(2013)
I’ve always been at the very least a little caught up on everything about you This idea of you
I wrote this while thinking of you so I guess you could say this poem is eight years in the making
Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another
I hope this is postmarked before my death certificate is dat… but you’ll know why if it is or if it isn’t If you get this in time
I know that you were there in my dreams and in my arms Every dream we
Everyday I lived out a song written just for you But you could
To put it simply each beat of your heart is a gift that I receive with the anticipation of a child at christmas
I say hello and you say nothing You may hear me you may even think of a response
You were the wind beneath my wings but I was Icarus so all I did
Everyone sees god in a different light but I was born without eyes
The pen must be mightier than the sword For there is nothing that will spill your guts faster than a bit of ink that says
I grew up in a house built in 1937 long before codes and regulations and sometimes
I’ve kept my eyes closed most of these past eighteen years because I find it just as dark
There seems to be a drought in my… but who knows if it is the cause or the result of the war raging within me
If nature were so flattered by poems written with itself in mind as people are we would be moving mountains
