This Day

I wrote a day in the book of life.

Each step is planned.

The chorus is scored upon each page.

Hear the cymbals crash.

Each phase sequenced into the next as though I’ve scripted a play.

I told stories to myself perfecting each minute.

I skated on thin ice.

Ideas became goals of drafted love letters in my mind.

Achieving was conceivable and the instant I began to forget I remembered writing each moment into the next.

Forging a passport into the whole of what is unknowns the day began dawning.

This day written, a story to live light as the sun burning a scar into core of life.

Forever began where butterflies chase rainbows and all the inequities inside breathed free of any unforeseen tomorrows.

This was supposed to be my day.

Weightlessness became a safe place in the dark.

I saved this day in my mind where the providence of eternity unravels the hopes and dreams we’ve hidden.

Simple became a sunset where the weight of the world took flight and every thought saved the earth.

I am the journalist of humanity where change is the air in the lungs of heaven.

We are only here today and I have written it in the book of life.

Don’t worry and don’t be sad.

We reassure ourselves as we run forward to the future this day will be okay.

Change is what happened yesterday and tomorrow is a fear we grasp looking into the eyes of children who don’t care any more.

My regard for this day is written.

The earth is spinning with hearts that fall out into the vortex of lost souls playing video games and taking needlessly without giving as they text on cell phones.

Youth is no longer young.

Forever is aimless and we are all missing the mark of hope and the hesitation of compassion where one hand holds another.

We are this day.


Promises to a Broken Heart

I don’t believe in promises, shooting stars, or rainbow dreams.

I did when I was a kid, maybe because I knew my parents thought it was cute.

Maybe I didn’t know better.

Back then love wore tight jeans and roller-skated on Saturday nights.

Love didn’t hurt back then when winter days were cold and ice cream was a treat.

Pride was a a new pair of shoes and a ride to school in dads new car.

When the front door of life opened I was standing there and I took two steps.

Alone where they promised I would rule the world and the wind held my dreams.

Dreams lie and promises are just nice things people say to each other when there is nothing to say at all.

I promise everyday it will get better.

So I will walk through this journey they call life looking back from time to time to that place

where band aides made the hurt feel better and spring followed the cold winter of a broken heart.


Walk sweetly child, careful where you feet.

In the darkness lurk the torrid current where fate and destiny meet .

In the sunlight a ray of warm will touch your face.

Linger longer and suffer the burning kiss of a contemplative pace.

Step wisely regarding all you call your own.

Time amid the shaded tree is the only place you’ll call home.


Rainbows aren’t real.

Reflections can’t be touched.

I can’t reach the stars and I try so hard to touch the sky.

Where the rainbows shine, I know I’ll miss it when it’s gone from sight.

Where I hold it in my soul.

Because rainbows aren’t real.

So when we dance I’ll sing you the song.

Where rainbows fly and dreams are born.

Wishing wishes on dancing stars.

Where the dark stores the sun.

In the sky that makes the rainbows seem so real in the break of day.

The sun and the skies lie.

Going Home

We’ll roll down a winding road just to feel the wind upon our skin. When laughter dies, well hold each other as you cry. When we’re lonely enough well go home.

Take a breath and take it slow. Going home. Going home.

We’re all looking for someone to share our souls and someone to walk awhile through the echoes of our long agos. We’ll go home.

Don’t blink an eye, take the time to cry. Going home. Going home.

For a time I’ll curse myself for things we’d never done. Everyone holds a dream and dreams don’t last. For you dear I’ll whisper your name as you go home. Going home.

Don’t write a poem, not for me, I’m going home. Going home.

And when the night skies twinkle with stars and fire flies there’ll be no more time, but time it doesn’t last. So my dear, build a bridge to the past and make it last cause I’m going home. Going home.

Take one more breath and take it slow. Going home. Going home.

Tomorrow, no tomorrow’s already gone. The presence of time rages on. I can’t, no I can’t say goodbye not this time. I’m going home. Going home.

Going home one last time.

It’s a Lie – Words Can Hurt Me

Sticks and stones are weapons and words…words can hurt me.

Sticks that break bones cause pain and though I fear the rumors that cause waves in the tide of human nature.

The ocean of forgiveness is deep, yet the failing courage to brave the unknown in shark infested waters I hang my head and stand alone.

I protest the wrong silently in a vein attempt to buy time in a place I chose to be, want to be, need to be.

Effort is the scarlet letter of vengeance pinned to my chest by one born of hatred and bread in the beating womb of evil.

I wear these wounds like decorations.

I will not keep score, for I hold more value in  integrity, more conscience than tears.

Amplifying silent screams of loneliness in a cave of dark lies and intwined disgrace for the words spoken like shells from a 12 gauge thrusting the normal we knew into the cavernous hole of where we never wanted to be,

The failing heart beats slowly now, thoughts clouded in sympathies few dare to offer, so they stare.

Capitalism and Socialism threaten to take over a nation of the brave, yet few care in silence and spread noise on their own porch echoing vibrations in their own hallways.

They won’t come too close.

So I stand so I can be seen and through the changing of the tide rise, rise high and grab the sun by reverberating rays.

I leap over than the words swung low and cowardly.

Know it or not the words, those every words that defeat me impeach me to reach beyond the diligence compacted in their untruths.

Like a carnivorous animal I digest and regress to a place where fairytales and God coexist in a reality conceived by man.

There in the sacredness of what we only hope to know I am sure those words which cut like the thief’s dull knife will slowly retreat with the ebbing of the tide.

There in that place I am free from the words you cast at me.