For Perhaps Here, Anything Exists

where do our words go

when we whisper the night

do they run together

a poem written

by our souls

our desires 

our passion

where do our heartbeats go

when they leave us

do they go together

find their way

across the miles 

and hours 

and lifetimes

where do our thoughts go

when we dream in unison

do they become one

telling a story

about each other

for each other

to each other

Where do we go?

When we leave each other?

Do we find ourselves in the same place?

Maybe emotionally

Maybe spiritually

Maybe physically

Welcome to My Poetry (Or, All About Nothing)

After a lengthy hiatus, I have returned. To all my faithful followers (no one?) I apologize for my absence. For those just joining the party, welcome! I hope you enjoy your stay. Or at least find something that makes you smile. Or, at the very least, think. Maybe you like, maybe you hate. Hopefully you don't nothing. That being said, I think I'll let the rest of my words speak for themselves. As if they ever do otherwise. Oh yeah, the poems are written in reverse chronological order. Without nothing you have nothing.

Life, or Me

As I breathe life
Into that which deserves life
I discover, upon breathing, that I am life
And yet, that which, deserving though it may be, receives life
Receives nothing, but life
Being what it is, requires a vessel without life
So while looking for that into which I will breathe life
I started with those things without life
And as I began breathing, realized that perhaps it did not deserve life
And so withheld said life
Still, nothing stopped me, except myself so I decided instead that perhaps life
Was not a decision to be made by anyone, except he who grants life
That is to say, me.

To know thyself

Would that I had never known me!
To have been ignorant, so many years,
And died a blissful death,
Without ever having met me
For there was hardly room enough before me.
And now
     I choke, stifled by the presence of one who will never leave.
He is always here.
And I am always here.
And we duel for control over my body.
     My mind.
          My everything.
               My nothing.

And

And does inspiration spring,
     like hope eternal from some unknown watcher in the sky?

Have you seen them too?

From a sudden burst of inspiration from work come these new poems. They are more or less about the same thing as everything else I write: Nothing.

___________________________________________________________________________________
I have seen the eyes that stare recklessly through the windows.
Have you seen them too?
They watch, waiting for the day when sparks fly like fury from your fingers.
They long to see the graceful swoops
   The flowing twirls.
Then they steal it
   From right under your pen.
      They grab.
And you are left
   With nothing.

To know thyself, part 2

"Live with yourself,"
    They say.
"Love yourself,"
    They admonish.
"Learn your true nature, and revel in it."
This is an impossible request,
One lightly given
    And never fulfilled.

He is ignorant who believes
You can live by yourself
    With yourself,
    For yourself.
       And still BE yourself.
Why do they demand this of me?

Everything is everything and nothing.

Happiness is good.
Happiness comes to those who live a full life.
And who are on the path to fulfill their dreams.
Contentedness is good.
Contentedness comes to those who have found peace with themselves.
And who know where they are going, and what they'll do when they arrive.
Anger is bad.
Anger comes to those who can't find the joy in every day situations.
And who don't know how to express their suppressed passions.
Turmoil is bad.
Turmoil comes to those who have never settled down.
And who don't know what it means to find love.

Happiness is bad.
Happiness comes to those who ignore reality.
And who don't see the pain and suffering and sadness in the world.
Contentedness is bad.
Contentedness comes to those who have stopped trying to improve.
And who are willing to settle where they are.
Anger is good.
Anger comes to those who hate the status quo.
And who want to see evil brought to justice.
Turmoil is good.
Turmoil comes to those who have never stopped struggling.
And who will continue to fight long after everyone else has stopped.

Happiness is nothing.
Contentedness is nothing.
Anger is nothing.
Turmoil is nothing.

Wasted

I looked upon the end of the world.
It was … boring.
I always thought it would be bright,
    Like an explosion.
Or dark,
    Like deep space.
But, it wasn’t.
I had hoped that it would be painless,
    So we wouldn’t get hurt.
I thought it would probably be excruciating,
    As would be our luck.
But, it wasn’t.
It was just plain.
You never expect the end of the world.
    But you expect it to be boring even less.
If I could’ve made my own end of the world,
    I wouldn’t have.
I looked upon the end of the world.
I looked upon the end of the universe.
I looked upon the end of time.
What a waste.

Musings On Love

This poem was written at a point when my heart was trying to mend itself. I won't discuss what had happened to it, as that is a moment best forgotten anyway. Suffice it to say that this poem is rather interesting. I almost don't want to call it a poem, but that's what it is. I can't argue with fact.

How can we ever truly know what Love is?
Do we believe our hearts?
Do we follow our minds?
Or do we just do what feels comfortable?
Does Love involve taking chances?
In that case, do we weigh the risks against the benefits?
Or do we just go along with it?
Love is such a lonely road.
It goes on and on,
And often, you are by yourself.
Oh, sure, you pass others, and some walk with you,
But you continue on, ever forward.
Sometimes you turn around,
And go back the way you came,
But then you lose sight of the goal.
Is there a goal?
Or does the road just continue on forever?
Are we always working towards something greater?
Or are we meant to travel the path with someone else?
What if you never run into that someone else?
What if you leave them behind?
How will we ever know?
Can we ever truly know our True Love?
Perhaps we never do.
I hope that when my True Love shows,
I will not pass her on for something "greater."

Always On My Mind

This poem is really not too far from the truth. This continues this lonely romantic streak of mine. I fixed up the end a little bit. It's rather interesting. Hope this one either makes you smile, or makes you think. One name comes to mind as I'm writing this poem. And she knows which name I'm thinking about.

From the moment I wake up
Until I lay back down to sleep,
And even in-between,
You're on my mind.
I can't stop thinking about you.
Every romantic film I watch,
Every love song I hear,
Reminds me of you.
Words pour out of my heart
Emotions stream from my mind
And they all belong to you.
The loneliness I feel during the day,
The chill brought on by night
Is all the distance between us.
And yet, I wonder if these thoughts
    These feelings
Are mine alone.
Should I continue in this course
Or will it only lead to a sadness
Greater even than this?
Do you feel the same way?
I may never know.
Perhaps it's better that way.
Maybe my loneliness is sweeter
When I've something to hope for.
Maybe my dreams are more delightful
When it's a love based only on my feelings.
I can only imagine you feel much the same way,
But due to circumstances are unable to tell me.
Oh for a day when secrets can be shared,
And the mists of confusion banished.
Either way,
You
Are always on my mind.