Exuding with Hesitance

During the coldest of nights, during the warmest of days,
I feel your breathe, your beat, your lulling soft voice,
My chest exudes with hesitance, willing to escape
Whenever my minds stumbles upon your face,
No, I am not infatuated in your existence,
Nor am I joyful during your presence,
I am shocked, I am astounded, I am paralyzed with hope,
A hope to look onwards for the next God given day,
That I will see your face and given the chance to embrace your grace,
It seems to me, your existence is what keeps me safe,
Keeps me grounded to reality, whatever that may be,
You've given me the chance to experience a precious piece of life.

Fistful of Grass

I hold onto mother nature with a fistful of grass,

The soft blades tickle my palms as I thrust them away,

Letting them float away on the tides of mother nature breath,

As the wind catches their wings and lofts them away

Into the endless void of Earth's atmosphere.

Each loop each blade of grass,

Engraves a portrait onto the wind's canvas,

A meaningless flutter paints the colors of the world,

And as that breath of wind carries the grass beyond my sight,

Those airborne brushes will share the beauties with the world,

All because of one toss.

Shades of Gray

Shades of gray harmonize

The roar of the ocean,

With the calming of the sky,

As I sit hear pondering.

Before me, a symphony

Of intricate patterns and 

Dull colors lull me

Asleep.

It heals me, it soothes me

Of the convoluted pains

My mind cannot rid of,

As the dull tones wash over me.

Leaving my mind in a lull,

Leaving my mind at peace.

As the shades of gray consume my soul.

Harem of Our Souls

The harem of our souls

Hides the chest of our secrets,

Hidden so far beneath

Where no one knows.

We guard this chest from

Potential wanderers,

But no one dares

To venture into 

The depths of your soul.

For they may become lost

In the catacombs and turn back

Around in frustration,

And so we sit there alone,

Waiting.

But when the bravest of souls

Forge their way through

The harem of our souls,

Not only will they find that chest,

They will find you.  

Stream of Conscious

I wrote this about a year ago.
And so it goes, drifting ever so further from the shores and into the darkening abyss of the ocean as the dusk strikes the silvery rolling tides, shining an unforgivable light back into the sky where the stars stare at the glistening specs of light on the cold surface of the earth, wondering when the end of time will arrive. As the world tilts on its axis and spins in the void which even death cannot exist, lights from all over the universe stare at the insignificant orb floating in the depths of the matter strewn galaxies, wondering how and why life can exist on such a small rock. And yet it continues, drifting further along the current, traveling towards an unknown destination and achieving an empty feat where an infinite number of spectators, living or non-existent, will find a way to praise or ignore the beauty of its existence, but to merely applaud the metaphors and similes drawn from the breathe of a man. Expressing emotions through an incandescent light bulb allows us to show our true colors, but we never know the direction the light will travel or refract. We stare and watch as the world turns on its side, resting in the void man could not recreate. And so it goes.

Biological Heart

Your heart is the center of your existence,

Allowing your soul to cycle the contents of your memories,

Supporting every breathe taken betwixt your thoughts,

And to warm the smirk which rests your lips,

From the past recalled.

We do not know why it continues to vibrate,

Echo and comfort the crevices of our being,

But it is for certain that it has allowed our existence,

The constant nudge against your chest

Reminds us of the beauty of humanity's naivety,

Our trust in mechanisms which bewilder even 

the most vivid of dreamers. 

Clutching onto my memories

An anchor hangs from my heart,

As my footsteps begin to drag,

Hunched over and staring at the ground,

I do not know what lies ahead.

The pangs of the past haunt me,

One by one mocking my decrepit figure,

As the ghosts of my memories

Drain my already weak heart.

Yet I still move onwards,

As time moves me further from the past,

What little remains of me

Is preserved inside my hand.

Clutching onto my warm memories,

Close to my heart.

-Dan