"Tearing At The Flesh Of Reality"

Reality can render life unkind.
It shrinks around you like a collapsing bubble.
Slowly losing air through the thousands of pin holes,
your actions have created in this life you live.
Yet it's smooth walls are like pitch.
leaving the only real illumination in life,
emanating from those tiny holes in reality's dark membrane.

It seems the more you scratch and tear at those holes,
trying your whole life to witness what lies beyond your existence.
The less light there seems to be for which to see those choices,
Yet all the more air there is to breath and thus to live.

In the darkness within, eyes seem to fade white.
Essence made milky by the lack of vision.
Their perspective distorted by consistency.
The thirst lost, for answers sacrificed,
as the stale air extinguishes the soul,
leaving the shell, without the being it once housed.

But the ever shrinking universe that is our reality,
Is warm and comfortable with familiarity.
Like the womb of a caring mother, it grants us peace.
Human nature makes it all too easy to leave us little choice,
but to curl up in the black and embrace it's temptation.

For to resist the dark and tear through those holes,
is to invite the horrible pains we must first endure,
as we break free from the chains that bind us to this realm.
Giving birth to another life, where the eyes can finally see,
without the bubble's twisted distortions.

Because I Never Forget A "Dream"

I remember that night I sat there, watching the clouds obscure the full moon and transform the world into a blue haze. It seemed that time had granted me a reprieve from it's constant vigil, so that I could spend forever gathering the thoughts that seemed to flow out of the deepest regions of my soul like tiny fragments of complete truth, mixed with the sweetest ingredients of my dreams.

I remember a small pond, glittering with the dancing light of a billion playful stars jealously trying to compete with the awesome glow of a pale moon as it drew my attention away from it's smaller cousins in the night sky. The ponds shore danced with the activity of tiny fish as they desperately tried to catch the stars across the dark water's surface.

I remember the sign said that the park was closed after dark, but that only helped retain my privacy as I sought out answers to all my problems in the quiet solitude. The park seemed the perfect size to envelope a single man's personal universe, and its cliche terrain only added to its dreamlike persona, as if it's landscape itself formed straight from the pages of a poet's secret journal.

I remember the stream that flowed down from the pond, it's rocky edge gave refuge to a thousand, singing bullfrogs, trying to keep harmony with a million, tiny, chirping crickets in the night air. Their music seemed to weave the most fascinating stories around the landscape of the park, masking the utter silence that I myself inflicted upon my own company.

I remember a park bench right on the tiny beach. During the day, people would sit there playing foolishly with their fishing rods in hopes of catching the ever elusive sun fish beneath the water's surface. Yet I instead preferred the small tree stump nearby, that provided seating for only one, and one was all I needed.

I remember the walk to the park, tracing my footsteps through the same dark streets through the quietest parts of town. Pondering the lives of the people I passed, and wondering if they too possessed such turmoil in their minds as I.

I remember an old swing set in the park, where I could sit alone, running the tips of my sneakers through the loose sand, forming shapes and writing names and words in the dirt. How easy it is, to digress while turning weightless in the air.

I remember a small bridge, placed on the distant edge of the pond, put there by man for no other reason then aesthetic appeal. How calming it was, to remove my socks and shoes and make ripples in the water with my toes, spinning the glittering images of stars into swirls of bright mesmerizing light.

I remember I thought it strange, to be in this most profound of places all alone...

...Or was I?

"Saying everything, without a word spoken"

I can still see those beautiful eyes looking back at me.
They seemed filled with utter sadness and total guilt,
Yet showed me the hope and true love underneath all the pain.
Those eyes always possessed a magical power over my soul,
I could feel myself breaking free from self-imposed restraints,
And the only reprieve that came, was from the cold blowing breeze,
That temporarily set me free, as her bangs obscured her eyes.
Only to lose all self-control again when our eyes locked once more.

The world around us was bitter cold and dark like pitch,
Strangers walked by us, but we heeded their forms little attention,
Traffic passed by and broke the silence of a quiet winter night,
Drowning out the low humming of blinking street lights,
But the only world that mattered to me could be found in her eyes.
Hand in hand, the rest of existence mattered little to us.

A collection of uneasy silence and innocent smiles passed between us,
Talking matters little, when love bonds your souls to each other.
Words can hardly explain emotions that transcend language,
You could never do your true feelings justice with simple speech.
Instead, everything that needed to be said, was explained from within,
And her dark and beautiful eyes, and it broke my heart.

How many times had I stood in this one place on Earth,
And yet this night it seems so unfamiliar, but so comfortable.
A single evening together, that lasted only five brief minutes,
Transcends a thousand other less precious memories of my past.
I will forever remember this one spot, with this single moment in time.
We already share so much of our past, but that night we added so much more.

"Even The Angels May Fall"

He stood there silently looking down at his bruised hands,
turning them over and over, while he knelt to the floor,
as if he was looking for some tell-tale sign upon them,
to explain why it all seems to slip through his fingers.

His dark sorrowful eyes seem to have lost their brilliance.
Whatever light had once radiated from them,
was now consumed by the sadness in his soul.
Now faded, the windows to his tired consciousness,
are fogged over by the cold chill of a wintry existence.

From his seemingly quiet perch above the traffic below,
he stands witness to events for which he no longer controls.
Fate has once more played it's cruel hand against him,
and again it has chosen to punish him for his optimism.
Each time it seems, the rules to this life forever change,
So that he may be denied his chance to succeed in helping another.

Once again, the blistered wounds along his palms,
Become the obvious symbols of his continuous failures.
He said he would always be there no matter the cost,
that no man-made barrier could prevent his intervention.
Yet it seems that each time his vow needs testing,
fate and time work their combine power against him.

He tries so desperately hard to be the strength of others,
to stand firm against the terrible typhoon of pain this life inflicts,
yet the price he pays in sorrow, is the burden he must alone endure.
For he is not part of any ring, but instead is the last link in the chain.

The sun begins to sink below the contrasting horizon,
as the last rays of divine radiance play off the roof tops.
Another lonely night awaits him in the dark shadows of the world.
An evening spent pondering questions he himself can never solve.
Time spent waiting for another chance to prove his worth,
Only to find tomorrow, that the darkness did not remove his inadequacies.

Slowly he spreads his wings and looks to the sky with eyes turned pitch,
He says nothing, yet exclaims all his guilt and exposes all his hurt.
If this humble existence is but a trial of one's character,
What is the reward for his understanding of the lesson being taught.
For the tests he endures, only grant him further anguish.