Miracle

All we needed was life
And all we wanted
Was the chance to love

Each petal slips away
And all it wanted
Was the chance to hold on

For we've reached the miracle
And misguidedly bound
We've returned to innocence

There's a point and spot
where the beginning of the end
Rears up and bares its ugly face

Goodnight to Venus and to the Moon
A silence still heavier than words
We'll meet again, I'm sure

But you've learned how to breathe
And I know you're falling no more
So I'm letting go

My blue eye-like brown
It smiles wan smiles of the cliché
And so here it ends, here

At the oft-sought end of the world
By a graphite blue dawn
When time has stopped turning

Sycamore

Ever close your eyes
ever stop and listen
ever feel alive
and you've nothing missing
you don't need a reason
let the day go on and on

Let the rain fall down
everywhere around you
give into it now
let the day surround you
you don't need a reason
let the rain go on and on

Only take the time
from the helter skelter
every day you find
everything's in kilter
you don't need a reason
let the day go on and on

Every summer sun
every winter evening
every spring to come
every autumn leaving
you don't need a reason
let it all go on and on


All the pain of my life, all the angst and sadness and moldy melancholy madness that was creeping up my spine is GONE
and now I can see the brighter side
the happier side because all I was seeing was the darker half
and that's not a good way to live
and even if it doesn't work out
and even if i sink back to where i was
i'm gonna remember this and smile
because it's joy
it's like when somebody dies, except the polar opposite.
you keep remembering it and it makes you happy
it makes everything worrying you go away
and the rain is falling gently
like the world's kissing me
and I feel loved and I feel known and special and
I don't know why I haven't seen this before
but God or Yahweh or Shiva or Nature or the Dao or Buddha
I love the world
I love life
I love me

and all is good.

18

Through the Looking Glass

I'm not sure how to be subtle
I know you'll learn to breathe
In the darkened room
stained glass light drifting aimlessly

Paris is below us with a chill air
Dust illuminates the sun
We're alone here I think
Creaked piano lays elephantine

Blue of eye-like brown
Take a breath and look
Heavenbound and hellspent
Socratic myths and Newtonian

Apples descend when glass breaks
Or when you fall from grace
and the dust follows you out
Paris approaches and stained

Red of glass and red of life
Salvation recedes past Hell
When the last leaf falls
Beyond a faded blue cross.





This was supposed to be romantic. But it was changed, and has become one of the most cryptic poems I've ever written. I'm not a big fan of cryptic verse because I feel it's pretentious, and also because I can't do it well. I don't know. I enjoy writing it for some reason. I think it would be funny if one day I died and they found my journal and were all like:

"Holy crap... he's like Emily Dickenson in sheer volume, but like a monkey at a keyboard in quality..."

And then they'd use my poems as examples of how not to write poetry. Oh well... like I said, I enjoy it.

I think it's funny how I rarely write about my day in this blog or my livejournal. I think I should start living life a bit more, instead of drawing into myself. So watch me fall from grace tomorrow. I'm going to a dance. It will be a perfectly incroyable exercise on being not myself. Hooray.

I've decided I'm like an ingrown toenail. I double back on myself and cause myself great pain. Heh. Interesting analogy, but not entirely accurate. At least, I suppose, I'm not pompous.
Don't you wish there was some way to get music into words?

The enter key wants me to press it.

Are you happy now, enter key? No?




How about now? Yes? Good? Good. I think it would be fun to be able to poke people and have them do something. Like, the same thing each time. Say, for example, that you went up to somebody, poked that person, and they quacked. *poke* "quack." *poke* "quack" *pokepokepoke* "qu qu quack"

Way too much fun. I'm done now.

to be - alone

This is the book I've never read
These are the words I've never said
This is the path I'll never tread
These are the dreams I'll dream instead
This is the joy that's seldom spread
These are the tears...
The tears we shed
This is the fear
This is the dread
These are the contents of my head...
-Why, Annie Lennox

So. I'm going to a dance on the 19th. I'm so nervous, and I don't know why. Well, I do know why. I'm not a socialite, and I don't really interact well with crowds. But I want to meet new people and maybe get a fresh start. It's been almost a year. Does anybody want to go with me? Email me if you do. It's not the Sadie Hawkins dance, just so you know.

It's hard to keep yourself afloat mentally sometimes. Like, you don't know if you're sinking or swimming, and the more you think about it the more you sink but somehow you can't stop. Blah.
I'm sorry, this entry is lame. I don't know what to say anymore.
Blahblahblah.