Driving the pace

A beautiful day broken

By the heavy foot

Of the pushed too far,

A driver, a passenger 

On a highway

Where one is afraid to drive

And one is just bored.

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Broken Libra Scales

The scales tip

Sometimes,

To much weight

Thrown around,

Excitement and frustration

Abound.

Trying to balance

Till some one presses 

And won't let off,

And I snap

Trying to gain back control.

Overfilled with emotions

The chains of polity and clarity 

Crack under the pressure,

The kinder, gentler me drops

The wrath in me

Takes control.

In simpler times

I could just let it go

Under calmer skies

It would blow past,

But instead an eruption of fury

To make up for the worries I mask,

A spiteful tirade

To hide the uncertainty

In the plans I have made.

And as I calm

Find my center

Mend my own chains,

I hear nothing but silence

Bitter angry silence

From the instigator and victim

Laying inches away.

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Letter to my son or daughter

Tell her everything,
tell her your faults,
your flaws,
your hopes,
dreams and desires.

Be open,
honest,
you can't change what you've done, who you are
or what you hope to become.

It will give her two choices at that point. To accept you,
as you,
or to move on.

But if you aren't fair
and honest with her
now at this crux,
it will always weigh on you.

Give her the truth,
if it is meant to be,
it will be,
if not,
then at least you know you we're honest with yourself.

If you ever get to the point where you are holding her hand,
looking in her eyes,
saying for rich or for poor,
in sickness and in health,
you don't want skeletons dancing in your mind as you say
'I do'.

I know you love her and will forever,
even if things don't work out,
you will cherish the time which you spent together.

It will all be fine.

Stuttering

All these thoughts
Clips of a decent
Into madness
Teetering on the rim of sanity

To many nights
Left alone in the head
Tossing and turning
In an empty bed
Bleeding in drip drop fashion
Passion spurts
Ferocious and fleeting
Juxtaposing the patient beat
Of the heart

We
We are
Weary

Haves
Have not
Knots in the stomach
Writhing in pain
Plain sight
Hiding on the open forums

Page after page after page after page after page after page after page after page after page after page

Meet me where the punch line is the subject is the title is my poem where I hide what I feel in what I feel I can reveal to steal a glance into the mad sadness coursing through my veins to my brains to my finger lingering between keys, trying to explain the unexplainable in the art of me.

Caught
Fraught
Fraudulent
Forced
Cohearsed
The worst
Dredging out fledgling feelings
Somewhere in subtext
You'll find every answer
You choose to find,
Chameleon phrasing
In plane sight.

Wanderful Life

That sinking feeling you get

Bound to head down the road again.

Like my old dog dying

With the prospect of a puppy

 in my head.

The Stranger

When the stranger comes

To town

Nothing to do but walk around

Things better left unsaid

And offer a couch as a bed.

When the stranger speaks,

Answer in cliches;

Avoid the doeful stare

And the awful truth in your heart,

Where pity and compassion meet.

Where resentment and disgust

Meet silence.

Ohh Quick Endeavor,

Ohhh, How
I Bleed..,