It is the moment you have.
Read: pick up a thought and leave your mark-
Make a difference



"You are beautiful indeed, I should have told you more times"
The empty words of a wounded soldier,
Won who played the battle as a game,
And lost the war,
And in the damning loser's shame
Is attacked by brutal reality
He spews the truth in an attempt to recover some dignity
But there is none for the cowardly.
This war has no room for the wounded.



A pile of edges heaped in the center of the cold hard floor
Staring into the eyes of the thinker
The curves meet the straights
And the straights quickly freeze into corners.
Together the peck paints a picture enshrouded
With the faces and the backs of maybes and what-nots
But each  knot carefully untied reveals the beauty of the string
And with careful thought; pure patient plotting
The painting dries-the puzzle complete
Whole is born with the death of pieces.


His Eyes

Warm rays gently kiss the windows to his soul 
Golden flecks dance upon the crystal epidermis   
What treasures they endeavor to behol' 
Nought one as priceless as it's butterfly kiss 
But tease you to flirt with the depth of the brown 
A brown so pure it becomes in flashes- gold 
Centered by the honesty of dark piths
Ingested, locked behind the shut open gates to who he is
Yet enthralling in the truth they seek. 
A comforting gaze, gently boring...
Flicker and the mirage deceives in coy pretense
Unknowing, unfeelingly loving and familiar 
Tenderly trenchant, the drops spill as an accidental waterfall quenching desert hearts



For days I have laboured to detangle the iron bars wrought around my heart.
But as I perspired, the harder they clenched their grip in an unbreakable squeeze
Smothered into silence, my body was numbed and the words of my feelings couldnt scream
The mind slipped and the soul barefly lingered as the threads that sew together the fragments of my being were unraveled.
Push as I may shove, my sweat only fertilized the pot of my enemy
I am dead if my soul cannot speak



Today's birth dragged in some trash from the street.
Treasures from yesterday
And as I sifted through the booty,
The cheap gold's rusts had stolen its short lived luster
And the salty eye sea,
Had washed away the clouds, and the holes,
Voids and inadequacies stared hard at me.
The greatest pains of tomorrow
Teach you to know what to hate.
Hatred begets fire
And a good spark always ignites when it kisses something flammable.
I hug my befallments and sugar my embitterments with sweet experience
This is a man's game.
All below this height may not ride.