Writer's Block

His mind was blank, like the sheet on his desk.


The pencil obeyed swiftly in scratches of lead,
And his thoughts ran around like mice in his head.
The paper remained blank; he let out a sigh,
Watching as the page sucked his thoughts dry.

A white square that seemed to open the air,
To empty his head of the ideas he kept there.
The wastebasket filled with ball after ball
Of crumpled up paper, he tossed them all.

He looked at his watch, it was late in the night,
A comfortable bed was just on his right.
But he pushed on with one goal in his mind,
To finish one story, whatever one he could find.

So the hours rolled by, and still he remained,
He tried to invent stories, rhymes he all feigned.
The poem was done, but it was not what he sought,
So it went in the trash without a second of thought.

And finally he finished, with a smile on his face,
One page, with an effort, like running a race.
So where is this story that made him furrow his brow?
It's the poem you're reading on blogspot right now.

Unsaid

There were so many things he never said,
Buried deep inside the recesses of his head,
And now she's gone he wonders what they were,
The words unspoken between him and her.

His mouth was always closed in fear,
Never saying what she wanted to hear,
Until the day that she passed away,
And now he wishes for things to say.

Things like 'I love you' and 'I love you too,'
'I need you here,' 'I only want you,'
The words he never said in all her life,
Stab inside him like a twisting knife.

He was never there, with work and play,
Leaving her to wait at home all day,
At night he'd sleep, too tired to talk,
And day after day it was no longer a shock.

She faded slowly like a whisper of air,
He never noticed until she wasn't there,
And then he was there, and she was gone,
He finally realized what he did wrong.

Now he lives his life all alone,
No children to tell of, none of his own,
No reminders of her and no memories but one,
How he had treated her and what he had done.

He stands by a gravestone with flowers in hand,
Tears gently falling into the darkening land,
His mouth slowly moves, 'I love you,' he states,
But his greatest regret is now it's too late.

Save Yourself

I wrote this a while back. Short, depressingly dark, and different than my current state of mind. But it's still relevant and real.


It's a very sad world we live in,
Where people kill themselves,
Mothers smother their babies,
And families are torn apart.

Close to home though...
We're so happy in our world.
There's a lot of peace,
And beauty,
In all that we experience.
Or is there?
I'm not emo,
No doubt you might think so.
I'm merely realistic,
To the point of fatalism.
I like to take the truth,
Not lies.
And what I see...

It's so harsh when your friends
Whisper behind your back.
It's cold when the people you love
Hurt themselves in vain.
It's terrible to feel that deep
Jagged wound,
Straight into your very soul,
Stabbed in the back,
By the people you believed in.
You thought they would understand,
But they understood nothing.
You thought you understood,
But you understood nothing.
Ignorance is not innocence,
But Sin.
Yes, you might have loved me,
If you had known me.
If you'd have taken the time,
To walk through the deep rivers
Of my dreams and memories.
Yes, you might have...
But no, it's alright.
It was a dark river we were both
Swept down...
And it was either you or me,
One or the other would live.
But I'll let you know.
You chose to save yourself...
And I would have chose to save you too.

The Heart Speaks Many Words

What does the heart say to you?

Hands entwined, facing a world unknown,
Terminus at every corner, a boundary at every door.
To step into the light and chase away the shadows.


I'll walk with you the lonely roads, holding together your ragged seams,
Chasing away the nightmares that plague you in your waking dreams.
Wiping the tears from your face and throwing them into the sky,
Swashing the night canvas with the rainbows of your eye.

Holding your heart in my hands, fragile as a melting snowflake,
My breath on your neck, lips near ears, so afraid you'll break,
Kissing your eyelids and hushing the loud noises of the world,
To watch the blooming of a delicate flower, or a bright flag unfurled.

Notes of a swelling chorus, playing a melody on my heartstrings,
A rising flood of emotions, with piercing sharp pangs and stings,
Wounded by your whispering voice and the touch of your hands,
Trapped forever in an endless hourglass, beneath the falling sands.

And now the frozen, lifeless land has begun to bloom once more,
Bringing the pained and broken spirit back to the way it was before,
The ice of solidarity drips from my skin, the frost from yours,
Thin rivulets of flowing water erasing all the earthly sores.

Catching the music spun by the soul in clear jars made of love,
Hands clutched tightly together with the strength of a soaring dove,
Sewn together with the stitches of laughter, and held by a single pin,
Hope and grace so pure, in souls united, untouched by the hand of sin.

And now, rising to the finale, a crashing crescendo of pain forgot,
One soul in two bodies, the greatest miracle that loving God has wrought,
And even as the chorus fades, the music softens and rises above,
And finally, we're flying on the beautiful wings of love.

This is Not a Love Story

May 27, 2008

Have you ever been in love?

The terror of eternity in a single touch,
Changing noble independence into twisted reliance,
Like a subtle kiss from a whispering vampire,
Bit through the heart and wounded beyond repair.

A promise of loving large, but hurting large,
Struggling for words like a drowner for air,
Chained together so that any short absence
Tears mercilessly and painfully at the strings.

The red-tinged stain of broken hearts, rejected,
Crushed underfoot like a small and fragile flower,
Eating into hearts, dissolving inhibitions,
And grinning with smiles of fearful longing.

More afraid of change than destruction,
Hearts held hostage by the cruelest of masters,
Taking off masks with a soft, cold hand,
Stealing away time like a thief in the night.

Burning lips, minds, hearts and thoughts,
Twisted, distracted, paranoid and afraid,
So simple a phrase, "Maybe we could just be friends,"
Brings the world crashing down on the knees of hope.

Alone

If I die before I wake,
My soul to lose, or is more at stake?
In my mind the crying masses
Touch my body as it passes.

And as it drops there's not a sound
Just a whisper as it hits the ground.
Words are passed, memories shared,
"He was so young, I wasn't prepared."

All my friends go home in tears,
and leave me be, beyond earthly fears.
But life is much more harsh than this:
Men die alone, no one last kiss.

No hand to hold, no one beside,
Just the emptiness they feel inside.
No one to mourn, no grave to mark,
Their resting place far in the dark.

As time goes on, they fade as well,
No memories on which to dwell.
Unremembered, and unrecalled,
Discarded, trashed and uninstalled.

Smile

I always wondered where I learned to smile.

With the red-tinged teeth of splintered glass,
A gash in the face like a knife wound.
A line made with mirth and memory, from
Ear to ear, from thought to thought.

A row of tombstones behind cracked and broken lips,
A razor edged tongue spitting words through a wound.
Life's comedies and tragedies bled out,
In jeers and shouts and greeting to the gray world.

A cut with a mental blade across the jaw,
Drawing words out with a provocation.
Sharp slashes that slice away skin and bone,
Revealing the soul inside, like a wrapped present.

A sharp jolt of shock from mind to mind,
Expressions of this and that, spraying out.
Holes in the masks we craft for ourselves,
A tear, a peek through the fabric of the facade.

Odd

We're a little bad, yes, but it's just how we swing.
Sometimes, the world seems to fall apart, you know?
It's like, some sort of fairytale we're living;
There's always that 'happily ever after,'
Happy people, happy days, round and round
Ashes to ashes, and we all fall down.
Cause, you know, don't be afraid to go on a wild goose chase.
What do you think wild geese are for, anyways?
Our lives are social whirlwinds, a dance of life and death,
And sometimes, there's this person you like,
But they don't like you, and it makes you sad,
And to be honest, you didn't like them that much anyways,
But you know you're lying to yourself, until they say something;
And you remember why you don't really like them.
And it might be the other way around,
But you can't really tell who likes you, because it's just that hard.
And instead, you try playing this game of life,
Over and over, day by day you struggle through the crowds,
trying to find your way,
It's like a story book, but one of those ones
Where you have no idea what's happening,
Because the pictures are all jumbled
And nothing seems to be in order,
And the story sucks, and you think
'The author must have been on crack'
Or something like that.
But the truth is, you know that it's yourself that's been dying slowly,
And growing more used to this everyday monotony,
Waking, working, sleeping, living,
And life seems worthless now, but you keep on living, for whatever.
Please the people, please yourself,
One day, near the end, you'll look back and find yourself at the start.
Because, you know, life and death are the two sides of the same string.
Then you start remembering all the things you did, and some things,
They can make you smile, and other things, they make you cry.
And it's the same thing when you reach the end of a really good story,
And you feel really sad that it's over.
But some people, they're kind of happy, because, you know,
They had a sucky, crappy, fucked-up life,
So they're glad it's finally over. But then they realize,
That they're lying again, and it's not really that bad to live.
We sit back, watch TV, with great shows like 'Friends' and you know,
We wish sometimes our lives were perfect, fairytale lives, like on TV,
Or in good books, but like we said before,
We know our lives are really crappy, like bad stories that are all screwy,
But you know, you don't wanna try anything new or adventurous,
Cause people like that get locked up in padded rooms,
Strapped into straitjackets, biting their lips off,
Or are dead.
Which is really weird, because in fairytales, there's always some sort of danger,
But we want it without the danger, and just the happy ending.
Life is either a daring adventure story, or nothing,
We can see nothing as a miracle, or everything as a miracle,
Or something along those lines.
Cause you can walk down the dirty, grey, smoggy streets,
With these soulless people walking next to you,
And live in this weird, fucked-up world of monotony and bleakness,
And complain about everything, because the world is really ugly.
Or you can take the time to sort of look at the world in a different way.
But really, in the end, it's up to you.
Cause no one will live forever,
Well, at least not until they come up with that weird cryonics thing,
Or a magic potion of everlasting life, like in those video games and movies.
But you know, until then, we're the living dead.
And it's going to come faster than we expect, which is kinda sad.
So we have to make our lives a fairytale, while it lasts.
And, you know, we go to school,
And it's really fucked-up, and our parents will say it's a privilege,
But you don't feel like it, and you sleep in lectures,
Or fuck about in class, and feel like your brain is gonna explode.
And then you hang out with your friends after class,
And talk about music, or people, or the new video games coming out,
And sometimes, you can be really mean and gossip about people,
Which is sorta natural, cause they might deserve it,
And then you go home, and do some homework, but you get distracted,
And eventually end up on Facebook, or Myspace, or MSN, or wherever;
Then you go to sleep, glad another day is done,
But then again, that means you're one day closer to dying.
And you didn't do anything that great.
In fact, it was kinda bad.
And some people promise themselves they'll do something,
And they even write it down in the little agendas they carry,
But they forget, and some of those things screw everything up,
Like dates, or tests, or handing in papers,
And then they regret it, and life changes for the worse,
And sometimes, those people break open windows and jump out,
Or hurl themselves off cliffs,
Or go out and massacre a crowd.
Life isn't weird, but it's just the people in it,
And the world isn't screwed up, it's just the people in it.
Some people like us, we like some people,
But sometimes, people act on instinct,
And things get all screwed up, and then people get hurt,
And relationships aren't the same, and people fly by others,
Like those little paper airplanes we used to make way back,
And eventually, we just die, and then we're seriously screwed.
Cause we realize our lives have been as short and pointless,
As those little fruit flies we swat at,
Or ants, where they live every day exactly the same,
And work for the improvement of the hive.
Like the human hive, swarming puddles of people everywhere,
Just mindless like ants, trying to make the world a better place,
But really, not doing that much,
And then they die.

And we realize one day,
That we're just a little odd.

Sacrifice

Sacrifice
May 28, 2007

Home in the Valley of Darkness.

Too many problems,
Not a day goes by,
Where I don't wish
People would just...
Get along.
So many people,
So many problems,
Not enough solutions.
What can I say? What can I do?
There's not much you can do
To put things to rights.
Yes, we try, but yes, we fail,
And honestly? I'm a little
Sick.
Sick of people doing things
Just for themselves.
Sick of the selfish nature,
The idea that
'Someone else can handle it'.
Sick of the apathy,
Ignorance,
Hypocrisy.
You can say, 'Let someone else
Handle it, just this once.'
But
Who else will do it?
Would you sacrifice yourself?
Would you die on a cross?
Be shot for justice?
Take a bullet for a stranger?
Would you hate life,
To make another's life better?
Where do we go from here?
Where do we go
From a world of Insanity?
To the other side of Despair?
Honor? Courage?
Outdated concepts?
Too many questions.
Too many problems.
Not enough solutions.

Who am I?

Who am I?

I'm a sailor, on the sea of life,
Tossing and turning with the wave,
Never knowing what lies ahead,
Except the stillness of the grave.

I'm a explorer, in the wild,
Never seeing past my own nose,
Like life, like jungle, and all between,
Wherein I wander, no one goes.

I'm a worker, at the shops,
Toiling away, day ere day,
Past hours, weeks, months and years,
I kill myself, to earn my pay.

I'm a poor man, on the streets,
My life is cruel, and hard to boot,
I'm lost and starved and never safe,
Just like life, the point is moot.

I'm a migrant, in a strange land,
Outcast here, no home I find,
My life is lost, I have no hope,
To linger here is to break my mind.

I'm a hero, never-born,
Son of gods and spinner of fate,
Quest and journey, shield and sword,
I'll never rest, at any rate.

I'm a person, in my own right,
I'm lost and tossed and dead inside,
But what I find within myself,
Is hope, and faith, and naught to hide.

Illusion

I once met an invisible girl.
She was unnoticable, like made of glass.
Her invisible hand reached out and touched my own.
She was clear, unseen to all except me.

To ask me to describe happiness?
It's like asking the rocks what it's like to fly.
Or to ask fish about deserts.
How can you describe what you have never felt?

I don't know how to seperate the two.
Those who have fed my distaste for humanity.
And those who as yet have not.
Can illusion meet reality?

She touched my arm, but I felt nothing.
And soon she was gone too,
Just a memory of what I could have had,
A memory of what could have been.

Sun will shine,
And moon will rise,
But we who walk under their light,
Are doomed to tread in darkness.

The Bad Ones

One more goddamn day,
Swimming in this pool of sharks,
Marked with blood,
Stained with sin,
Disturbed beyond all reason.

You will remain behind,
Power unrestrained,
Delivered unto death,
Pain, like crying in the dark,
And shivering in the cold outdoors.

Evil cannot cover its eyes,
Nor deafen its ears, or close its mouth.
Leave the weak, clear your mind,
Walk away from your memories,
And fall down by the forsaken air.

Close your eyes to this devastation,
Hold yourself now, never give in,
Look behind, the mass destruction,
Try to relate to your suffering,
Light your path beside your feet.

Hold me now, replicate love,
Give in to darkness,
Evil will conquer you,
And you will walk alone,
Trying to escape.

Cry, child, and let the bad ones take you away.

Love

Have you ever been in love?
That's the title of one of my favourite quotes.
A lot of people say different things
About Love.
The Bible says Love is kind,
Gentle, Pure, not-sexy-until-marriage,
And a lot of other stuff.
People tell me love is special,
Love is cool,
It just feels
Right.
Some people, they tell me
They hate love.
Because it gets inside them,
All inside their armor,
Breaks them up from the inside.
I'm not exactly experienced,
So I can't tell you what I think of love,
Personally.
But this is what I've seen:
Love.
It makes your knees wobbly.
It can make you say the stupidest things,
Or feel bad for someone who is embarassed.
Love can make two people
remove the masks they wear.
It's what makes two people sit next to each other,
Even though there is plenty of room on the bench.
It's what drove those people to make
The two-handed mittens,
So you could keep holding hands,
Even when it's cold.
It's why God made roses,
And chocolate, and words,
And even music.
It's a song without words,
A conversation in your heart.
Love can make you shake,
It can make you laugh.
It can even make you cry.
Love lights your way through the darkness,
And you would sacrifice the world for it.
It can make you selfish,
Or generous,
Or even both.
Love is often like a flower,
It's found in the most unlikely places.
Or it can be just sitting there,
Waiting for you.
Love is fate.
Love is also madness,
But there is always some reason in madness.
True love stories never have endings.
Love is eternal.
It makes it very hard to talk sometimes,
Almost like you're drowning,
And you have to struggle for the right words.
Love is like picking roses.
You'd be picking them for a lifetime.

Beauty

Written at 12:30 AM on a cold winter's morning. I was walking outside, in the freezing cold, with pellets of snow bouncing off my face. I happened to look down at the ground, and realized my footsteps were breaking the smooth, perfect, surface of the new fallen snow. I turned around and saw what a path of destruction my footsteps had wrought... but just like that, the wind blew, wiped away the marks of my journey, and it was as if I had never been there. So I propped myself against a tree, and began to write.

Beauty
February 14, 2007

Beauty
Is in the mind,
Where God, love and peace come together.
Where order and feeling meet reality.

It is the thing that evokes both rest
And sadness in the heart.
It is found in symmetry, and also
In chaos.

It is the windswept snow,
The blue moon,
The still water.

It is the smile on the face,
The laughter of a loved one,
The love between individuals.

It is the mind,
The heart,
The soul.

It is in the eye of a beholder.
It is priceless.
It is ageless.

Beauty can end.
And Beauty can endure.