I remembered it

suddenly

when the light

struck the fence

just so

while I smelled

cut grass

and I remembered

my father

taking me outside

in his arms

saying, it’s ok Ben

saying, it’s not your fault

and setting me gently

on the warm sidewalk

by another fence

with that same light

and other cut grass

(I was crying –

a slap)

and I think

there was yelling

inside

while I cried

near the fence

till Daddy lifted me

away from there

and on the drive home

I asked in fear

is that man your brother

and he said no

and now I remember

what my father

could not forget

I did meet my uncle.

I evolve gently

as the sea that I am

washed with white foam

throbbing with

gulf stream rhythm

bathing worries away

bringing new life

as my tide rushes out.

Mutating oceans

borrow new borders

land lessens and grows

but my oceans remain

since beginning of time

and I dwell

in my happy place.

And I tried to move on

From you

So I walked

To the edge

Of the earth

But that still wasn’t

Far enough away

For you

So you pushed me off

I hope I die from lack of oxygen.

When you first told me that we were on borrowed time,

I laughed, taking you in my arms,

Asking from whom it was borrowed.

Now I know.

I know that time is not something we can keep,

Or hoard,

Or stow away.

Time can only be used, or wasted.

And it doesn't go away:

Even when we're gone, each hour, each minute

Will carry on like the last.

I remember when you first told me you loved me

And I laughed and said I love you more.

You said you'd love me to the moon and back

But not to the sun,

Because that would be too much.

I told you I'd love you to the end,

And this is it.

This is the end, and I still love you

Just as much as I did at the beginning.

I borrowed time and now I'm giving it back,

Perhaps a bit worn,

But still usable by some other soul.

Goodbye.

i wonder

how nice it must be

to only battle yourself

but i am tired

of everything,

of everyone

of every word

reused, recycled

into another work

and i can't help

but feel

it's all the same

i am uninspired

by myself, by others and

their blissful bullshit

i'm my own demon,

my own heckler,

my own obstacle

but i wonder

how nice it must be

to only battle yourself,

i wonder what it's like

to still have sickness

and health

because my battle

has left me

with nothing.

flames lift

warm

currents

wind maker

and destructive

to smite

and purge

gentle

hands with

oily wool

and sticks

as bows or

cross

can make fire

lift spirits

I envy those of us

Who believe they are not artists

For they have so much that lies within

And in their dreams

Bursts of colours of imagination

Fill their subconscious

As they long for morning.

I wish to leave them a pen and paper

For them to write the dreams

So that I can feel their art

Emerge

As they pour their morning fix

the words fall down

crash down

no one near me

I am alone

in my own little world

hidden

away

secluded

I am only alone

in physical being

but in my mind,

       in my books

I am always accompanied

by a person

real or made up

they're real to me