Simply Put

There is no fuller feeling than knowing what you are; and I mean this through no grand opening or ascension. Simple self, simple understanding, simply you, far from simple. To sit and ponder any actions, any words you shared or spared and why, grasping any implication you may have left or felt between the lines, and knowing that from time to time, a smile is as genuine as the time itself. It takes a torrid heart to hold oneself, a fervent glow to show another; but knowing so, and trusting you, and trusting them to trust it too is life and limb. Here forever, gone the wind; for sanity, for all the ghosts we never spoke, and all the ramparts red. For all the you in all the saints whose self was never read.

In Hard Times

Goodnight love, goodnight stars. Dream big tonight, dream hard.

A Life of Goodbyes

Live a life where the goodbyes are always Irish, and the warmth in your cold blue eyes is what they're reminded of when the sound of your voice strikes their mind, and the dramatic line of your smile sets in to surpass all questions of "Why?". Believe only in the chances you took, not the ones you had; breathe only heartfelt in reminiscent minutes.

Always a Story

The weight of explaining to someone how you've changed. They stare in expectation, knowing, wanting, waiting for your story, because there is always a story. To sum a lifetime of nuanced actions, reactions, insults, injuries, scars, starts, start-overs, endings, renderings of every you from every time and the culmination of every life you've lived in your lifetime of living... the thought feels a forgery. The question puts words in our mouths and minds as gospel, but we will change again, and those words turn false from hymnal...

To Dance Around

a choice, in defeat of all design. always a choice to dance around your fleeing mind. but left to chance, a choice is felt to pass, a crime to wave goodbye.

Anxious Appeal

bulidup to bigger breaths from the edge of every bed. pressure filled from somewhere in some sidestreet soliloquy you once forgot you said; and since forgotten thoughts all haunt your head. the anxious quilt to cover up until you pull a thread. and up and down, and lost the crown, the cool is fucking dead. your chest is full and scared until the air unfurls, then fade to dreams forever before the scheme repeats.

All In Range

i close my eyes and look for mountains. alone i see the stars. somewhere i hear my name. all in all it's all in range. take it on for all mistakes and past unpleasant pleas. no glory in un-futures made, no blessings by the sea. again i'll scrape the stars in silent me.

Toes to Summer

it's been easy to be lost lately. or distracted, unfortunately with open arms. i feel the winter faded into new faces, wide eyed conversations ending dually meaningless when the finish couldn't suit the start. a taste of welcome spring, skin on skin in star-crossed flings, renewed in flesh and bone and the sweet heat spells in ventures far from home. on we go for foreign wild fare, as the cool breeze blows and spring slowly drags its toes to summer, for freedom, in dog days we dare.

Everything Unknown

too distracted. always infatuated. everything unknown is all i'll love. everything i've loved is now unknown.

Morning and Midnight

it's strange this year, must be the place; things are coming up, or out, or back, things put in the past. people put in the past. songs that always held their spot in tangible torn off corners of my other lives. the desire for newer, brighter bindings feels lately fading, stemmed from lack of new findings I suppose and I consider the winter’s got me down and indisposed. the winter got me close. this year the winter bought the most in months of earnest mornings and solo midnight toasts. hours into light and feeling in the dark for ideas of fate. of faith and finding. positivity from all my faulty sides. some say faith is futile, some feel faith divine, but here I am for faith is just a question, and your belief in a strangers nod. in that sense, suspect the face of every stranger brings to you the face of god, and every foreign road should find you with a smile, knowing. you've been known. maybe now, maybe once, maybe all those eyes along the road were all yours before. I think the beauty in it all is the lack of answers, and life's only finite shine , is that it's all abstract. in bleeding over fate I've found that you find your choices in your day, they do not find you gripping, hanging on in faded jeans for glory and fatalist whims. we don't blow with the wind, and though the romance ripens in my blood, everything I have loved has been found by constitution in that only I decide I; and here I place nostalgia, here I take my name. these feelings all inherited, these feelings built the flame. this year I reach for firmament, and from the vault I'll pry.

In Uncondition

the fault in conditions is the fault in all our faces; a famous lack of understanding, of unconditional terms, traced back to unbelievable words in moments when vulnerability hurt the worst. all of this becomes default, and framework for declarations of disbelief. the hardest one to love in uncondition is you, and only in periods, long, and sometimes lonely periods of strength through self study and big questions stared out bigger windows into the biggest backyards do we dare to even dream to love ourselves as much as someone else once has. this is as difficult to accept as to conceive, and many will live full lives as only silhouettes; but, those questions stem to answers, and answers to understanding, understanding bridges change and soon we form shadows in those same old window frames, in bright light and adoration. the process is what paints us, the picture presents us to the world.

It Started With A Song

it started with a song. from ancient to annuity, back before we knew at all. now in this glass reflections stain the places that we saw. left a mark in circles drawn concentric, and though clandestine times they knew me by, the center started small. now i am, then i was, and here we are memorials each dawn. the bleeding back prolific, the trials, tears austere. it started with a song and now they're all for here. so smile back, a while back, a toast to you and years.

Stoned Superlative

Some of my favorite moments are melancholy
my secret songs all sad ones.
catch my breath between the lines,
all strung out,
hung out in other eyes.
come now, the stoned superlative.

Drunk Messiah

I can come as close to god in any three letter word as any drowned out drunk believes. holy spirits, high stakes, graceful saints in shambles shading smooth poetic truths. they stumble through the tall grass in broken shards and bleed to bliss. mumbling hymns for sinners. holy wars, for holy ghosts, from holy waters spoke. they come in three, to blind believe a word a god alone.

With Words

with words, and only words to make all of lifes perfectly poignant truths, in form and finality, from ubiquitous to clear and conspicuous, in light of each our candid course.