there is a beat to my step
orange waves
vibrations of a song.
notes prancing around my heart,
rushing to my head
bursting into melody.

harmonious it is not,
fighting the chords
while sour notes collide
forming nothing more but,
a false charm

it tries to swing me
turning my legs inside out,
falling into fake tears
for this song is not mine.
controlled and altered to hum along
it stings my chest,
nails on end,
blackening my soul.

i cant stop singing,
i will not lose my tune.

i dreamed
as the snowflakes went by
then i saw my reflection,
screaming inside.

The eerie drunkards obtuse art hangs on the tree.
The pleated pants lay like hats from above.
We wonder about their surreal sense of style, or figurative subject usage.
Too abstract for our eyes, it's only willing I suppose, for one man to lift a shopping cart above a cement block, or, even fly pants into a dead tree.
It’s crazy, but it's art. Funky, and yet, genuine to the human eye. Weird or not, I would put some up,
without the alcohol.

the stream of silence reins
odious realms of tenderness
it doesn't seem real
but it is,
this awkwardness,
desire,
and truth,
it stands between us and them
making that perfect fit,
into Cinderella's shoe
but, it can not be.
this prince is not hunting,
dreaming, or even looking
a lowly girl like me
can only wonder
what it's like to be in love

"One might the same argument about harmony, lyre and strings, that a harmony is something invisable, without body, beautiful and divine in the attuned lyre, whereas the lyre itself and its strings are physical, bodily, composite, earthly and akin to what is mortal.
Then if someone brakes the lyre, cuts or breaks the stings and then insists, using the same arugement as you, that harmony must still exist and is not destroyed because it would be impossible for the lyre and the strings, which are mortal, still to exist when the strings are broken, and for the harmony, which is akin and of the same nature as the divine and immortal, to be destroyed before that which is mortal; he would say that the harmony itself still exist and that the wood and the strings must rot before the harmony can suffer."-Plato's Phaedo

vanish into my heart.
hold me close and deep,
blink

i am here just to see you breathe.
to watch the simple actions of your body
the movements of ironic charm,
each strange and yet subtle

i want to reach inside you,
pulling all of your thoughts awake
kicking together the broken pieces

i want to glue them to me.
solve the riddle of time
and dive into the pool of your mind,

i wonder some days,
what is it that keeps you alive within me.
a memory of falsehood,
a flame,
a candle of hope,
flickering in the wind.

i watch you ever so closely,
more then you could ever imagine.
but i don't know you.
i am just a martyr
looking beyond the face of a man,
into a soul

from eve: "everyone has been so sweet, i wish there were real people like this, because in the end, you are a figment of my imagination..."

ode to aluminum foil
that cracks and crinkles
while shining with the crisp sense of silver

ode to aluminum foil
that enwraps my hair with gooey splendor
which makes me itch, while glittering in a strange paradise

ode to aluminum foil
that keeps all my goodies freash to eat
while keeping the fridge neat in its kingdom of food

ode to aluminum foil
to which i can crumble into a tight ball
aim, throw, and dispose all at once

ode to aluminum foil
true joy in a funny box

i lay between the lines
one of truth
one of pain
like playing hopscotch
i flip the coin from side to side
a child's game of mind verses soul
floats in the air

chance
a chance i don't want to take
within my mind

or is it a choice?
going from the future to the past
the lines of time
waiting to be crossed

one move
one choice
one way to go
cross the line
and don't look back

I dream of starry nights
along magic streams
bursting with flavor

embedded with jewels around the grass
plucking money off of the humongous trees
while eating the cotton candy clouds

colors swirling
as though to drip off the canvas
or to burst into flames of panic

the marshmallow fluff glazes the town
flake by flake
as if we had shaken the snow globe

but it all just melts away
this foggy place
of wonder and demise

so again, all I can do is stare
into the night sky........

we reach, ever so simply
for love
indepth of overpowering desire
we are blind to the truth
only letting our hearts rule our minds

but why is it we take heed of this?
why must we want what we cant have?
is the grass green, yet looking red in our eyes?

teasing myself, like a cat to mouse
i can only linger in the space
between my heart
and my soul
which i call
my mind

One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a,dancing star.
-Friedrich Nietzsche

what would it take to not live in a perfect world........
to let the lion lose
instead of rattling inside his cage
pacing inside
his mind

the eyes searching the white washed walls
of every detailed frame

these lives
these people

freedom

thrashing the walls
red
separating apart the detail
letting lose
the frames of smiling children
and
breaking down the walls
to make doors

destination nowhere
running thru the wide fields of rushing water
waves of thought
danggling like wires
sparking a moment
like watching firefliess wizzing bye

this strange place
where time is only what is
not to be
like the rain
drops of wine
from golden grapes
stream
to the
silver plated ground

silence
engulfs your sanity
the pieces of your mind
broken
your eyes dont help your soul
find an answer

but,
you free the chains
of mind
bond by bond
searching
inside the mind
of a child

i will always be,
insde the mind
of a child

my favorite poem by, Emily Dickinson:

It struck me -- every Day --
The Lightning was as new
As if the Cloud that instant slit
And let the Fire through --

It burned Me -- in the Night --
It Blistered to My Dream --
It sickened fresh upon my sight --
With every Morn that came --

I though that Storm -- was brief --
The Maddest -- quickest by --
But Nature lost the Date of This --
And left it in the Sky --

What it really says in the fine print:
Not for use in hot tubs. This product is meant for educational purposes only as students are trapped in classes and can't escape. Any resemblance to real, artificial or simulated persons, living or dead, will be news to us. No living animals were harmed in the filming of this book. May arrive in pieces, some assembly required. Dead batteries included. Use only as directed, and we direct you not to use it. No warranty expressed or even gently squeezed. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment, which suggests a poor future for laptop-based digital maps. Postage will be paid by addressee, and will he ever be surprised. This is not an offer to sell securities, but we certainly hope that won't stop you. Apply only to affected area, but if that looks strange to you, you can apply it to the effected area, too. May be too intense for some viewers, not intense enough for others. Do not stamp, but if you must, stamp gently in your bare feet. 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Limited time offer, operators are standing by waiting for their chairs to be delivered. You must be present to win, and you must win to be invited. No passes accepted for this engagement, but the elopement is free. No purchase necessary means it is necessary not to purchase. Processed at URL stamped in code at top of carton. Use only in a well-ventilated area near an emergency room. Keep away from fire or flames or nuclear detonations. Replace with same PostScript type. Look for the union label; it shows the best workmanship. Your contribution may be tax deductible if they don't audit. Some equipment shown is optional, some hasn't even been manufactured, many pieces are plastic simulations. Price does not include tax, title, shipping or content. No Canadian coins except those nifty gold dollars. Not recommended for children of taste. Prerecorded for this time zone by beings from the future. Reproduction strictly prohibited, yet it hasn't prevented population growth. 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All words between "Not for use in hot tubs" and "several minutes" are null and void and should be considered satiricle and nonfactual.
-credit given to a wacky web page

one of the most logical things anyone has ever said to me:

"that's ok, it's not like one shred of evidence suggests that life is serious"

cumbersome
denial
divided into one moment
replace my love
yes
no
yes
no
yes
but why?
The moment seemed right
but is it??
To think that for a guy,
the same?
or just an illusion to my mind
is it me, or my mind?
my love, beating
waiting
for him
to come
to me.

(parafrased)
"It's resistence. If pop music says that everything is okay in the world, then rock music says it's not."-Bono\U2

in this world, we think we know what we want
but we dont
our minds, scrambled like eggs
only move with the twrilling life
you look to someone,
deep
hard
and long
but you realize its pointless
they will never see,
hear,
talk
to you
your alone
we are all alone
and yet, this one day,
out of all the rest
i realized that i will never find peace inside my soul.

The time has come, for the truth to be stated.

"Just say no" prevents teenage pregnancy the way 'Have a nice day' cures chronic depression.

as simplistic as our society wants us to be, you can't solve much by saying one sentence...

sex is sex
depression is being shot like a ping pong ball, inside your head

and as i always say:
HELL is BIGGER then Heaven!

rain drops have wings that fly away with the night
like faries on a midnight hunt, for trouble to stir
he said
as the children giggled
the fireflies came out
whispering to them, the secrets of the earth
to the moon
like a giant cookie
raised on the sky
the man continued with his story
not seeing them
crawl upon the children
with a twinkle in their eyes
yet, still today we can never see fairies
yet the children knew, at that moment
the moon as there wittness
what they had seen
was magic

see through my sanity,
into my soul
see through my mask
into my mind
see through it all
into my life
see me, for who i really am.

a fallen angel stands
among us all
tattered and torn
from wind and rain
walking in the shoes
once worn by me

dancing, with the images that fly by
she catches ideas like stars from the sky
tumbling, as she rolls down-hill
she smells the fruitful blossoms bloom
singing, a tune that has no words
the beat still goes on within the air

and at last
before she heads home
she looks upon me
smiling
for she now knows
what life is like


"Poetry isn't an art, it's a way of Life." -Erin 88

these walls
leave me
alone
these walls
shelter me from
pain
these walls
hide me from my
thoughts
these walls
protect my soul

The Bridge(song)

Crossing the road, I came to a bridge
a bridge that divided my life
between love and pain
you stood at the other side
the fire rose, like Hell was coming out
but you couldn't be reached
I crawled and climbed, reaching...
but you only drifted further away
Crossing the road, I came to a bridge
a bridge that divided my life
between love and pain
you stood at the other side
holding out your hand to feel the rain
as it pounded that bridge to bits
scattering the pieces of our lives upon the hard ground
Crossing the road, I came to a bridge
a bridge that divided my life
between love and pain
you stood at the other side
I reached for you, but we fell, further apart
out of reach,
forever..

silence never does anything but make you insane.
do people think if you put someone in a padded room of white walls with a straitjacket will solve anything? they are just making these people more crazy, because they won't listen or talk to them.
just watching them, like a clock ticking, inside itself, and nothing
but nothing, comes out.

a part of an essay i wrote...

Life seems to be a game to us, we pick and chose the pieces we want to use and them push them in. Only, to realize that it was not a game anymore, once someone dies. Then, we open our eyes to reality and see what we are really doing to people. Showing that the life these men were living was practically Hell; and we had no idea it was happening.

My pain

A flame
That burns in me
Bursts
Thought out my mind
scorching, angry, and hard
it fills me
like the morning sun
it only rises higher,
rushing
through out my veins
killing me
slowly
like razor blades
down my back
this pain
trapped inside
the tiger in a cage
can’t escape
until we find
the key
to my
sanity.

rain drops

the waves crash in the moon light
as the sky tumbles down
tears fall like rain drops,
upon the mighty ground
wild as the sunset and free as a bird,
the wind moves around us,
untill again we yern
Each drop sparkles, as it shatter into bits.
for life moves so swiftly, like a flowing stream
all that flows is only here and now
whispers in the moon light get turned into
rain clouds

a part of me,
flutters in the wind
like butterflies, within my mind.
a part of me,
dances to a tune
which moves me gently to my side,
a part of me,
is not within my soul
its moving all around
in time..
the music starts to play
and lifts me away
to a far off land....
a land, where we are
free.

open your eyes,
see what your missing.
open your eyes,
and see me, through my own.
in this land, nothing seems to change,
not even your own age, if you try
if you only try
to see yourself, and everyone around
as they are
as they really are....
a part of me,
flutters in the wind
like butterflies, within my mind.
a part of me,
dances to a tune
which moves me gently to my side,
a part of me.

What goes up, most come down.....

On the edge of a thread
we hang
climbing, we pull away
just making it longer to climb

it flows as we linger
like a river
blue and sparkling in our eyes
we pull inch by inch
as it flows on and on

like a cat with a toy,
we twist it
like our minds
it binds harder
as we come together
this thread of pain

like the tip of a needle
we prick oursleves
only to end up patching our wounds
for we hang
because climbing only brings us down
again

what one brings will always bring another...

work, like you dont need the money
love, like you've never been hurt
and
dance, like nobodys watching-?

love, only to be loved
live, to only be who you are
and think, to only explore the limits of your mind.-Me

Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those we have personality and emotion know what it means to want to escape from these things.-Emerson