The Ceiling

"The sky is the limit,"
but why limit it there?
Why not shoot
for going through the air?
Why even tell one
where the limit is?
Why not just shoot for it
while promoting silence?
Don't even say
where the ceiling is found.
Don't bring the limits
to this place, around.
The ceiling is wherever
one can cap out,
where one can finish,
exerting all without a doubt.
The ceiling is where initiative
won't allow one to quit,
to be passive in the pursuit,
to tap out and sit.
The ceiling is non-existent,
a mirage, a fantasy,
invented by those who quit,
who quit on their dreams
but around here that verbiage
will not be accepted
for we will push through all barriers
with only expectations that are exceeded.

The Ending Rule of Rationale

The screams of fury,
the fits of rage,
the fight deserving
of the biggest stage...
the feelings roaring,
the emotions boiling,
the point of no return
so quickly approaching...
a cool head present -
not currently the case -
she screams and tosses
as sleep she cannot chase...
emotions overflow
as they can't be controlled,
the tears taking an even
heavier and taxing toll...
the gasket is blown
and the top blown off
as rationale is what she,
more than anything, scoffs...
the end of the beginning,
the ending era of rule
of rationale and sense
is gone from this fool...
this is it,
all that now remains
and this is what's left...
this is it, unchanged...

Desolate Nightmare

Stuck in a forsaken place
without help,
with nothing but a screaming face
producing a yelp.
Nightmares of never again seeing
you, my one
(nightmares of never again feeling
that love - undone),
living in a desolate land,
no will to walk,
with not another soul to demand,
not able to talk,
tired of the constant wandering
about by myself
with no capacity for further pondering
from this mind shelved,
sick of living with the fear,
surrounded by harms,
I just want to get out of here
and into your arms.

The Brick

Some dance in circles
in loud cheering chants
around the campfires
that bring fleeting romance

while others sit from atop
watching the action go down
and watching the pretenders
pretend all is okay around.

Some pretend the charade
actually has significance
as if it will affect anything
past the present pretense

while others mock those that
they can see spinning wheels,
the obvious pretenders continually
knowing how nothing real feels.

The popular, the jocks and cheers,
the ones who drink their sorrows away
in plastic cups filled with cheap beers
who rue this and each following day...

...the looked over, those looked past,
the ones who were said not to matter,
the insignificant, the outcasts,
without the surrounding noisy clatter.

Moment of Redemption

The moment of redemption
that still chokes me up,
that filled the half empty
to an overflowing cup;
that gesture of mercy
that saved a soul,
that pulled back the lost
from the black hole;
the forgiveness that only
lived in lofty dreams,
the thread that put back
the torn at the seams:
it lifts the lost
and puts receivers on wings
and lifts them above
all other things.
Now the family is fixed,
the dream is realized
with hope again found
in previously wanting eyes.

Father to Daughter

The best daughter in the world,
she's my little girl,
the one whose hair I love to twirl,
the most beautiful of all.
When a wrong comes her way
she is the one to say nay,
to live to fight another day,
she's the one to stand tall.
Today she's only nine,
which to me is just fine,
an age and size divine,
a sweet child given to me.
Tomorrow she'll be older
in a world that's much colder,
yet she will be that much bolder,
making her mother and I smile proudly.
She could never make us sad
though she tries to get us mad,
I could only ever be glad
she is my one and only daughter.
A person to make beautiful art,
with a smile that warms my heart,
that tears my sadness apart,
there could not be a prouder father.

No Exit

I memorize the moves
but forget what they're for.
I go to enter
the house without the door.
I enter a state
of excitement, sheer glee
to realize the truth:
the surprise is not for me.
The turns I memorized
to help down the road
no longer have a bearing
on the current carried load.
The depression sets in
that the game for which
I was finally prepared
has suddenly been switched
as now I am more
lost than ever before
with no more memorized
and no exit, no door.

Blood

Ones look for moments,
for hearts that stop beating -
me looking for a moment
my heart can stop bleeding -
sitting in a corner,
a soul left alone,
by design, created by
a situation only I own.
A heart that pours blood,
a mind numb to it,
the pain not recognized,
the acknowledgement inconclusive.
Blood pours from every
available emotional orifice,
an amusing prospect from
the outsiders viewing the circus.
The choking on the blood
now curdles with extra rising bubbles
soon to kill me here
and yet the least of all my troubles.
An eye that sees black
in a surrounding white
hoping for the worst,
the crushing and theft of light.
I wallow in that misery,
eagerly awaiting a death,
much anticipated and yearned for
with every remaining breath.

The Moon's Concealment

Seeing the moon in the daylight,
still fighting to save the night,
it glows as if it doesn't know
it was supposed to already leave and go.
Now the dawn has already broken
to leave the night as a forgotten token
and try to forget the previous mistakes
from an evening of too much give and take.
Wounds have yet to heal
but the moon helped to conceal
those sins committed under a pseudonym,
committed under the cover of passion.
The current fading of the moon
cannot come too soon
to forget yet another nightmare,
the guilty's only wish and care.

A Generation of Fakers

Fake the facts,
fake the knowledge.
Fake the degree,
fake the college.
Fake the movie,
fake the scene.
Fake the sarcasm
that you mean.
Fake the truth,
spread the word.
Spread the lie
you push and urge.
Encourage more
to follow the fake,
to live the lie,
to deny the mistake.
Fake the truth
within a lie
that you don't care,
that filthy disguise.
Fake the verdict,
fake the trial.
Fake the destiny,
fake the denial.
Fake it all,
fake it fast.
Fake the life
that won't last
until you fake
what you feel
to discover you don't
know what's real.

Honey

So sweet,
so fine,
so satisfying,
so sublime.
Sweetness that causes
a craving for more,
she's one I love
and one I adore.
The feeling she brings,
the smile that follows,
the satisfaction that
from her flows.
She picks a soul
off the ground
when negativity
and hatred abounds.
She fulfills me
when I'm empty,
when I'm bitter
she's sweet as can be.
No matter what
life's diet throws
it can all be chased
by a honey-filled swallow.

So sweet,
so fine,
so glorious,
so mine.

Love's End

It's over.
It's gone.
All dreams
say so long.
years both
put in
deceased,
survived by children.
Two souls
that found
each other
laid around
now spit
hatred to
and fro,
nothing more to do.
Papers drawn,
papers sent,
papers signed,
emotions meant.
Lives tied
now cut apart
at the hips
and at the hearts.
Two as one
are two again
in love's death,
in love's end.

Hopes

Hopeless and useless,
the moments are gone.
Smiles faded away,
shipped off with the dawn,
dreams washed up
on the shore of promise
that were swept away
and off of my lips.
No positive to hold
after the experience,
no anything of my own
that could make sense.
No hopes to hold
in my weakening hands
that allow all to fall through
to ruin, the shams.
No tears left to shed
on the sad, soggy cheek,
no nothing remaining
form a man forced to be meek.
Now games over,
now hopes gone for good,
another victim of the
ruthless, the coldest brute.

Echoes

Echoes of voices,
the screams that bleed,
that ring in ears
that, silence, need.
Pain that was
limited to physical
now rains in
on the emotional.
Blood pours out
from the teeth pulled,
a pain wished
to be voided, nulled,
yet children lacking
the respect wanted
continue the high
volume to the haunted.
Their ignorance only
trumped by disrespect,
they possess only
a completely selfish neglect.
Their screams now
take over my psyche
sparking a fire
when all I need is peace.
The nightmare is not
to end too soon
as now the light has given
way to the moon.
Instead there is only
the nightmare that be,
my pain and their loudness,
a fight I don't need.

My Haiku

Beauty abounding,
love overflowing upwards,
full of thankfulness.

Echoes of Home

Sitting here in a robe
in this big red chair
enjoying my beverage
as hot as the room's air,
calling to no one
as I am here alone
with only my voice to
resonate in the echoes of home.
The big empty house,
this home at times
that currently only
houses this soul of mine,
every step I take
is one that creaks
as the windows allow air
to come in through the leaks.
There was formerly a family
that inhabited this place,
formerly an occasional
pleasant and happy face
as now the only face
to grace this place
is the one too bitter,
a bitterness too difficult to retrace.
Now that the holidays are here
and joy begins to surround
this house's Christmas spirit
is nowhere to be found.
There is only an embattled man
sitting in his comforts
of his loneliness solidified,
one that still stings and hurts.
Now as others can celebrate
and be thankful for family
he can only sit there and weep,
a choice he brought on himself,
a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Happily Conclusive

Sweet picking,
front porches in mind,
thoughts of both
simpler places and times.
Raspy voices
with words encrypted,
with hidden meanings
of life's battles and urges.
Speakings of darkness
and speakings of light,
of the bright days
but also the darkest night.
Negativity in the air
blocked by grace,
by the mercy spoken
to spit in evil's face.
Screams of gratitude,
and tears of joy abounding,
thankfulness overflowing
in the gratefulness resounding.
Smiles from one ear
to meet the other
in celebrations of gladness
with each and every brother,
happy ending thought
to be previously illusive
now a reality perfectly
and happily conclusive.

Mine

Love in the air,
love in the beat,
love in the heart,
love in the feet,
hopelessness abounds,
broken by love,
with pain to waver
to passion rising above.
dancing around
in freedom, in mud,
screaming together
with a best bud.
the room spinning
in a twirl of love
turning quickly into
a twirl of an angry shove.
a collage of pain
once believed to be pleasure
is now gone for what
seems like forever.
flashes of former lives
thought to be gone
filled with all we
were warned to be wrong.
all of the past
images so vivid,
of spirits passionate,
with spirits livid,
now pain once railed
is again yearned for
thinking to be acceptable
if good does return.
stories told of years
within moments of flashes
knowing it needed to
and has now proved to have passed us.
lips dry and chapped
awaiting a partner's touch
now believing the wait
to be too much.
it is over now
as it should have been long ago
with no more tears to shed
and no more tears to flow.
the most pain felt
is in the ending
with two souls left
without the much needed mending.

Gloom

The day drags on
so painstakingly,
not allowing me
to enjoy it momentarily.
The gloom found above
high in the clouds
overflows this scene and floods
as depression abounds.
Rain sprinkles throughout
with drips here and drops there,
just enough to frizz
both spirits and hair.
Days with outside plans,
days free of work,
are now days wasted,
days to disappear to dirt.
This day currently
being lived in present tense
will ne'er escape quickly
enough to preserve sense.
Instead we will be
driven to insanity
with lips soon to turn
to unwarranted profanity
and a mind soon to crumble
under the incidental pressure
beyond all anticipation,
beyond all belief and measure.

Which Role Do I Play?

Actors in a play,
we are all playing a role
until the curtain falls
or the bell does toll
but the question to ask
yourself at a time
is what role do you choose?
What role is mine?
Am I the court jester,
the joke to make you laugh?
Is my life only
an elaborate gaff?
Am I the prince to
come and rescue you,
the pompous and arrogant,
obnoxious through and through?
Am I the king with patience,
the kind to all souls,
the forgiver of trespasses,
the lover of trolls?
Am I only a peasant
on knees ever-pleading
for a mercy from that king
who must grant that which I'm needing?
Or am I all of these roles
wrapped into one soul,
each role being a part
to make up the whole?
The choice that I make
is reliant on a belief:
am I the one to grant
or to beg for relief?
Which role do I play?

Birthed in a Mind

It grows from nothing,
it becomes its own.
It starts as it ends:
solitary and alone.
It's birthed in a mind
out of sheer imagination
sometimes good,
sometimes with hesitation.
It's the life force behind
action to be taken.
It's rarely able
to be conquered or shaken
but it drives a life
even if only a minute
as it throws a body
into the middle, in it.

Sweetheart Breakdown

Self-esteem to the floor
from the beat downs of years,
the ones that firmly instilled
these unfounded fears.
She's been told by all
the lacking she does possess,
a fable that stifled
any resemblance of progress.
She was told the lies
to keep her spirit down,
to ensure she would never
leave this God-forsaken town.
She was coached to believe
her worth to be zero
then coaxed to believe
there was nowhere she could go.
The behaviors therefore learned
by the sweetheart beaten down
are those she feels never
can be turned around.
The hole of a home,
this place with no promise,
is a dwelling she's resigned
to eternally, to alone face.
The promise that formerly
existed in her soul
was suffocated completely
a long time ago
as now she is to
become just another shadow
another insect crushed
under the foot of the hollow.

Feet Falter

Eyes wander,
feet falter;
the only way
we know it to end.

Left to Rot

Fighting against the status quo,
just not to blend in,
until the fight fades and melts another
soul into the crowd again.

Pushing against the wall erected
years ago by a glory-craving oppression;
dreams die and bodies left to rot
taking with them their fears and depression.

Beauty once written on the faces
now gone, left in shadows of bones,
only skeletons left exposed to the air,
the skeletons in groups, yet that died alone.

Mountains etched with faces engraved,
historical marking of the great men before,
the ones whose legacies now fade in embarrassment,
obscurity that tarnishes lives lived no more.

Bows putting finishing touches on presentations,
the ones that cap them off with a kiss,
a parting touch of death that lingers
to take a life that could never be missed.

This Sickness/This Will

Eyes crossing,
head nodding,
feet weak,
body bobbing,
this sickness has
a hold on me,
driving me to
my misery.
I am here rendered
useless as can be,
unable to think,
even to see clearly.
My eyes and mind
are now colluding
to poison my body,
to begin their polluting.
My nose joins
in the black parade
to try to run away,
to continue this charade.
My legs won't work,
refusing to stand,
no matter my want
or my demand
but even as my throat
begins to scratch
there is one for which
none of it's a match:
this sickness cannot
touch my will
to get its wish
and ultimate thrill.
It cannot break
a spirit ready to fight
no matter its strength,
no matter its might.
My will does knock
down the barriers
and all of the
bomb carrying carriers.
It conquers all
of the evils present
as it serves as the guardian,
as it always prevents.
This will allows me
to wake up each day
knowing the attacks
these demons bring my way.
It does allow me
to carry on still
(this ever-growing,
more powerful will)
and informs a brain
otherwise infected
that the brain won't be conquered
but, instead, always be protected.

The [Machine's] Pursuit

The pursuit for all they have
has left them lost.
The receiving of that which is hollow
has come at such a cost.
They looked for their dreams
in the bottom of barrels
that once were bought
were found too narrow.
Their dreams were placed
on those ever-shifting tectonic plates
that dropped said dreams through
with not one to escape.
Their earth did shutter
as their grounds did quake
to shed life on
their life-long mistakes.
The stocks so well pushed
were the ones of worthlessness,
the ones sold like livestock
without a hint of preciousness.
Morals were pawned
like old pieces of metal,
beliefs sold off
with no place to settle.
With all that was sacrificed,
an empty promise was to come
to present an eternal fulfillment
that was void and to come undone.
Now the hopes that were abandoned
and the dreams so neglected
are too far in the distance
yet always did and will reflect it:
the things of importance
that should have been in the driver's seat
were sacrificial offerings
burned in the flame of the heat
and destroyed alongside
a soul willing to continue
now relegated to fodder
after the machine spits it out and is through.

To Give It All Back

All that I am and all that I lack,
here I am to give it all back.
Kneeling here on humbled knees
I can do nothing but beg and plead
for You to accept a soul that rejected
You for too long as it pushed and neglected.
Now I have finally seen the error
in my ways of selfish sin and vow to ne'er
again from here forth do
that to a holy God like You.
The love you have shown me
is only dwarfed by a mercy
that took this wretched one back
(no matter what it may have lacked),
to save it from an eternal hell
away from You and what You spell.
I love You and will thank You
every day until eternity with all I do.
In every action and every emotion,
here and now I pledge my eternal devotion;
as I say this with every fiber of my being,
I love you, Lord.  From your son here kneeling.