hope is the thing with feathers

write hard and clear about what hurts

caked on a pound of flesh
pink or is it brown? what matter, it smears in like the rest.
hallow unrested eyes, cracking lips,
nails ragged with rips~
the pain is harder to hide
thankfully safe; no cares to look inside.

one last look in the mirror with searching eyes:

as long, as long, as long
as long as it appears it's fine.

strange

ach that strange rhythm,

when the world swirls and falls and your heart beats so loud you think it will break.

when each breath expands your chest but not your lungs.

dizzy and silly and scared and happy.

everything echos across the wood floor and time trickles slower.


mirrors and mirrors but we don't see ourselves...

the other's speck still blinds us.

the eyes daze and blur, but the hands--

strangely the hands have no need to rationalize..

the hands can remember that feeling even two hundred years from now.

written on 6/20/2013, copyright mvm2014

well, you're quite the one of resolve, aren't you.

the man who can't be moved.

cant bend a smidgion to the right or a head nod to an apology.

yes, those are ones our heroes are made of;

clodding off into the sunset.

take a good long look boys, can you see?

strong stock, that is.

and stock it will stay.

pride is an ugly weed, poisons a fella straight through~

makes all them accomplishments become

mighty sim'lar to the stuff you wear on the bottom of your shoe.

piano in a lone room

People destroy beauty, with their brazen laughs

Never stop, symphony.

Move around me. As I in this stillness, sleep.

As I in this swirling cosmos for a moment cease.

Tune my ear, oh beauty. I have grown deaf.

Slowly, I do not wish it, but

I fear to lose the only worthwhile sound I know~

Envelop me sweet music. Ye measurer

Of time and place, distance erased,

Travel me.

a pang

People pass by slowly,

And then are invisible.

Even the most constant hum upon the ears--

Will, by its consistency, become dull.

Ah! But what of the pain that smoke creates?

Surely that!

Blackening up the lungs and smothering breath;

This vile thing is not forgotten?

Nay; but even this, floats away

Till merely tendrils~ in the tenderest trail.

O why this drift?

Why this ebb of memory?

"Lost but not forgotten" marble always reads;

Though writ in stone, it tells little truth.

Eternal Throne Above,

Oh Thee alone know these all, 

One by one, forgotten.

Bend Thine arm and save that which is Lost!

i want no power

i want no power;
i have no aim.
ruling is such an unpleasant game.
as i hate to say i love, for i really do--
i love only to follow and learn too.
words such as this! ach! burn them alive.


and, were i to say things as these a-loud?!
better to have stood on my head and meowed!

starbucks you make my heart beat fast, but this aint love.

turning nights into day,
stars in the sky, boots in the hay.
you are whatever i want,
anything i need,
cold, ice, warmness creeping through.
instead why don't you match the weather?
you're so untrue.

starbucks you make my heart beat fast, but this aint love.
love isnt a fixation.
love doesn't age me, string me on a high,
make me clear my throat because its so dry.
love doesn't make me unable to sleep at night.
have you forgotten?
so have i.

starbucks you make my heart beat fast, but this aint love.
i stopped growing,
it was you who stunted me.
with your false lies of energy
ruining my concentration,
i thought you were good for me.

starbucks you make my heart beat fast, but this aint love.
so much bitterness, i can taste it,
i drank in your covering of sweetness,
because i wanted to.
raspberry salve is good, but is it not better to not be bruised?

well latte, moo you're not the innocent calf;
i look back with a laugh.
and more empty than full of your caffeine
at least for one, i can glean:

you made my heart beat fast... but that aint love.

autumn bus stop

leaves with an ardency, akin to fury,  rush down hitting my face,

angrily removed from loftier heights by the direct of time.

groaning, gasping wind seeking cracks in bricks, and jacket rips

riled: wanting where it is not, unsatisfied.


people stand blowing breath, like impatient horses;

and hands bearing pulse, made only to

touch

shoved far down, encased deep into pockets.

advice

I finally took the hand of someone much older and wiser than I,

and came to a hill, with a little rise.

Through aged, but not much wrinkled eyes--for an instant--

I see the world and scan the skies.