Graphite Night

My pencil sits atop my desk inside a little glass jar. It beckons me and calls to be, taken oh so far. It longs to journey up and down, through lines of red and blue. It longs to write of romance, involving me and you. I tell it no, no I can’t; fret not for it’s my fault. I only possess so many words, only what I’ve been taught. The words I have I often fear, are never quite enough. The one I always muse about, well her beauty makes things tough. How do you write about such grace, when words cannot describe? How do you capture the smile on her face, that brings dead days to life? So my pencil continues to sit alone, sharpened, wooden, and all. It sits through the summer; winter, spring, and fall. Although the night has covered the sky, with its dark , soft blanket of stars. I can still see the leaves from inside my room, and I wonder where about you are. I miss you my beautiful dearest, to the point where I can’t breathe. You are the very essence of air, that’s flowing inside of me. You’re the rhythm that causes my heart to go beat, you’re the all of my everything I’ll ever need. If I ever have hurt you, or ever do. Know that I promise, I never mean to. You are so dear to me, I’m here ‘til the end. You are my lover and more so, my best friend. The next time I see you, I’ll prove with my kiss. That when I go away, it is you that I miss. I beg you to keep me, here’s my heart from my chest. Please do not abandon me like my pencil upon my desk.

Little Blue Pail

I tried to count to forty winks, but I could not suppress all of my thinks. They rush in and out all night long, I thought them weak but damn they’re strong. Thoughts of life and love and you. Thoughts of the wondrous things we’ll do. I tried to count to forty winks, you told me to sleep I got to the brink. I was so close but alas I failed. I pictured the sand and a little blue pail. We used it to build our sturdy new home. A sand castle of sorts amongst little bits of sea foam. Little crabs walked by at their slow, little pace. We looked at the clouds from our special, new place. Then my thoughts carried us through dangerous alleys, full of adventure on our way to the valleys. Up and down hills and mountains and such. Each place I saw during the embrace of your touch. I tried to count to forty winks, insomnia you see, is full of these kinks. I do not feel sad for the sleep that I lose, for each moment awake is spent thinking of you. The bags under my eyes may look very blue, but they are quite busy holding every memory of you. Do not worry about me for I do not want help. I can function quite fine as if you can’t tell. Ok so maybe I tend to get cranky. This is only because, the nights are so lengthy. The problem with being an insomniac, is no one is there to conversate back. You are left all alone with yourself and your thoughts. My thinks luckily are worth being thought. They are made up of you, and the joy that you bring. They are the reason, that sing-song birds sing. While down at our little paradisiacal place, the sun’s shining upon your beautiful face. Sea gulls above our culling with cheer, for they know that the sunset is drawing near. The day comes to an end and all I can think, is how grateful I am, I didn’t make it to forty winks.

Ink Artisan

There are a million things that can make me sing, like my beautiful words and the smiles they bring. Oh the portrait I paint is so typically, intense, inviting, and yet so serene. The canvas I’m given is often so lush and the beauty I see inspires the brush. Fingertips laced with deep thought and ink, flow on the pages like rivers of think. You may cast in a coin to this river of muse, and I promise your wish will not be refused. Unlike the well whose track record fails, I assure you that, your wish will prevail. If you travel down stream you will cross a divide, a separation of sorts that leads to the eyes. Each one glowing in its own star struck way, each one more beautiful than sunrise Christmas day. All of these features lead me back to my wish, I toss in my coin and hear it go splish! I ask to be changed to a shiny new mirror, let me explain so the reasons are clearer. A mirror may hold what my hands may not, your beautiful face hiding your beautiful thoughts. Your lips are the door and my whisper the key, I love these soft motions like ships on the sea. Your fingertips become my guiding light, that show me the way through this gentle night. Under cover of sheets I hold you so safe, we belong to each other and this is our place. The stars they do smile and the moon it does sing, your eyes they do glisten like a new wedding ring. A symbol, a token, of my undying love. Your heart is so beautiful, like the coo of a dove. Ill hold you and kiss you while knowing one thing, there are a million things about you, that can make me sing.

Confessions of an Allergenic

Confessions of an Allergenic

I stood there for a minute just looking at it in the eye. This particular dandelion stood there so confident about its strategic attack, that not even the wind influenced its movement. I could not understand how it thought it could win. It was me, a rather average human, verse this petite little dandelion, yet it still stood there. I started to make an advance. I started moving closer, and closer. Eyes were slightly watering, and my nose began to run. The scene went silent, a very peculiar happening seeing as how I was outside. I now felt confident remembering taking allergy medicine. I was inches away. I inched my foot over this dandelion. The shadow of my foot made the dandelion start to sweat but surprisingly the sweat disappeared and it looked confident again. I couldnt understand this, at the time. Then I saw them. Behind this small dandelion was an entire alliance of dandelions. The were recruiting from all sides. They all began to advance on me. I began to sneeze as they expelled their seeds into the air. I was a done for. I began to retreat but was stopped short by another group of revolting dandelions. I stood there thinking about my next move. Then I saw it. A small gap in the circle of plants. I ran for it. I made it to the house and covered my face with tissues. And that is how I escaped the ragweed army.

Life

He shines his diamond rings as the children sing of hate and all the things that brings and takes away the sun from a cloudy day. The hope that is lost and found all in the instance of turning ‘round and coming face to face with the one who thought ahead of pace; and sought forth the blade in which spade a hole right smack in your soul. This reminds me of the time when things on my mind just began to flow out the pen and sow a story of way back when I could remember then and once again I thought of that shadow who knew my name but not where I stood. All that was evil laid down a plot in case someone was caught off guard and forgot what it was like to not be in question. Such things are rarely conjured in the depth of a mind but just sometimes you’ll get to dine with the thoughts of a mime and understand why they do not speak. These ideas should not leak out into the common street for fear of being bleak. No one likes to talk of anger or depression or what’s really the matter. Instead they use an alibi as a designated batter. I do not find this fair for the people who really care. They put effort and their everything just to sympathize with a needy being; only to come out helping nothing except the growing feeling of failure. Back to the song writer and the publisher. He writes music while the other twists his words. He has to meet demands even if it hands the kids a gun and the thought of killing one person out of the passion of influence. You know this feeling. The force that drives all wisdom and previous knowledge to the edge of a moral cliff. It is the feeling of comfort that jumps first. In order to keep with sequence it must quench its thirst. Leaving you alone with all their hands with stones. Closer and closer until no earth is left. Empty space for you to embrace with the flailing hands of falling. The worst part is after you have given in you are still left alive to deal with your situation only this time those with stones even turn their back to you. But hey what can you do? You tried, right? And who is going to blame you? When everyone gives up like this who can really say you did it wrong? They might actually envy the way you avoided what they fell into. They will say things that make you feel like you got the best of the worst and that it is commendable. When did wrong become right? You might as well grow tight with day becoming night and fish taking flight right into the things that causes the man to shine his rings.

Pink Elephants

Would you assume there can’t fun with out f n u? Well when looking at the spelling I guess that would be true. But seeing the whole equation you’ll notice my operation is not directed for sensation but in fact communication. It’s a message that is sent between us back and forth, through many signs and glances all in which I adore. It’s like seeing an old couple in the street walking slow, holding hands as time flies by, leaves falling as they go. I see too less of this way too often. Now everything is about money and the creams that make skin soften. Nature is over-looked and true love is underrated. Life is full of something fake that makes me wish I were sedated. Million-dollar rings on figures far from deserving. A war goes on, a singer sings as countries go on starving. Have you ever seen someone’s eyes? I mean fallen into trance and gotten lost in starry skies? First you see some darkness followed by the light. Then you see their soul all wrapped up and nestled tight. I guess that’s why we blink. So our life form won’t escape. Or worse off be stolen, taken from it’s resting place. I often wonder what would happen if what’s inside fell out. Would it hurt? Would you cry? Would you fall hard hit the ground and die? And what if someone saw your soul just lying on the ground? Would they pick it up but look twice to ensure no one’s around? And then once they had it I would assume they’d get two lives. Two chances to find love and hate, to see if one can fly. If you saw this from a city street you’d wonder about the pink, elephants floating by like water dripping from a sink. It would drive you mad to see a man just take his life, which is why you should just pay attention to the old couple walking by.

Open Mic

The sign says open mic, but what if they don’t like the topics I portray, or the over-illustrated way that I explain the events in my day. How would you handle that critic? Could you just turn the other cheek and continue reading and sweating as you speak? An airborne projectile makes contact with your face. You quickly identify it as hot coffee, so do you still stand your place? Do you just let it drip as you continue reading? Do you keep trying to get your point across, even though it’s bleeding? On the flip-side however, you could accomplish your endeavor to let people know forever that what you say is clever. And it has a point and a reason, and when your thoughts go astray, it is paralleled with treason. Many people know, keeping a train of thought on track is no, easy feat to beat, especially when ADD, drags you where it goes. That is that, all to be spit has been spat. I dotted no I’s, and I crossed no T’s; I interrupted no H’s and I silenced no E’s. I talked not to the mic and I cared not if they liked, the over-illustrated way, I explain the events in my day.

Prose

Transferring thoughts to words, this I could suppose, is what God has given me, the subtle gift of prose. When you are cursed with constant thought one needs a form of vent. Kind of like that relieving feeling when you eat meat after lent. It’s an output, an open ear, a way to channel love and fear. A simple method to define the madness, with means to an end and not feel callous. This is contradictory to feel what cannot be felt, it is almost like selling carats although no gold was smelt. The everlasting glory of gold is best defined in a diamond ring, it’s forever and always like the way I think these things. I do not know how, or why or what or when, or even the exact time when all these thoughts began. I only know to harness them, and make them my own, write it down on paper or etch it into stone. This is how things work these days, nothing but thoughts and words. No courageous battles, of love and shields and swords. Chivalry is simply said to long since have been declared dead. But I tell you no! I say this isn’t true. Chivalry lives inside me, and I’ll prove this to you. Even if it takes, one thousand or more cases, I will open doors and carry you across the floors, of broken glass with bloody paces. I will never let harm come to you, if ever I can prevent it, I will hold you with the deepest passion, and through that define Romantic. Never-ending love, like what should be felt for the lord Christ, he gives us hope, and truth and joy, he gives us forgiven life. He has given us so much, and so I guess that I suppose, that this is my way of thanking him, with my God-given gift of prose.

Dish Towels and Kitchen Rags

Dish towels and kitchen rags. The stinky things that make up trash bags. All of them I remember from when I was young. You know the times when you stuck out your tongue. At a girl cause you liked her. It was a weird way of showing it but that’s what I remember. She would always comply with a pinch or a scream. Then later destroy your face, with some cold ice cream. But deep in your heart you knew she’d be the one. To catch you if you were falling and refer to you as hun. She would be faithful ‘til the very end. And even behind all the feelings she’d still be your best friend. I remember wishing so hard to just catch a glance, at her face as she ran up the steps, tripping on her pants. And I laughed, and she heard me, and as quickly as she ran up, she would come rushing right back down telling me to shut up. I would say “what if I don’t”, which sounds like an error, but I would say it one hundred times just so that she would come nearer. Her cat was a monster; that thing wanted me dead! It would claw and bite and play games with my head. I knew it was trained that way, I knew she taught it well. It was her childhood way of playing kiss-and-tell. I just sat there though, ignoring all the pain. I knew if I could withstand it, she would come and claim. Her cat and then once again I would get to see those eyes, just like heaven, I remember, you know the one above the skies? And I had this club you know the one just for boys, it was shoddily assembled out of trash and childish toys.  I would imagine it was a pirate ship, and that I was sailing all day. My main objective was simple; to keep the girls at bay. We made up dumb slogans to degrade those nasty girls. We would call them ugly, and tell them that they made us hurl. But whenever she came around it was a whole other ball game. I wanted her there on my ship; the other boys didn’t feel the same. So I pretended to ignore her, like she meant little to me. And she would do the same, but by God if she could see. The lack of fun I had, whenever I saw her go. It was like that lame feeling you get, when you trip and stub your toe. Or when someone steps on it, which she would also do. And when she would call me names, I could easily see right through. I knew she liked me, so why didn’t I just talk. Why did I constantly find myself, writing her name in chalk? Maybe I was afraid, or waiting for the right time. To let her know just how I felt, and how I wanted her as mine. She learned to ride her bike first, which drove me up the wall. I swear she just did it so, she could watch me try and fall. I would skin my knee, as she would ride by. She wouldn’t stop to offer help, but sometimes she’d  say “hi”. That lifted my spirits, and drove away the tears. The fact that she stopped to think of me, has lasted all these years. I will never forget, and I will hold those memories true. Just like the beautiful things, that make up my thoughts of you.

My Shining Star

Hey that’s my star go find your own. Better yet, I’ll give you the moon so that when you’re alone. You can go out on your roof and look up at the sky. And know that I’m looking at it in a different place but same time. That’s a moment that we’ll share and keep dear to our hearts. As our thoughts hold each other and we stare at the stars. Swing front. Swing back. Lie down in my lap. I will keep you warm and keep you safe and I will try not to laugh. When you hide your feet away. So that I will not see. But darling what you find hideous, that’s where I see beauty. Now why did you have to go and do something like that? Excluding completely melting inside, I don’t know how to react. When you slowly turn your head and then look me in the eyes, I feel this defeated feeling like being caught in a lie. Not exactly bad, more like feeling to agree. With anything you could ever think of or possibly suggest to me. And you make it so easy, for me to surrender. To a girl like you, I give my heart for forever. With my passion and fire and heat and desire. Faithfulness, trust, and I’ll try not to cuss. I give you my love and my solemn protection, no dirty word here I went with correction. Get it? I hope so. If not, well then ask. I’ll explain it to you then smile as you laugh. I live for these moments as I go day by day. And it’s for these moments my sweet I ask when I pray. Do you remember that one time, at that random house-like slump? When we played hide-and-seek and you tripped on that stump? I can swear to you my dear, I wanted nothing else. Than to extend my hand to you and then pull you close. I mean the whole reason I even played was because I couldn’t think. Of a way for me to be close to you and listen to you speak. So I decided on a game, that would involve us being alone. But instead it kind of backfired, ‘cause I was it, and on my own. Thank God for the tree, that died and was cut away. I still remember that look in your eyes to this very day. You had my heart then, just as you do now. And I do so sincerely apologize for all those times I called you cow. Do you remember my little car and all the times we almost died? And that time in Easton, for free ice cream, we simply lied. You were so embarrassed and I was so surprised. I wasn’t aware you had the ability to become red in a moments time. Haha that was fun and we have such great times. From standing by huge trees to reading each others minds. Sitting on swings, rusty or made of tires. From falling asleep together or watching me catch on fire. You know, you remember,  with the Axe and the lighter? And I hope you are aware that I’m a lover not a fighter. But if anyone tries to hurt you and there is a way I can prevent it. You can guarantee my dearest that I will to the death defend it. I guess what I’m trying to say is that my love is like your moon. Always constant, just in a different place knowing that I’ll see you soon. And above all else this is the main thing that I’ve learned. The best thing in life is loving someone, and being loved back in return.