(2014)
You were the wind beneath my wings but I was Icarus so all I did
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
I grew up in a house built in 1937 long before codes and regulations and sometimes
There is a girl and I love her and I have loved her since the beg… Or so it seems to me as I only became conscious
Everyone sees god in a different light but I was born without eyes
Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another
I wrote this while thinking of you so I guess you could say this poem is eight years in the making
If nature were so flattered by poems written with itself in mind as people are we would be moving mountains
I get my silence in five minute doses before the plane overhead brings me back to earth
To put it simply each beat of your heart is a gift that I receive with the anticipation of a child at christmas
I don’t remember any anesthesia after talking with you but I woke up stitched back
Hope in another form but no fewer letters and I’ve been hoping for these past eight years so I’ll just keep on
Everyday I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin
I write sharp words with a sharper knife on page after page of what might as well be the skin of my back
The hands of this watch haven’t moved since the last time you did and I’m not sure if I’m ready to hear the ticking
