Happy Fall

A broken home,
And a bruised soul
Sent him running to the small town
Away from it all.

Sweat in his brow, every day-
Odd jobs.
Going somewhere:
Not sure where that is.

His red earphones
That he fixed with his own hands
Plugged into his ears

He'd listen to the music on his refurbished CD player-
Fastened to the fire of the beat:
Then work his heart out.

Enamored by the music.
Enamored by the eyes.

Whispers can't be heard
Through blasting rock music.

But they talked,
They always talked.

But to this boy-
Becoming a man
Was his own path
In this small town.

She was the path-walker
That had dreams to big for
Her frail body.

She wheeled around her wheelchair
Looking for love.

She peered into his eyes through the glass he was washing
And she knew something.

A few months.
A few broken CD's
A few broken dreams
A job interview.

He left, and she stood at his door.
He didn't realize.
He didn't see how much help
Help he could have given.
Help he could have gotten.

Two months, a building in ashes:
Penniless he sat on the sidewalk
Attempting to hitchhike to his town.

His ears bleeding because
His volume is turned up all the way
Drowning out his sobs.

"Dreams aren't anything, are they."
He muttered from his soundless mouth.

A car pulled up.
Faded puddle lights
In the small town
Again.

The whispers.

But when he woke in the morning,
A stubborn heart was there waiting.

She told him to pick his head up
From the depths of her own wheelchair-
And he listened.
Finding what he had always been missing.

She told him defiantly
In breaking tone
"I'm going to walk for you"

And it hit him
That hers were the eyes
That peered across alleyways
And through windows.
They were the ones that believed.

A faltering step.
Fall.

"Again." the boy said.
Fall.

"One more time" said he.
Fall.

A tear streaked face,
And another one sobbing.
"Dreams do fail" she tried to say
And then
He picked her up
And took her steps

"Dreams." He said,  "never fail".

College

For that second
I thought I would go for it
But then my simple fear got to me.
How many flames burn in a fire,
And how does one differentiate them?

It's all smoke;
Beams obstruct my view.

You become most like those
Who you constantly are around,
But what comes around when
The constants are changing?

Unanswered questions.
Students late for class.

Cold is relative (Haikus)

For the long moment
In the middle of the fall,
Staring at her lack

The resolve is here.
But in this now she is fine.
Fine with another.

When the disconnect
And the laughing sound of heart
Meets my own life fear

Cold is relative
I told her next to the stream
Frozen in water

My hapless efforts
I find out that I do now
Know myself better

Trying to find out
Why I liked her before she
Found out that I found.

How does she not see
I do not need a friend now
Enough before she

Takes my heart and runs
Like I did before the snow
Forgiveness is lost

Late

When I said I'm scared that was an understatement.
When I'm too blind to see things when they happen
And too used to second chances,

A late bloomer.

Who's there to admire the beauty then?
Not the flash flame.

I swear I would love to hold you.
And write corny music about you.

I'm new to this.
Second chances were never my Forte.

Sorry if I missed my chance.
I'm trying.

Still?

Moments

I am built of moments
Flashes of color

Figures of fate
Finding out where I am

Realizing somewhere in
The moments that there are-
Exist moments
That are more than
Just bursts of light.

Bursts of life?

Greater Good

I can't see it,
But you always do.
You're always right

That's why I can't ever let you go,
And why I have to.

You still believe me -
I don't believe it,
I tried everything.

You still believe

And I leave.

I manage to convince myself
It is for the greater good.

The Confuser

A boy holds three red balloons

And fills them with their lightest heart

Leave nothing behind,

They are all into that sorry hope,

Fly.

Fall.

Again.

Shift.

Where will it go?

He knows.

He sees

But the bones in his feet wont shift,

Other than pivoting around in an endless circle.

He knows the end of this.

He has done it before.

The end is his flightless feet pulling someone,

Someone greater down.

Marker Cap

I can't seem to find the
Cap of the marker I was just using
Now it will dry up and shrivel
Instead of bleeding through my pages.

Jumper of Bushes

They said we shouldn't
In all our finery
But what is life
Without a picture
Of a boundary being crossed
And a light being shown
Greater than easier.

Yellow

Bubbles light
And happiness bright
A lack of time.
Yellow runs to the store to buy a lime
Because she is sick of lemon's sour
And ends up with sprite and an hour.
She flies with her spring wings
And passes people and sings.

Yellow believes in ever afters
And reads storybooks in the rafters
High above the rest of the city light
Nothing to do except delight.

She has nothing to believe in
Except the sun's loud din
Which reminds her a lot
Of her own life plot.

Most of all yellow is finding delight
In the midst of the fright
Of the colors of blue,
red, and new.

August

The breath of moon air
Crisp and calm
Not cold
Or breathless
But warm.
Just pleasantly this year
But it doesn't hurt to have a fan
In
August.

Photograph

I didn't see you there
In front of the camera,
I walked right past you
And became a memory of light
That wasn't supposed to be.

Word

Heart crush faster
When you realize
That every word
You write is
One word less
Than you can
Ever write again.

You must squeeze
Every last thought
Out of there

Before it is
Too late now.

Momentos.

sorry for being gone for so long.
I'm really great at breaking good habits for no reason


Momentos all around
Life as empty sound
Willing myself to stay;
I end up far away
What keeps me running slower than I can
Is the fact that I can't be a perfect man.
One eye open further than the other one
pointless battles can never be won.
Will I remember everyone I have to?
The feelings of every moment I've gone through.
beating in unperfected time

Good Bad Neither In-between

What if everything that was bad in the world

Suddenly changed to be everything that is good?

The purpose of life would be hopelessly swirled.

Nothing could be anymore understood.

If the guns changed to squirt guns

If the fires turned to smoke.

If people took away all the 

bad things they spoke.

But then nothing would change,

Nothing could be taken.

The far reaches of us would rearrange,

Leaving everything shaken.

Bad is not good,

But it is necessary to hope

To understand what could

Be if there was only good.