I want to live forever,
my name mocked by teens.
i want to live forever,
scholars gathering in teems.
i want to live forever,
in the pages of books people never bring to class,
i want to live forever,
in lovers poems that are supposedly original.
i want my name passed on from man to man,
generation to generation,
because maybe there is a life after this,
but really i just don't know that.
i want to live forever and this is the only way i know how

Have you ever seen the stars from atop a mountain,
Clear and chilled like the ice from heaven rests next to you?
Have you shaken a nomads hand,
Felt his loneliness and content, been slightly jealous?
Have you felt the desolation of the dunes of Coral Sands,
So close to your fellows yet so far?
There is so much you have yet to see,
so much i could show you.

Yet i see in your eyes things i never dreamed,
sunsets on sky scraper littered horizons,
the joy of a crowd celebrating a new year,
of meeting new people every day.
There is so much i have yet to see,
so much you could show me.

I remember that dark summer night as i sat on the ground and averted my eyes. I remember the 9 mm Ruger ringing out and echoing across the rows and rows of houses, houses filled with people who don't know the tragedy that just struck.
I remember hugging what remained of my childhood friend, his blood soaked fur dripping into my mouth and coating my hands.
I remember washing my hands for hours night, trying not to wash away the blood but the memories.
I remember years later working at a fast joint, the way the beef patties poured blood and the feeling of it drying on every surface.
I remember every night when i got home washing my hands until the blood of the bovine was replaced with the blood of a boy trapped in a mans body. I wasn't trying to wash away the blood, but the memories.
and it seemed no matter how hard i scrub no matter how long i remain determined, that some grime will never leave me.
I remember telling my friends and they would ring out "no no there is nothing wrong with wanting to be clean."
I nod as i think to myself "there is nothing wrong with washing my hands until i lose count in the sixties and have to start over. there is nothing wrong with brushing my teeth after every meal and at least once a hour. There is nothing wrong with everytime something dries on my hands, crying in a public restroom where no one can see."
i remember a dark autumn night, where i carry out the smaller of my childhood friends. I remember singing to him, the only creature to have heard me sing.
I remember averting my eyes as a .22 rifle rings out, drenching his fur in blood. I remember digging with dry eyes and steady hand.
I remember washing my hands until i lost count at sixty then starting over again.
I remember losing count three times that night.
I remember replacing the feline's blood with my own.
I remember... and i wish i didn't.

Will you run away with me?
see places we've never dreamed?
will you leave tomorrow?
to a world all its own?
will you hold my hand?
atop a bullet train?
will you run away with me?
to a world we've never dreamed?

Tattoo

Who knows if tomorrow comes?
for the worlds we build,
and the ones we burn,
captains of our fate we called ourselves.
who could be as foolish as we?

The blushing and pain,
a tear dripping from my face,
as it mingles with sweat,
all of it is worth it,
if you but show the best jewel given this world,
smile and it will all be worth it.

your blue eyes shining into mine,
rocking in your chair,
the smile on your face,
dwarfing the sun in comparison.
you tell me how beautiful the cicadas sound,
how we should do this more,
i barely have breathe to agree,
because you took it from me.

It is said old men send young men to war,

but that is no longer true,

Politicians and civilians vote and argue,

while my brothers and my sisters,

and cousins, and uncles and aunts,

go to battle,

fighting and dying.

when they come back they are broken,

unable to tell friend from foe.

the same ones who sent them there,

spit on them, call them baby killers,

or fakers.

She is a smile in the sun,
speeding down the road with a laugh,
her blows in the wind,
hair rushing across her face.
but the most amazing thing about her,
is how she makes you feel.
excited and alive,
you smile and scream.
stealing glances at her perfect lips,
wishing you could have a taste.

i just know that when i walk to somewhere new that i see things that make me stop and write. and there is no better feeling than being overwhelmed to point of stopping whatever i am doing to scroll a story. it is comparable to an orgasm honestly. and i know travelling gives that to me. i know looking at my most recent stories and poems they would NEVER have been possible without what i have seen and i think how many more stories am i missing out on.

Oh how i miss it; A life without worry of pain or boredom. How the waves crashed against the bow as i surge forward. Gib and main taut and wrinkless, the wind and the spray cloaking my face. Forced to feel, forced to be aggressive, through the tacks and waves. The keel leagues from the bottom. I am invincible at sea. While the warm air and cold water are so far away yet those times live on in my heart. One day i will sail again.

never has there been a more beautiful day than the day my name escaped your lips

i say its wonderful, i say i am happy for you but the words leave clenched teeth and teared cheeks. you have just broken my heart into five million pieces just by being happy. i do not think i could be anymore selfish right now as you burn my world around me

A smile that shines across the room,
You are not like the others,
You cling to your friend like a child thrown to the waters,
Our eyes meet but you avert,
I spent all night gathering my courage,
Before my words finally spilled,
The smile on your face pushing me on,
But thunder interrupted,
I left disappointed,
I didn’t even get your name.

Love is such a fickle thing, it lives inside me making decisions that will never have a happy ending. Love does not care about fairy tales or wise advice, but instead choose on a flood of chemicals and warm moments. Love is a fickle thing and it will be the end of me.

If i can just get out of here,
i will head towards the stars in the south,
or the north,
or the west,
or maybe i will take a boat,
and sail to the stars that shine from the east.
I will walk if i have to,
but i will not stay here,
for the lights have gone out,
the candles melted and power cut.
I will walk if i have to,
but i won't let my torch die out.

At the age of five i sing along to the radio in my dads pick up, it is older than he is. He smiles at me for the first time i remember.
when i was 7 my dad is away in a place with sand and sun. I would rather be alone than be who i am with. When i sing i am met with words of harsh tone and crushing syllables.
when i grew to be 8 my dad had returned but no smile crossed his face. He hugged me in the way a starving man would hug his food.
When i was 11 my father was away to the sunny place for the third time. each time he returned his face had less and less inside of it. I almost never sing outside of choir anymore.
At the age of 13 i make the startling discovery that i can no longer sing. I rush to tell my dad not realizing he is once again in the place who's name is filled with airy words with many Js and Hs. I do not sing again
At the age of 17 my dad comes home for good. or at least what is left of him.
At the age of 18 i walk across a stage with my name called out to the crowd and my dad... He smiles...
At the age of 18 i discover i can sing again

Soft Walks

My grandmother once told me a tale of the native Americans. She said they were one with the natural world. They skirted it in silence, their footsteps left no track and made no sound. She said they killed even beast with regret. Gentle yet fierce.

Intrigued i began to walk lighter. Every step i took i now consciously picked a spot for my foot to land. I used only the pads. I wanted to be one with nature. By the age of 10 i might as well be full blooded. or at least full blooded for whatever passed in my mind as a native.

I found a special joy in walking in the forests at age 12. Alone i did not need to use my voice. I found i climbed well. No one judged me there. No bruises no beatings.

At age 14 my imagination was kick started. My father told me i am an 8th Native! Oh the wonders! Maybe i am one of these silent men! 

At age 15 i killed my first buck.

By age 16 i was the epitome of silence. I talked often yes but my footsteps were silent even in the dried leaves of fall. I was shadow. I had become what i wanted to become. 

At age 17 i met. She was quiet. She almost never spoke. Never imposed herself. She always walked on her pads. I thought us perfect. She didn't. We did not last long. 

Age 18. I make my way through the house. No matter how i try i can not stop my foot from striking like thunder. I was never what i thought i was.  

The streets song.

The crowds bustle and movement was rough and seemingly random if you were new to the pattern. It was a swirling mass of life and people. One could become lost and confused so easily. A man in a normal suit and red tie, blue tooth in his, navigated the vortex with skill. The man was a successful paper pusher making a nice salary. His success and routine gave him a confidence that showed. It was the kind of confidence that slackens the mind; as he walked he paid no attention to the world around him knowing it by heart. His mind was on other things; numbers and figures swirled in his head in a similar manner that the crowd swirled through the city streets.
Suddenly he heard something that snapped him back to reality. A voice breaking through the crowd as it passed him. It sang an old gospel song; it shot bullets straight to his heart and caused the man to shudder. He looked to the giant advertising screens above and saw no cause for the beauty. He stopped his forward march, now listening to a different drum. It seemed as if the whole world sang the song, though he heard only one voice and he could see none who sang it. Louder it grew piercing every barrier in his heart, failing every wall. He frantically searched the crowd around him for the source of the voice, or at least someone who heard it too so they could revel in its beauty together but found no one.
Slowly the voice faded and the man was left only with the sounds of people carrying on their lives. The people walked as if the business man had not just been shaken to his very foundation right before them. He looked down the road spotting the old stone church he had always admired for its architecture. He started off in that direction, a new appreciation for the structure found. His mind was silent, no numbers swirled, no stocks, nor legal arguments. He marched to a new drum now, though he knew not whose.

The Canyons Song

The sun bore down on the mans shoulders. His face almost seemed leather; wrinkled, tanned, and even scarred in some places. The long days and weeks he had spent in the desert shown. His boots crunched the burnt dirt as he pounded ahead. The mans beard was bushy and swung with his ponytail.Everything in the world that was his rested in his leather rucksack. His pack was made of an old leather and a scoped rifle hung from it, swinging with his movements.

The canyon walls sang with the sounds of the rushing water below. He looked around through a squint at the beauty that is this world thinking of how lucky he is to have seen so much of it. He had been walking in the blistering heat all day. 

Then he heard it. The singing of a man beyond compare. It was the single most beautiful voice he had heard in all his life. It rang from every wall and shook his bones. He froze midstep and simply listened. For a moment he craved the one thing he did not have. Companionship was the one thing that was missing from his life. He did not regret this, but he did crave it. Slowly the song drifted away its echo still sounding. The man continued smiling at how lucky he truly was to have heard the song before stepping off on his journey once again.

Checkmate

i vanquished you,
or so i thought.
but you were just hidden in shadow,
waiting for my candles to go out.
there you wait, 

skirting my vision,
hiding in my thoughts.
were you always there?
will you always be there?
I can feel you resting,
waiting for a mistake,
i can feel you preparing,
as you play a game of chess with my very life.
waiting waiting for the candle to go out,
so your reign can continue as it did before.

Pack your bags we leave today,
the sunset of another place awaits.
ruck on my back, rubber on my feet,
i move again.
my life on my back and i wouldn't have it any other way

Distance is no measure when it is tales of the heart,
the hero, the damsel, are never apart.
no matter what seperates,
what is true will always flourish,
as long as when i lay at night,
my mind can smile on you

The world didnt stop or disappear but it did to him. The walls and stoves, the cash register all faded to the outskirts of his vision ceasing to exist. The sounds and beeps always present always telling him what took place inside the store melted to static, a dull hum. Even his heart beat was no more to his ears. All because of the face he now stared at. Her lips, oh what beautiful lips began to move and they’re speaking what are they saying!?! They spoke the most beautiful phrase his ears had ever beheld. “I want a big mac"

fireflies

Can we stop for a moment and think about how truly brilliant this planet is? We have bugs that LIGHT UP THE NIGHT. Your're sitting outside on a warm summer night, the ground is still wet from rain and you can't see a thing. But there are fireflies LITERALLY lighting up your world. How can you not-at least for a minute- stop and smile at its overwhelming beauty?