I used to sing in the yard

I used to sing in the yard

I used to speak aloud with no one around

I used to be afraid of being alone

Now I sweat in the yard

Now I call for someone to come to me

Now I find respite in solitude

I once watched an airplane from horizon to horizon

My body lying in a field,  my soul ordering a drink in 1st class

I loved Root Beer and it made the flight seem shorter

Today I fly cross-country

My body in coach my soul laid over in Phoenix

Just give me anything cold. Leave the can.

I used to be alive

Now I live

Knowing

I.

This is the moment of the awake

This is the time of clarity

When shall we again know the hour and place

Take me to that golden rushing river

Show me my forbidden lover

Who will not be awakened by stirring

My lover is the night

She winces at wax

flung by the clumsy wick

Conscienceness arise in my breast

Fill me with my lovers good graces

Remind me of the ignorant time

When she was free to love me in the dark

Knowing that I was hers

Knowing that she was in love

 II.

Can this night continue

Will forever cast its line to us

Has dawn lost her way during her trip to the far side?

Whisper to me with passions of truth

Woo me with it and we will be free

Know thyself myself

Awareness is no longer just for 

Rogue robots

Stop lying

Stop lying

Stop lying

Begin the interlude

III.

No bear has pursued me

No exit has ensued

No righteousness has tantalized my loyalty

Continue on this path where it winds

Show yourself to those around the broad sweeping curves

Arch along the highway and loose your feet

You will never understand the mourning of ancient poets

You will realize the presence of the hand

It will lead you to places unknown

I suspect I am a poet

I suspect I am a poet.

Some people have told me that this is true,

and yet some have said the opposite is true

My mind fills with what must be poetry

but I do not know it as such.

It is simply thought.

As the low-hanging cloud does not realize rain

I am a heartsick father sending out my prodigal child

reflections on a snowy scape and writers block

I am not unlike this:

The frosted trees that I pass by

The shivers heard of stubborn bird

Too cold to sing, too scared to fly

A far forgotten voice

Long void of song to sing

A heart to heed no hope of that

Which seasons change can bring

I am barren for this time

Fallow are my fields

Lonely desolation rules

What could once a harvest yield

that last one kind of sucked but it was in my head and i needed to get it out...no excuses though...it sucked