late night rumble......

I fell asleep with rhyming words clogging my subconsious
Words of happiness
Words of pain
Words worth reciting
Words that bring no gain
Shrugging shoulders
Raised eyebrows
Waiting paitiently to almost care
Words that have been said
Casually forgotton
Words whispered
Etched and resolute.
Finding the horizon
The hope that comes with dawn
Seems endless and hopeless
With a new word comes a new song
Saved from impending doom.....

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It Was Good For Me That I Was Afflicted

It must be disheartening to know I have had to heal from you that your betrayal is one of the reasons for the crisp clear obvious lines I now flaunt You must have suffered some disappointment by my loss of poor self-esteem because I had found the courage to become inconvenient for you You must have had some pondering days Because I was good to you and you knew I never deserved it But it was good for me that I was afflicted It was good that your big, bad, broad, petty back was turned when I truly needed you because I would still be hanging on to your coattails It was good for me that I was afflicted I had to fight my way through my own self-inflicted wounds to wind up in my healing alone I was overly confident about my position in your life I thought you were a day one even though you weren’t around since day one But had the feeling like a day one Maybe because I treated you like a day one and things that happen...

Bland

After the earthquake, I smile. I might fall a little or maybe a lot but I get up. I get up because I realize that there is nothing down there for me to do. Down was not home; it was uncomfortable. Poco a poco with a spoon for a shovel and faith so big, Mount Everest trembles, I crawl out. Residue lingers but making the best of the moment is what counts. That's all that matters. When dry runs and inconvenient pit falls run amok. The moment counts. All the moments count.

Walk signal

The blackened sky promises more than just rain. The promise of complete destruction knocks on a frail, weathered door. Open door Close door Open door Half way Door falling of the hinges, fresh paint covering the mildew. Strange hands gripping the handle, almost loosening the last rusting screw. The blackened sky promises more than just rain. Syncing with the troubled wind, secretly hoping for the rain. Still The unknown, blackened sky promises more than just rain. Trust the wind, trust the promise of rain. Trust. Blue skies painted black with false hope and broken hearts. Misguided, falling for the promise of rain. Was it wrong to hope, for a little bit of rain?

heart to heart

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