You Took A Piece of Me

You took a piece of me
And threw it out the sea
You washed them up like my words,
Doomed to an oblivion of paper and ink.

You took the rest of me
And healed it like your own
And filled my ears with words  I never would’ve dreamed,
And  and voices I couldn’t have revealed.

You took a piece of you
To patch me up again
And now together we are sewn,
In thoughts and words and souls.

You took the rest of you
And brought them back to me
And dreamed of dreams and hopes and all,
And hands and arms to catch me when I fall.

I See Flashes of Your Face:

I see flashes of your face:
Against the flickering lights;
In all the shades of your favorite hue;
Upon the blank face of my bedroom walls.

I hear the sound of your name:
In the soft murmurs of the wind;
And the gentlest whispers of the trees;
Through the littlest creaks on my kitchen ceiling.

I smell the scent of your hair:
Lingering in the air–
When the wind blows against the curtains;
When my hand runs along familiar folds and pieces.

I feel the warmth of your arms:
In the sweater you lent me one cold morning;
In the coffee we shared one evening;
In the sun light waking me up everyday.

I feel you everywhere–
Anywhere,
And I hope you do too,
Feel me, even somewhere
Will do.

If I Ever Get The Courage To Say It

If I ever get the courage to say it
And agree to what you’d always admit,
What would you make out of it?
What would you do for it?

If I ever get the courage to say it
And tell you the visions– that’s what I’d admit,
Would you laugh at it?
Would you believe it?

If I ever get the courage to say it,
Even when the rhymes and meter won’t fit,
Would you still hear it?
Would you remember it?

If I ever get the courage to say it
And you’d see all my blood and vomit,
Would you hold onto it?
Would you still keep it?

If I ever get the courage to say it
And stop being the person you see from where you sit,
Would you turn your eyes from it?
Would you get up your feet?

If I ever get the courage to say it
And show you the old bridges I burned with it,
Would you risk it?
Would you look at it?

If I ever get the courage to say it
And drag you into my life’s pit,
Would you go through it?
Would you not quit?

If I ever get the courage to say it
And hurt your eyes with the candles I lit,
Would you still see the tears when I weep?
Would you make that leap?

Farewell, Fare Well

And now that the curse is broken,
I was released from the clutch with the truth unspoken.
The truth I always knew was there
The truth, unchanged, for all the world’s care.

And now that I am free,
My impossible love, I thank you for the poetry.
The lines I wrote for the ghost of you
Up until then, at least they were true.

And now that I fell asleep without you in my mind,
I woke up, glad with all the treasures I can find.
That I can finally let my heart set sail,
Away from where my words did nothing but to rail.

And now that I chose to close the curtain
And forget about you, this much is certain
It’s enough for you to be a star that shone when I write,
Much like who I was to someone- me and my supposed “light.”

And now that I’m writing the closing chapters
To the story you’ll necer get to read
I’d remember the big smiles and small laughters,
That, and everything else that we both need.

And now that I realized that I’m talking to you,
With the confidence that you’ll never hear my voice
Or read these words or see me through,
Let me just say that this is my choice.

And now that I’m running out of words to say,
As I have exhausted all before, if you may,
Let me close everything behind,
Leave everything that you may remind.

And now that I had done nothing but the impede the silence
That follows every end of my poems
Let me wish that you may fare well,
And that you’d be spared from the eyes that swell.

To Live Is To Write

To live is to write,

And to write is to relive what marks your life,

And what mark our lives– often times– are what kill us inside, and so,

To live is to write,

And to die inside,

Again and again.

 

To live is to write,

And to write is to unearth the dead in your memories,

And what made you bury them in your thoughts, and so,

To live is to write,

And to exhume what’s buried,

Again and again.

 

To live is to write,

And to write is to show what you desire to hide,

And why you’d wound yourself ’til the truth bleeds out, and so,

To live is to write,

And to bleed through words,

Again and again.

 

To live is to write,

And to write is to live beyond the skies and seas,

And to weave through thoughts and words, and so,

To live is to write,

And to wander the realms across what’s real and what’s not,

Again and again.

 

To live is to write,

And to write is to speak of truths through lies,

And why the unwritten must be read, and so,

To live is to write,

And to speak through the unheard,

Again and again.

 

To live is to write,

And to write is to shape your thoughts into words,

And why one fails to do so in one work alone, and so,

To live is to write,

And to write– is to write,

Again and again.

I Would No Longer Write

I would no longer write

For what good does it do

If it kills those long dead,

And plead the love that’s come and gone.

 

I would no longer write

For what good does it do

If it makes me long for tragedies,

To write about what pinches the heart.

 

I would no longer write

For what good does it do

If it fills my eyes and stains my clothes

With blood and tears in endless streams.

 

I would no longer write

But I know it’s a lie,

For as long as the earth is moving,

So does my pen in writing.

That One Word

It’s hidden behind the careful lines–

That one word that’s never written here.

It’s laced between the thoughts that curl like vines,

That one mysterious word we often hear.

 

It’s the core of it all–

That one word we’ve all written of.

It’s the cause, the means, the end, of each rise and fall,

That one elusive word we suffer for.

 

It’s what makes us move (or stop)–

That one word we wake up for,

It’s what makes us soar (or drop),

That one word we hope is waiting behind each door.

 

It’s what makes the world stare, or leap, or weep–

That one word that makes all things make sense.

It’s what we look for up above or down deep,

That one coveted word felt through its absence.