Simple still

Optimism, clearly breaths

Auto-exclusivity.

Reach for winter's heavy sheath

Post the crunchy autumn leaves.

Endless summer, please evoke

Mornings late and evenings old.

Bring to me the past that was

All things home and nothing but.

I take refuge in the thought

We are nothing but a spot

Floating in a space so vast

Makes this populace seem drab

This, for me, is how I feel

And, personally,

Like simple lines

seem simple still

Concealed

I know that I am meant for something bigger

A minuteness magnified 

Via constant rigor

A grandiose part in a film shot at night

With long working hours leading Dawn into light

A complex system fabricated from thoughts

Constructed from ruins 

Kept in a box

Disguised as cathedrals or places of worship

Enveloped by darkness.

Concealed.

Blackened

The wonders of this place, like nothing we could ever breed

Philosophies replaced, by human minds hopped up on greed

The common truth between, all life and knowledge blooming here

Will sit in displaced awe, until you're secrets are revealed

And that's the thing you miss, a cold corrosive sabotage

And that's the ring you kiss, to prolong your pathetic song

No chords or melodies, to decorate your blackened lung

For all the words you speak, are guided by that blackened tongue

Bigger

I want a bigger life but I'm afraid it'd be a bigger lie.

Thinkers

The times I had are lost

In past events of ruins old

Used up and worst of all

They're worn from countless stories told

I live in moments gone

The ones that occupy my mind

Like spells they're cast upon

This empty circle that is time

So carefully I choose

Which vessels I will redefine

As art or country blues

I paint in hues the subtle line

Between the outer world

And what exist within the seams

Is where we're all unfurled

The stitches of the galaxy

A microscopic form

As seen from distances beyond

To fathom thoughts like these

Would take much longer than a night

But not so much it seems

For those who contemplate the day

For thinkings in their streams

Or so the thinkers like to say

Desire's a chore

The stain life leaves is but feversome yet.
I've only just begun and already I hate.
Used is the powerful word I cannot restate.
For it is harsh on the ears and much more on the faith
Of living passed all that is hard.
A memory in progress
Is presently fogless
It's current and fresh
But this isn't a plus
It falls under a plight
A darkened room with foreign doors and keys that seem as foreign or more.
A possible way of escape does exist
While a vague implication is made and insists
It's sealed in pain
In lust
In love
A false lore of such
Can't result in much
But dust on the mind
And dirt on the floor.
It's left me with nothing desired.
Desire's a chore.

A lawn so green

Everybody's having kids
Everyone is taking shits
Nothing seems to ever be
Seemingly so obvious
Saying things that need be said
This class is fucked
My heart is dead
A violent phrase
Poetic enough
To violate space
Perimeter snubbed
Cut into halves
And into fifths
Diminished sound
Turned into shit
A harmony
Not quite in tune
So dissonant
Just like the truth
Abstract essentials
Creep into this
Mind of mine
A waste of time
And space it seems
Disregards me
This poetry
This life crazy
At times I think
How nice it'd be
To never think
Or ever be
It calms my nerves
It helps me breath
New life into
Mentality
But that's not me
Ands that's not truth
Truth is I'm
nothing like you
I'm not through
With life and it's
Sense of humor-piece-of-shit-
Way to make things somehow fit
Reasonably meant for something more
Owner of green lawns galore
Just over the fence of self-doubt and dismay
Runs the stream of consciousness ill never embrace
Or so it seems.
And so I breath
So I'll believe
One day I might
Own a lawn so green.