Glass door

In silence there is peace
From your damned words
What would you say to me anyway
Except more you wish things were different

Whereas my silence is all you ever want changed

Atlantic Breeze

And if I was a true poet I would be able
To put into prettier words the translation
Your hair makes of the breeze
As though God herself were trying to tell me

I am here, and she is here because I am here for you.

Pancake House

Our miserable existence
For the generations before me i leave behind
A legacy of suffrage, sacrifice and accrued dreams
And lastly disappointment that they too passed the buck

At best you will only ever be served what you ordered

Heming's way to the Keys

This god damn sunset
Won't it just fall already
So that the people will scatter
And have to face how dark it really is out there

Only then can they really relate to me, or I to them

Life is in the middle

It began not with the big bang
But with dew gently caressing the leaf
Just as life starts when you open your eyes
Not when the clock strikes minute one

And it will end before the clock finds out too

At a not so mere glance

You would have been beautiful
In any era in any land
To possess you for myself would
Be a crime to the public domain

From what well then would the artist drink

This night

Vibrant sky, illuminate the night
Bring joy to the youthful spirit
And woe to the exhausted
Eyes closed to the now yearn for only darkness

In darkness tomorrows are lost and yesterdays found

Citizen

Who am I, but the person
I kept secret in my youth
And voiced in my maturity
While defined by the opposite

When do we choose our identity

Last call

The party is winding down
And has been for years
Some friends left without you knowing
Grown tired of sleeping through sunrises

Evermore tired of star-gazing from below