The dark clouds of the morning
break for a sunny afternoon
that hides behind the raindrops
which herald the evening gloom.
There’s a fickle fancy
that’s blowing on the breeze
who warms our tired, weary bones
only to let them freeze.
Sometimes it seems that
struggling harder gets me
further from my goals.
When the spring arrives
All the trees bear green tombstones
For fallen flowers.
I’m wearied by your fervor
and think it as shallow as your fads:
an ironic indulgence
which you may one day deny
with precisely the same passion
with which you affirmed it.
Weekend getaway
filled with long drives, wrong turns, and
pleasant memories.
Though the sun bleeds out
we must always remember
it will rise again.
The steady rainfall
swallows up the islands
and transforms the trees
into a forest
of drowning tombstones.
I’m kind to others
because when I’m kind to them
I’m kind to myself.
Why is it so hard
to say those final words… Continue reading → The lost art of the last conversation
There’s a wolf behind my eyes
who I keep chained up with rules and lies.
He’s not the fear that I’ll sin again,
he’s the fear of who I might have been.
A (wise) man of two faces 