With every beggining

With every beginning. 
A story will begin to unfold.


The walls have stood for too long,
Ages have come and gone,
And time has left its mark.

The first cracks meant nothing,
Nor the second or third.
But the sum of all will.

Strength spent in ages past,
Comes to a silent end,
And then the wall falls.

No sooner than the first stone lands,
All what has been kept away is free,
And comes rushing in in waves.

The collected fears,
Long forgotten dreams,
Bittersweet pain.

All things come to an end.

Paint.

Paint.
A rainbow has all the colors you need.

Words are but paint
For the painter that cannot
Often inexplicably large in use
Ending simple in execution
Drawing what pigments could not
Pushing forward an idea without image
Creating a circle by using circles
And whereupon calling it art
To be heard and not seen
Lifted from pages to soar.
If not for the viewer
Tis only art for the smith
But for whom else should the words sing
So take hold of your brush
And paint.

Lost Vibrations

For Jessi,
But I still hope, sincerly so, that everything is working out for you.



Today I realized that I no longer know the sound of your voice.
                                           It hurts in a way painfully unsure.

I don't know if it's because
                                           I've lost the sounds.

Or if it is that if you wanted me to know it,
                                           You would have call on me.

I never wanted to let go of your love,
                                            I lost that long ago.

I thought I could at least keep you in memory,
                                            But it seems I am to loose that too.

And it hurts in ways,
                                            I simply cannot describe.

Lost hope

Every step taken is in the wrong direction.
Every accomplishment means nothing.
Every bite of every meal is tasteless.
And nothing can quench my thirst.

I can see no light at the end.
It's all just muddled in grey.
Lifeless landscape ahead.
And only ashes remain behind me.

I can't go back.
I know that.
what I want isn't there.
But I still want to.

Left holding tightly onto dreams.
Broken beyond repair.
Marching forward
Because it's all I can do.

Help me live again.

What kills me

Anything worth doing is never easy.

It is not the sound of your voice
Nor it is the lack of it
I know what I am without.

It isn't the sight of you with him
Or even that I do not see you
But I dream that I will.

It isn't the lack of warmth in my bed
Even if it was sometimes too much
I'm lucky if decent sleep finds me.

It isn't even the subtle smells left in your wake
Not even the rare unpleasant smells
I can only describe yours as comfortable.

But it is having to watch you walk away
And knowing you won't look back
That kills me.