Originally written: 11/96

Pain like this strikes me closer to the heart than I'd like to admit.
To meet perfection and then to lose it leaves a tear in the heart too broad to mend.

Actions and words are not to blame. Nor are persons or places. Time and circumstance, those are the bandits. Those are that which work against a person. And those are that which one must overcome.

To overcome is not to win, but to gain a chance to meet perfection yet again...

Random thoughts/quotes/verses written over the years... They're mainly opening lines to things not yet written...

"As the sea grass entwined itself between his feet, he raised his head and basked in the early morning sun. The crisp breeze swirled his locks of walnut shaded hair as he..."

....

"She sat in the white withered chair on slowly sipped her tea as she rocked gently back and forth. She silently hummed a tune in time with the silver windchime hanging above her head."

....

"... for in the silence of a man's thoughts he can get lost. Thoughts circling around his memories swirl through his mind and lose him in their vastness. The mind is an immense plane with no conscious boundaries; stretching out, surpassing all thoughts and emotions..."

....

"For when a person forgets who he is or where he came from, he is no longer a person, but merely a shell of a boy posing as a man, yet relishing no true emotion. For it is in the memory of a person where exists his soul; his life. When that memory is extinguished, so his existence diminishes and gradually fades away..."

....

"The biography of an unknown boy; a boy unknown to family, friends, even himself."

....

"Moments of truth float through the span of our lives in capsules surrounded by words of sincerity. In them are held the precious memories of childhood. Each moment is a treasure of such emotional value that it is not secure in a safe, but rather, in the mind. And when their time comes, they dissolve into our beings and flood us with nostalgia of times past but not forgotten; and ever still as precious as the moment of occurrence..."

....

"Irony is one of the main points of life. It makes for interesting conversations and depressing situations. It makes an otherwise good day into a miserable day. And the irony of irony? You never know when it's going to happen..."

....

"Why is it creativity is spontaneous and not planned?"

Originally written: 10/94

Once green, but now a different hue;
flaming colors atop a backdrop of blue.

Swaying in with the tempo of the wind,
clinging fast to its partner's limb.


Time of year for things to shift;
leaves sweeping upward in a breezy lift.

Cradled in the caress of the breeze;
morning frosts over them to freeze.

Miles high from the distant ground;
humming in tune to a silent sound.

Singing Fall's foliage song;
drifting notes before long.

Like discarded verses they float;
down to form a moat,
around the castle's base;
covered in bark from place to place.

Life on top soon will cease;
to fly down below and lie in peace.

Brilliant colors fading fast;
flaming colors never last...

Originally written: 10/94

Small seed from which life shines forth,
bursthing through with Nature's force.

Dropping from tree to sink into ground,
burrowing beneath with the silence of sound.

Holding tight to the earth,
grasping tight; about to give birth.

Little seed with so much strength,
giving birth to tree at any lenghth.

Derived from tree,
give back a tree.

The greatest recycler is Nature...

Orginally written: 6/92

I look at my clock; the face says ten.
It's time to call my late night girlfriend.

I'll tell her things I've wanted to express for quite a long time;
speaking to her, silently wishing she were mine.

Long time ago I told her things I really meant,
but somehow though, time just came and went.

Thoughts of her are on my mind;
images and memories flash from time to time.

Her to be mine, is all I desire;
so many things to tell her before I retire.

To bed to dream and to bed to sleep;
dreams of her in my mind I'll keep.

Blocked hidden away in the depths of my brain;
slowly collecting, like drops of rain.

In my mind I reach for her hair,
and in a moment she's gone, like a whisp of air.

She knows not how I feel,
and if she did, she'd think it not real.

The feelings I've had, I'll always hold,
until that time when I've become bold.

To say exactly what I feel,
and let her know that it's all for real.

The way that I am, is the way that I'll be,
until the final day that she's with me.

Until that day, I'll hold my true feelings and just pretend,
and call her, my late night girlfriend.

Originally written: 12/91

Sometimes at night I lie and dream of you,
running through a meadow under a sky so blue.

Long hair blowing in the breeze;
you wisk it away with the greatest of ease.

You look so beautiful, such a delight;
gleaming in the sun upon my first sight.

I slowly run toward you, barely catching my breath.
A life with you would certainly mean death.

As I get closer, you fade in the air,
now it seems as if nothing was there.

I run to the spot and gaze at the ground;
the tears on my face make hardly a sound...

Originally written: 1/92

There stands a rose upon the bank of a stream;
like the guard of some protected dream.

It sees its reflection and thinks that there's two,
but then the image ripples, and it knows it's not true.

It stands and waits for another to come by,
for without another, soon it will die.

Days pass, and so do nights;
changing with different shades and lights.

Months pass, and so do years,
lengthening with the dawning of tears.

So much has gone by, and still no rose,
where it stands, no one seems to know.

"Alas it's too late!" The little rose cries.
It hangs its head heavily, and soon so it dies...

Originally written: 11/92

When you take red and blue,
you get a color of the purple hue.

You take some blue and yellow, and add some green,
and out comes a color that's calm and serene.

Orange is made of yellow and red;
the color of fire, of which we all dread.

Add a splash of white to a blotch of black, and out pops grey.
Paint a little picture and now you're on your way!

Purple is violet, and indigo, pastel.

These two colors no one will tell;
tell how they got in the rainbow,
no one will know.

Years long ago, these colors emerged to put on a show.

They danced around and had some fun,
but when their joy was over, their job was done.

They all lined up in an arc next to each other,
and formed the beautiful spectrum of color...

Originally written: 5/92

A rising sun, a day's glowing end;
these are things to be shared with a friend.

A rainbow so bright, a star in motion;
things to look at with a friend of devotion.

I often look at these in sheer amazement;
acknowledging these are gifts heaven-sent.

Yet oft I overlook the grandest gift that be;
the offering of your friendship to me.

And I look at myself with wild surprise;
how quickly can I forget the life in those eyes?

Eyes of a kaleidescope; different shades of gree;
like shades of a mood; from calm to serene.

At times I want to hoard your moods and save them for myself;
to put in a special place, upon my highest shelf.

Yet to do that, I know,
would put out your special glow.

The glow I see in your eyes ablaze;
a special burning; burning upon days.

And I want to keep you for me, 'cause you're so much like me.
Also yet I know, this cannot ever be.

Because to do that, would smother this thing we have made;
and of that, I strictly forbade.

And so I set you free, for no one can keep you.
And pray that you return to friend that's true.

And pray that you know that friend is me;
and here and forever always is where I shall be...

Orginally written: 12/91

Have you ever seen a sad clown?
One who cheers you not up, but down?

Big brown eyes now filled up with tears,
darkening the depths of children's fears.

All his flowers wilted, all his hair turned gray.
All the laughter that once was, all has now gone away.

Time and place have altered his features;
making him one of life's most horrible creatures.

All the joy has gone with the breeze;
sweeping out humor with the greatest of ease.

Bits of popcorn, scattered around;
reminding him of that joyful sound.

The sound of glee, the babble of gladness;
now covered with the silence of sadness.

Broken balloons still float in the air;
seeming not to notice, or even to care.

All the crowds left long ago,
leaving with the finale at the end of the show.

Now he stands in an empty circus ground.

So I ask you,
have you ever seen a sad clown?

Originally written: 3/92

Tall and slender, full of grace.
Sparkling eyes light up her face.

Her lips are full, most sublime,
when she kisses; tastes of sweet wine.

Beautiful curves in all the right places,
destined to turn all the men's faces.

Her smile could win the coldest of hearts,
destined we met, but always apart.

When she smiles, a smile so tender;
my heart gives in to total surrender.

Her beauty is that of a silvery moon.
Her skin as perfect of a rose in bloom.

Her skin is soft, like that of a rose.
How she could be, no one knows.

How can anyone as goregous as she,
be alive today, if not to last eternity.

Why is she here? To break men's hearts?
To shred them to the tiniest of parts?

One look, and you will fall in passion;
in passion of her in the utmost fashion.

By hand one yearns to touch her hair;
soft and smooth, like a breath of air.

But alas, I cannot, for she does not know,
that she has taken my heart to the depths of my soul.

She captivates me and filles me with bliss.
I have the urge to steal a kiss.

A kiss from her; a precious gift.
Angelic as though an eternal lift.

Her eyelashes long and thick; black as coal.
She has stolen my heart, she has stolen my soul.

Originally written: 4/88
First poem ever written. Age 11.

Umbrellas dotten the golden sand,
while seagulls sang like a big brass band.

The waves crashed heavily against the rocks,
while boats rocked quiety in their docks.

Great blue waves with crests snow white,
pounding the beach morning through night.

There's people around, people galore,
visiting the beach as thousands before.

Mystical winds blowing hour upon hour,
whispering the story of the ocean's power...

Orginally written: 3/93

Walk down the paved road toward the sandy beach;
smell the salty air; it's almost in reach.

Remember times of past,
spent on the beach, wishing it would last.

Getting closer, almost there.
Tasting the sweet salt in the air.

Cross the road to the other side;
there it is, but it's low tide.

A little dissappointment, but soon, you know;
high tide will arrive, steady and slow.

Low tide's brother arrives on a path shore-bound,
traveling in from the world around.

Standing on the sand; your feet sink in.
Smooth white powder; your feet sink in.

Staring at the water; it beckons you.
Immerse in the water; wet and blue.

It isn't water, but liquid crystal, glimmering in the sun.
Each ripple a story of Summer's fun.

Stand and listen, you will hear;
tales of fun, from previous year.

Add your own private story.

Add to the ocean's glory...

Originally written: 11/92

When I think of you, my thoughts wander wide,
of all the things I like, and I make up my mind.

When I think of you, you're by my side;
soft and smooth like the shore at low tide.

With each of my thoughts, I get closer to you,
yet with another, I get a little more blue.

Thinking of you, I love to do,
To be with you, I cannot do.

We have so much in common, but not nearly enough,
to make it work would just be too tough.

There's a tear in my eye when a memory of you flashes through my mind.

I've not felt this way before;
of that you must trust me; of this and more.

Trust that what I feel is true,
what I feel is only for you.

I've felt lone before, but this isn't the same;
it's love of sorts, but of another name.

Some call it love, I call it respect;
I respect you, and that is all I expect.

For you to be you, and not changing for me;
or anyone else. Remain who you be;
That wonderful person I fell in respect with.

To be with you is all I wish.

But wishes have a way of not coming true,
so I hardly doubt I'll speak of any of this to you...

Orginally written: 12/14/91

The Christmas Tree still stands, although stripped bare;
the sweet smell of pine lingers in the air.

Popcorn and cranberries are littered 'bout the floor;
having fallen from the trees, as years before.

The presents are gone, but wrappers lay 'round;
tinsel and needles clutter about the ground.

Among all this mess sits a forgotten bear;
hardly seen unless you are near.

Forgotten among the newer toys;
ignored among the greater joys.

The fur of its body; the color of brown,
the smile upon its face; seems as a frown.

Its bright red ribbon is tied in a bow;
but no one cares, and no one will know...

The eyes on its face now stare into space.

It holds out its arms for someone to embrace,
and wishes to gaze into a smiling face.

A toddler arrives and hugs it to his chest,
then carries it with him to get a good night's rest.

Originally written: 5/95
Originally posted on "What I Mean Is..."

...third in a series.

Golden Violet portrays herself
upon a field of clover.

The sun sets behind her
as she dances and sings.

Nighttime sweeps in
with the tempo of the breeze.

Golden Violet captures
the grace of living.

In her song and dance,
she celebrates life.

She moves with the wind,
and sings with the stars.

She laughs with the jays,
and weeps with the willows.

She mates with the clouds,
and gives birth to rain.

She drinks with the sea,
and feeds with the air.

She lives and exists,
and she bathes in moonlight.

The sun rises with her,
and she beams with its rays.

The dew caresses her;
as she hums the earth song.

Vibrations of life consume her;
as she moves with liquid grace.

The clarity of the sky
shines brightly in her eyes.

The rain showers her in freshness
as she winks to the heavens.

She dances with the wind,
and bows to the hills.

She floats upon the clover,
and grows with the flowers.

The sun sets yet again behind her
as she whistles in peace.

She treads lightly upon her mother,
and departs to visit the daisies...

Originally written: 5/95
Originally posted on "What I Mean Is..."

...second in a series.

...She wove in and out, around jutting rocks crowned with tufts of jasmine. Boughs of pine caressed her as she swept silently past; humming an unknown tune.

The mountaintop beckoned her...

Above, stood a grove of trees; protecting an infant treasure.

An unknown force compelled her...

She followed a trail of tulips, laden with the morning dew. It brought her to a crystal pool; nourished from an underground source. It hummed quietly with her mother's song.

She bent to drink of the pool, but it froze instantly as her fingertips brushed the surface. She paused, uncertain.

A bubbling brook flowed mockingly nearby. She stripped of her clothes and bathed in it's waters, golden with the dawning light.

Refreshed and pure, she bent yet again to drink of the pool. But it stiffened as before. She knelt and wept before it; her damp hair dangling before her flushed face.

The water rippled slightly as her tears mixed with the liquid crystal. Elated, Violet leaned forward to drink. Lips parted, she bent and kissed the surface crystal.

And it kissed her back.

She swelled with an almost numbing feeling of purity and truth as the water trickled down her throat and collected in the valley of her breasts. Natural and pure, she drank of the truth.

Reflected in the still-rippling surface of the pool stood the ring of trees; bark-armored guardians protecting the virgin treasure. Curiosity and eagerness consumed her as she stood to leave. But not before thanking the spring.

Naked, she fled up the tulip trail, hardly noticing it blend into daffodils, orchids, buttecups, and baby's breath.

The trail ended suddenly; blocked by a barrier of bark. Tree grew side by side, harboring a precious within. A wall of bark.

Deflated, she saw no way in. But she saw an axe; a butcher's tool misplaced eons previous. She hefted and swung; determined to gain entrance to the nature vault, but it caught in a bough of pine that was not there before.

Frightened and uncertain, she limply let go of the axe and sank to the ground.    And she wept as before.

Scraping her hand, she clawed the soil in agony; relishing in the pain. For pain meant living and blood meant life. Bowing before the trees, she wept and clawed in reverence of life.

The trees allowed her passage.

On hands and knees she entered the ring and kissed the trees as passed.

Within was dark; dark with the spirit of a secret. The secret. She stood and peered into the gloom, straining for the light, any light. But she saw nothing. The gloom peered back; entering her eyes and clouding her thoughts with a secret.

The gloom peered back.

Frightened, she turned to run, but her path was blocked by the barrier of bark. Terrified of the darkness within, she screamed, yet no sound escaped. She was consumed with the darkness. Closing her eyes, she knelt. Closing her eyes, she wept. Closing her eyes, she saw.

She saw with the clarity of a noon-day sun. And she saw with the gloriousness of a rising dawn. And she saw with the beauty and darkness of a setting sun.

And she saw.

She saw the darkness embrace the light, and light embrace back. Then she saw no more, for darkness came. But she realized as with the day, there is also night. As with the sun comes also the rain. For with joy there is also sorrow. And along with laughter there is pain.

And she laughed.

She laughed with the darkness, and along with the pain. And she laughed with the secret. For now she knew. And she now saw.

In the midst of the gloom shone a faint light of understanding. She reached to feel the light, but instead felt the air. She caressed and fondled it as it flowed between her fingers. It wrapped itself 'round her legs and lifted her hair as well her spirit. Eyes open she saw the darkness, but felt the light.

And she tread on.

She leapt lightly over the bowed trees and followed the trail of the wind. For now she knew, now she understood. She followed the trail of understanding and wrapped herself in the gauze of the wind.

And she saw the dawn; the golden glorious dawn of the day. And of the truth.

And she followed its trail, and laughed with its secret...

Originally written: 5/95
Originally posted on "What I Mean Is...

Part of a series...

...and she happened upon a meadow, abundant with exotic flowers. She bent to pick the colorful one, but it screamed in fear. So she turned to pluck another. But that cried as the first. Confused, she tried a third. But it echoed the cries of the others.

She gazed up at the clouds, drifting slowly past.
But they seemed to stop and gaze back.

So she turned to view the horizon.
But that was blocked by mountains.

She turned to see the forest from whence to she came.
But it had left.

So she sat, careful not to crush the flowers.

    And she wept.

Frightened and alone, she wept. The flowers crowded 'round her; easing her pain with their presence and fragrance. She then realized they live as she. So she smiled and caressed the petals, and scents of happiness filled the air.

Content, she stood and walked toward the mountains...

Originally written: 5/95

Let loose the ideas in my mind,
that want to soar with the wind.

Free the beating of my heart,
that is caged behind bars of fear.

Expand the horizons in my eyes,
that are so blinded by confusion.

Enhance my sense of touch,
which is numb to the textures of life.

Unshackle my yearning for love,
that has been beaten by my self-induced rejection.

Lift up my soul and let me gaze upon the woundrous,
for the beautious is invisible to mine eyes,
and emotions are non exisitent to my heart.

Life is extinct to my being,
but hope is abundant in my soul.

Open my eyes and let me see.

Open my heart and let me feel.

Open my soul and let me live...

I love this quote:

We can embrace love; it's not too late.
Why do we sleep, instead, with hate?
Belief requires no suspension
to see that Hell is our invention.
We make Hell real, we stoke its fires.
And in its flames our hope expires.
Heaven too, is our creation.
We can grant ourselves our own salvation.
All that's required is imagination.

~The Book of Counted Sorrows

What thought have you inside your head?
That which you would lay bare before the world.

What words long to be spoken from your lips?
Spilling forth of your knowledge and desire?

Speak out, I say. Speak out.

When prose brings no solution,
and writs have lost their weight,
Speak out, I say. Speak out.

When injustice prevails before for you,
and truth is no longer spoken,
Speak out I say. Speak out.

When freedom is oppressed,
and tyranny is in domain,
Speak out, I say. Speak out.

When liberty is threatened,
and the light has darkened,
Speak out, I say. Speak out.

When your limbs grow weary,
and your heart grows heavy,
Speak out, I say. Speak out.

When you long to be heard,
and your voice is cracked from strain,
Speak out, I say. Speak out.