish into a plant. This seed, under the correct conditions, has the ability to remain in a suspended state for years, possibly decades if it’s not allowed to reap the benefits of the earth and its abundance of variant life sustaining matters. Without the presence of these essential items the seed remains nothing but a seed. It cannot grow; it has not the possibility of harvesting sunlight for the creation of its food. It shall never be forced to fight through hard times of the dry season’s drought. It has no chance, no opportunity to say “goodbye” to something that was not there to begin with.

One seed may germinate into something beautiful but it takes a handful of seeds to create a flowing cohesive junction. A singular tree has the ability to bring positive attention to home’s curb appeal, but it takes an entire forest to ensure the wealth of this planet. Something as simple as a seed has the potential, if given the chance, to give and create wealth in such harmony; priceless for the outcomes may be never ending.

This image of a lonely seed begins to bloom into a whole new picture. An image, a story, a piece of art that takes on a new meaning before the viewer’s eyes as if shown in a different spectrum of light, yet remains physically unaltered. It starts with a shift in direction, a change in point of view. Unearthed within its hues, its dynamic, its whole composition is a story, a journey of what can, of what could, of what has not yet come to pass. With time a whole, finished picture may come into view.

The Sound of Someone Walking

“You should not say never for it takes away the characteristics of the house at hand,” said the Hatter to the Hare as the matter of the issue was overlooked.

I take music in pill form and swallow it dry. It leaves the most peculiar taste as it rolls down my throat. After the music hits me I drown the outside noises with a perspiring glass of emotional writing. It soothes the scratching the pill left and calms the war mongering cells within. Yet this combination leads to fly bys in radio controlled balloons. So ill listen to your brother Jake as I fall to my pillow remembering the days that I have been told came to pass. “Are you well?” She asked as she gazed into his catatonic eyes with a smirk on her face and a forced tear running down her nose. “...I’m fine...,” he claimed as he closed his eyes, “...I’m just anticipating the sight of you leaving,” and fell asleep.

“Fear not my dear for I am fine, and safe at that. I sit among a table of angles,” he said while the small child at his feet began to weep.

Air Filled Bottles

peering out the window will not be as it was the day before. each gaze becomes anew. a different thought. a varying memory. a new memory. a different time. under different circumstances. different reason. a different you. me. he. she. them. they. a whole new experience. the only variant that has but to change is the window itself. an object that allows and creates such variance, yet it itself has none.

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.