As For Me

I,
I who struggles in the deepest of places,
I who misses home,
I've crumbled and scarcely stand against the wind.
I've shone, covered by a blanket of unfathomable galaxies,
But I am only the strength I have on my knees

I wish to be Pocahontas.
I wish to fall free and fear not,
The water wil gather me carefully in the rush of her arms.
I wish to hold the strength of twenty warriors in return.
But I,
I am the tree in the storm,
Sturdy only in the eyes of peace,
Till the testing rain betrays my secrets

I,
I wish to be more.
I walk the road to all I will be,
I've bruised, beating a new path,
I've come a ways from the start,
But I,
I am only as fragile as I'm found in sleep.

We Foresaw a River

The Ocean seemed a river, you held me on her shore.
She carried me far away, down her banks and e'r flowing streams.
Streams we dared not indulge our eyes with,
Embracing the strength of a fortressed rock in her kingdom,
Knowing we could not crumble against her.

How I loved the ocean, her symbolism of your warmth,
Her vastness conquered by your strength, as you carefully enfolded me inside.
We pretended with paper sailboats, commanding over her steady waves,
Saying the wind would blow me back to you,
The Ocean's currents were ours to direct.

Now I stand on the banks of a mistaken river, beaten with understanding.
Humbled by the force of the Ocean,
Effortlessly undermined when I lay still in your arms.
She is no river, her depths unfathomable to man.
Her course rougher to the lone sailor, than any trial foretold.

And though alone I see her strength and shutter,
Desperation consumes my every ounce of being,
To conquer her once more, and meet you on the deeply familiar shore.
To rest easy in your arms, as we point out at the river,
Confident of the traveled and known, governing her waves again.

Tattooed Heart

Tattooed tears rest on my heart,
distinguish a pulse and its skin apart.
Dry and stain as you age then to fade,
shade in the lines and crevice you've made.
Relief for the eyes I forbid you to be,
so puddle the soul, where no one can see.
Thicken the fortress and skin of the veins,
for too well I know, you'll besiege me again.
But meekly I posses the endurance I'll need,
to extinguish your fire, to poison the weed,
though easy a task I'm assured it is not,
to relieve all the aching, to diminish the clot.
But when I leave my heart, over worn, and tattooed
marked by tears I left uncried and unviewed,
It'll stil be beating ever steady, ever true
Waiting for me to come home overdue.
Home to color the tears over with bliss,
home at last to make honest art out of this.

As the Current Carries the Shell

My dear, you came in with the tide,
the white shell amongst soft dark sand.
You hid a time, your home the current,
forever moving,
forever floating through the tow of an underwater wind.
My dear, you were buried deep,
but I looked for you, my treasure.
I polish, refine you,
in return you make my world more beautiful.
Your sea glass eyes entrance me,
leave me hypnotized by their gentle tug on my soul.
Time comes to us, then leaves us,
like the fullness of the moon,
and just so, it promises to come back.
My dear you'll have to go soon,
back to the never ending drift of the sea,
but I'll keep a steady pull on your captivated heart,
just as the beach pulls on it's waves,
just as the fisherman balances his line,
until you drift back to the bay.
I'll keep the shell, my treasure, guarded
and when the current carries you home,
I'll be waiting patiently there in the sand. 

Freddy

I wish I could say the unspeakable,
that I could describe the unseen,
but things that can only be felt
are better left alone.

The last breath of a child,
dozen month hands holding yours.
The gong that clashes, heavy and cold,
ringing agony of his mother in anxious ears.
Cringing at the sound.

I wish there was a language to make you feel what I see,
a dialect to touch your heart.
Love and suffering are only sounds,
unrealistic letters,
attempting to describe things only felt,
things better left alone.





A little over a week ago here at the hospital, I got to help with night care for a little boy who passed. When I came home I could hear his mother crying still. I didn't really know how to describe this, how to feel it out loud, persay. I still don't. I know that no one should have to go through that, any of it. Some terrors of the world you just have to let happen I guess.

Lost the Way

Burned my fingers with a delicate touch,

Yearned to be on the other side.

Learned the value of innocence,

Earned the guilt that decays me inside.

Lost my way on the path once again,

Frost overtook as I sat in the night.

Cost was much greater than I predicted,

Tossed up my sword, surrendered the fight.

Defeat consumed every human remain,

Sheet after sheet of paper to turn.

Neat as could be, the chapter was written,

Beat the idea now, don't let me return.

Hold me tightly, and steady my stand,

Fold the page over, forget the ordeal.

Mold me into who I'm supposed to have been.

Cold turns to warm, and scars left to heal.

This writing style is called a "lento", and was created by Lencio Rodrigues. He is the one composing the book, which is exclusively about the "lento" style.

You Don't Learn of Death in an Airport

You don't learn of tragedy in an airport.
You only hear of it.

Someone came to collect us, to relay the news,
but in one ear and out the other,
for you don't learn of tragedy in an airport.
I saw your feet fail you,
I saw your sobs overtake you,
but I wasn't watching, I didn't listen.
I only saw, I only heard.
The silence was deafening,
The edges of reality started to blur.

Time stopped.
Drugged, numbed.

Everyone watched us.
We didn't notice, wouldn't have cared anyway.
All we knew was we felt empty,
but couldn't put a finger on why.
Tears came then,
as automatic reaction,
but devastation came later,
as response to knowledge.

When we sat in your house, ghostly and chilled.
When you didn't greet us, like you always used to.
That is when we learned,
That is when we knew.
When our normal changed.
When vacancy could be felt,
That is when tragedy hit,
like a brick to a already tender stomach
like oxygen deserting searching lungs.
leaving you gasping, winded, stunned.

We were told of your death in the terminal.
Ironic.
But we didn't know,
'till you weren't around,
'till we had to go on without you.
Until we left the airport.