-Poetry-

I used to have a temple.

It was hidden in a forest,

under sickly trees

Fallen oaks.

The branches and vines consumed at its sides…

But no matter the smell of musk, or dirt, it was my own.

When it rained, I would go to it.

It was my shelter from the storm…

And though not all would have considered it beautiful,

It was my home.

So come to find, on the first of may,

A stranger standing inside it.

When I had sought its refuge…

It was a feeling, like when you break your favorite dish,

Or lose a valued friend.

When you wake up too late,

And go out to find the stars rotted when you

Poor you. Were still in bed.

He was tall, taller than me. And he filled up the space.

When he moved into the sunlight, the vines cried.

And when he plucked up the flowers in the cracks 

He had this… this smile on his face.

It burned into my eyes, so that I see it when I blink.

And he turned to me with it… and… to think…

I used to have a temple. It used to be my home.

Now I walk alone in darkness.

Without any place to go. 

Sometimes I get in the car, and I just want to drive,

Drive until the lights turn low, the sun cries, the world fades,

Drive.

Sometimes I want to walk, forwards into the ocean, swallowed by the waves, 

But mostly I want to drive.

Drive on the highway in the dark of night. The phantoms of other cars beside me,

Drive as though possessed by a dream, watching the sky shatter with lightning,

Drive as the sunrises, drive as the earth spins.

Only to stop when I find the thing,

The thing I’ve looked for, the thing I cry for.

Drive until my dreams are mine, my past behind. Just drive.

Perhaps then I shall know who I am, perhaps in that moment I will understand,

Driving through the eternity of night,

Driving through the rain to shine,

Driving until the end of time.

I like the sound of rain against a window,

And the birds cry to the morning,

But I like silence too.

It’s dead and differing, nothing makes sense of it, but why should it have to?

It feels like pressure around your ears. An absence of thoughts and perhaps even consciousness.

The dull alteration of tomorrow, a blank slate to reality. 

I love it because everything stops.

When it’s silent not even a heart beats and the world pauses to embrace an unsettling totality.

It’s acceptable in a world where no one refrains to think. No one listens or waits, even helps when time is dire enough under burning suns.

Dependence is one’s own reliability, yet in silence, it’s everyone’s.

Nothing exists in this in-between of sound, propitiation in lingering darkness.

It’s rare to ever fully touch it. But when it happens, it feels safe when we live in a world that’s not. It’s protecting to even one's own thought. 

In silence there is no need to be afraid, for danger would be sensed as soon as it cracked.

In silence, there is a peace that cannot be fought,

Everything makes sense, cause why should it not?

Yet people still talk, the world still makes noise,

every sound still collaboratively breaks quiets nice poise,

But if we could pause, and freeze, to stay in the empty lingering, that quiets like a blanket up our breath,

Would we?

For maybe silence is temporary, because it is not enough.

Maybe sound is necessary, to have all beautiful stuff.

Stars fall from the sky,

Once in every lifetime;

The best voices are never heard,

For there wonders are never unturned;

To catch a falling star is a wonder,

To be one makes you somber;

Stars fall from the sky,

Once in every lifetime;

Think of them all,

Wrapping the earth,

From end to end,

From where eyes meet to where they send;

Yet stars fall from the sky,

Only in one lifetime;

Everyone else the blades of grass,

To grow and open in the humble light;

For a star to fall,

To burn the sky,

It only can happen, 

Once every lifetime;

So as you sink and wonder why,

Away from your place in planet’s cry, 

May heaven guide you safe tonight.

Goodluck,

Shooting star

Cristal on the edge of oblivion,

The simple water as glass to walk upon,

Yet not a footprint shall break its ember lined path

I looked out as day do look at sun,

The twisted ends of my hair behind me,

They reach out to the world for fun,

You do say you love me,

Yet fantasy is yours to hold tight,

For your lips do seal with the taste of what’s wrong and right.

The touch of passion is sweet glory,

Yet in the bubbled water,

The taste of star shine,

You leave me in the nights of wonder,

As you are only a rhyme,