Live It Away

Passing time occupies
my daily reality.
An obsession,
more than an occasion,
it becomes.
But I leave it,
wondering if
there will ever be another
reason to live my life away,
besides letting time
just play it’s game.



I yearn for a soft kiss
and not a cold bottle’s lips.
I have felt them touch mine
too many times before
and yet – and yet death –
not the corporal kind –
but all the others that have graced the body
before the final deed –
never seem to grow lighter
with each passing.

But still,
they make the pulling
of the final straw
looser from the hands of life.

Given Up

All was lost in a vapid place.
They would have rather given it up
in a colorful era – in a time of doing –
but instead they left a dull and tired wake
and yet the following wake
was still more vivid
than the life of its remembered.

What was taken along the way,
other than the breath of the repressed?
The burglar was the mourner’s stares,
their clumsy words and unhelpful prayers.
Displayed then, and continued now,
despite the loss of a person whom they ‘cared’.

Earthen grey, and dusty day
were already known in the eyes of the deceased.
It seemed to fit the entire mood
that such a color would take its high place.
But a tone of the like had already plagued –
and simply skipped the souls of ‘saved’.

Simple Words

If I focus
then maybe someday
I will write the words
on a softened page
in my own ink
from my own mind.
Maybe someday
I can be happy once again.

Sometimes the simple words
are the ones that work
and sometimes for a moment
you have to be happy
and not let temper
make you do the things
you never wanted to do.

The Pen

The pen is my piano.
I make the same wrong notes.
unlike the musician,
I can change my mistakes.
But unlike them
I stop in my tracks
because I don’t have
what to play next.
As of now my story is not yet written
but that’s what I’ll be doing.

Mobius Love

…my hand is yours to hold
and yours alone.
What else can I say
that hasn’t already been said
by countless others looking
for the same feeling?
The only thing that hasn’t been said
is the touch of my fingers
interlaced with yours.
And that is why…


We often speak about
the things that matter
most to us,
our happiness of the moment
or our adventures of normal lives.

We speak
about these things that matter
because the feeling elates us.
To hold it means
that we would only inflate more
and then, of course,
we’d have to pop.

But now, what if
the thing that elates you
is just the simple joy of being
present on such a favorable
day as the day of today.

How can you tell someone
that what makes you happy
is what they can also feel,
and for some reason
they are not already happy about it.

It’s like telling someone:
Enjoy being alive!
An impossible phrase,
because its meaning
has already been wrung out.
We are so used to being alive
that it has lost all meaning with us.

So when you meet
the conundrum of enjoying
the mundane,
and must share with others
the feeling you own,
remember to ignite
that emotion within them.

Just as the long dormant
fireplace yearns to feel
the wooden heat again, it can
not light itself, and one must
do it for them.

Because feeling the heat of
life once again
is a gift that can only be bestowed
by another.