is this enough protection

there exists a sacred temple
that is protected by all sorts of traps
traps that catch cheaters and liars
and label them unforgivable

the path to reach this temple
is filled with peril and requires aruduous work
if one should somehow find their way inside
a slew of morals disguised as soldiers awaits

there is to be no sin within this place
and only one is chosen to be let through
only the one knows exactly what to say
to gain access to the treasure inside

and in the coolest, darkest room
lies a chalice filled with blood
placed upon a pedastal that's safe from all harm
and inside it is where you'll find her heart.

Doubters

they doubt me
maybe it's my capabilities
maybe it's her past
but they don't trust me

perhaps rightly so
since i have proven no worth
i have assuaged no doubts
i'm just another cupid (shooting arrows)

but i have trust in my heart
and determination in my soul
and i offer no safety
to those who stand in the way of my destiny.

The Cat Named Auburn

Upload music at Bolt.


Sara sat playing with Auburn, her favorite (and only) cat. It sat quietly in her lap and she stroked it gently in between the ears on the top of its head. Auburn arched her back and looked up and her, letting out a playful "meow". She was reminiscing of all the times she's spent in this very bean bag, with her cat in her lap, purring and bathing herself. After her heartbreak last year Auburn was there for her when human consolations meant so little. And when she felt self-conscious about how no one asked her to the dance, all it took was a stroke between the ears, and it was as if the cat was saying "It's okay", before burying its head in her lap once more.

It was November, after Thanksgiving and approaching the magical holiday season. Sara arrived home from her first day back at school since the Thanksgiving break. She rushed through the front door and found her mother crying in the kitchen. Before looking for her cat, she asked her mother what was wrong. "It's Auburn", she choked out through tears. "She's gone missing."

---

Eight hours later and Sara and her mother were still searching for Auburn, but the neighbor's had said they hadn't seen her. They put up fliers with her picture on them, but holding the large stack of papers with a large photo of Auburn on them was too much for Sara. Shortly after she started to cry her mother began driving home. If it was any regular pet she could understand how a child must feel. But to Sara Auburn was so much more. She could talk to Auburn with more ease than any of her closest friends. Auburn never judged her or shunned her. She was always willing to hop on Sara's lap, no matter the hour, and give her undivided attention.

That night Sara went to sleep with the image of Auburn, alone, underneath some foreign bushes along the roadside. These thoughts carried with her through her dreams. She awoke when a car in her dreams was barrelling down on a cat similar to Auburn, and was only inches away from impact. She thought briefly that everything that happened yesterday was all just a dream. Any minute now Auburn would curl up beside her in her warm bed and she'd sleep a few more minutes before having her hand licked. No such thing occurred, and she began to cry once more.

The days crept along slowly, with Sara's mother trying everything imaginable to raise her spirits. She constantly made her favorite foods and rented her favorite movies, but nothing seemed to work. Day after day Sara would come home from school and sit in her chair, where she would pretend to be stroking a cat. Her mother was becoming increasingly worried for her emotional health, and thus made additional efforts to find Auburn. With Christmas only a few days away, Sara's mother could think of no better present for Sara than returning Auburn to her. Yet try as she may, she never received any solid leads on the cat.

---

Three days before Christmas Sara was idling her time around the house, with little to no motivation to go out and join in on the Christmas spirit. Her mother was out most of the time trying to find Auburn, unknown to Sara's knowledge. One day she encountered a man in a large, dark blue trench coat. Rather, she accidentally bumped in to him at the local animal shelter. She was there to see if they had any leads on Auburn, which sadly they did not. On her way out, however, she mistakenly bumped in to the man who asked her what she was there for. After explaining the story, the man wished her and Sara the best, and said he would pray that Auburn returned safely. With Christmas only a few days away, Sara's mother prayed each night for that as well.

For Sara the days leading up to Christmas seemed to trek along slowly. She was almost ready for the holiday spirit to be over and done with so she could start the next year and attempt to move on with her life. The loss of Auburn was truly devastating to her, and she was still having enormous troubles overcoming the loss. Her mother was secretly planning to start investigating various counselors she could see in January to help with the loss of Auburn. Their house lacked its usual warmth that it had this time of year, the day before Christmas. Christmas Eve night Sara fell asleep in her chair, the chair that Auburn had accompanied her in countless times long in to the night. When she woke, her mother had to force her to the Christmas Tree in their living room. Sara knew that the thing she wished for most would not be there.

After reluctantly opening all of her presents (and trying her best to pretend she was happy), her mother was starting to prepare breakfast. Just then, the doorbell rang. "On Christmas morning?", the mother pondered. "Go answer it, dear". Sara got up and went to go peek through the small windows they had on either side of the door. She saw a flash of a blue coat and then nothing at all. She opened the door and nearly kicked the basket that lay on the first step of their porch. Inside was a warm blanket and a decorative note with "For Sara" written in cursive. By this time her mother had become too curious to stay inside. "What is it?", she asked. "It's...", Sara began, "It's.....", and she unfolded the blanket.

Inside was a cat that was sleeping soundly and looked just like Auburn. Her mother dropped a plate she was holding and it shattered on the porch. Sara had one hand to her mouth, the other reaching slowly towards the cat. "Is that...what I think it is?", the mother asked. Sara stroked the cat between its ears and it arched its back up, stared at her, and meowed.

"Yes", she said. "It's Auburn", before tears began flowing down her cheeks.

Somewhere

There's a man somewhere right now, begging for his life.
He might be on his knees, or he might be praying to God,
but one thing is certain, and that's he'd rather be somewhere else.
And you, and me, are in that somewhere else. We are safe.

The Poem I Couldn't Write:

It was going to explain
that feeling I get sometimes
deep down
in my stomach

Also why sometimes
I get really quiet,
and why when I snap
out of my trance,
I'm not quite normal.

My brain moves too fast,
sometimes I need to slow it down
to think properly and with care
before my thoughts wander
so randomly aimlessly through
dark abandoned alleyways
that lead to horrific imaginative
places that should only exist
in the mind of a Hitchcock.

It would've explained all of that,
and possibly more,
but I couldn't write it.

This is what I wish I had said to him when he called the last stanza of my poem cliche

He said what I wrote was stock language. All because I used the word love, I think. WELL I'M SO SORRY! I guess I just wanted to write it out the way it felt to me naturally. And that was by holding that person in my arms. No need to call it cliche. Is the word love banned from poetry? So sorry for committing such a sinful act. I guess next time I'll use one of your god damned metaphors. And for the record, I'm not changing the stanza. I'm leaving it the way it fucking is.

Natural Qualities of Human Beings

Perfection lies in wholeness and completion,
not in subtraction and addition.
True beauty exists in the natural,
for things such as the sky need not be bigger.

And the trees have no need to gloat
about the size of their branches
or "how many rings they have".
The young and pure ones have none.

So what of what I think?
I have an opinion just like the other guys.

They like the centerfolds
that come with each new issue.
I like what you see in those photographs
you have taken in the little booths.

Give me passionate eyes,
or smiling lips.
I'd rather have ears that listen,
and a voice that says "I love you".

So going back to nature,
I ask - what is beauty?
It's a growing oak tree,
that ages with nothing but dignity.

Overnight Flight

You see, there were once these two people,
who were separated by a Lone Star and a bunch of casinos.
God knows how many countless miles of highways,
kept them from seeing each other.

It was going to be fantastic,
she was going to surprise him!
She knew he'd never see it coming,
that he'd probably fall over in shock.

She made the plans in secret
and stowed away on a midnight plane.
Only a few more hours,
And with each she was closer to her dear.

She walked down the first floor hall,
to Room 106, and opened the door.
No one was there, but as disappointment settled,
the phone began to rang.

Do I even need to finish this poem?
"I'm standing outside your apartment", he said.
"You're roommate said you went to see me", and they laughed.
They were still thousands of miles away, but felt closer than ever.

I Will Whenever I Feel Like It

Because of procrastination I'm forced to run through this mental marathon called a checklist,
and I just pray to God I haven't forgotten anything.

Red roses - check,
Chocolates, too.
A mushy card I hope makes her cry,
And an "I love you" teddy.

It's only the middle of some random week, in some random October,
but I'd thought I'd let her know she's special,
and give Valentine's Day the finger.

I had a date...

I had a date -
It was like, sometime last July.
Some random weekend,
Something like the 22nd.

I had a couple dates -
All perfect ovals that fit in my palm.
I was planning on something sweet,
Like, feeding them to her, or something.

Yea, I had a date-
But she called me up,
Said she couldn't make it.
And since, I've never had a date.

The Black Church

I remember going to church
just before I was adopted.
Old Ms. Jones would take me Sundays,
and I stood out among the black crowd.

Heads would turn and eyes would roll
but Ms. Jones said in his house, we're all the same.
The Bibles were a bit tattered and torn
and not at all like the ones at the white church.

Wily Mr. Pete would play the organ,
the chords reverberating inside my chest.
The choir would sing as a single voice.
The most beautiful thing I'd ever heard.

Then big old Lady Harris got up on the stand
and with sweat pouring down her face, she sang.
I couldn't understand her it was so loud and vocal,
but I knew it was something powerful.

People were holding their hands in the air
and shaking them like they had a seizure.
Faces contorted as if they were in pain
and several people wailed cries of prayer.

I never went back to the black church again
and I don't think I'd understand it if I did.
The soul cornered in between those walls
isn't something meant for everyone.

Trying to Fail

There's a thing that many shun against,
a feeling not felt, but rather sensed.
To think to try means one might fail,
keeps us in our self-made jail.
It's something you should do, every now and then,
more important than, a daily vitamin.
Go out and try that which you are not skilled,
to acquire the bricks you require - to build.
The process of life is based on one rule,
which ironically so, is not encouraged in school.
Where wrong is wrong, and never right,
do they know E did not equal MC-squared overnight?
Perhaps if they taught us what it means to learn,
we would have no reason to perpetually spurn.
If we never failed, the human race couldn't better,
but rather be reduced, to an alphabet letter.
Instead of giving us an A through F scale,
our schools should be teaching us, instead, how to fail.

Little Girls' Savings

*Ring-a-ling-ling*
The ice cream truck
drives through streets,
and little girls perk.

They slowly look over
at their bright pink piggies,
and question how hard
they'd have to hit it.

It's such a hot, sweltering
summer day,
with the thought of cool
ice cream tempting them.

But they've been saving
those nickels and dimes.
Saving them for oh so long.
*Ring-a-ling-ling*

One little girl goes downstairs
to grab her father's hammer,
but before she pops the piggy
her mother catches her hand.

While the *ring-a-ling* fades away,
she'll be glad in the morning,
when she still has her piggy,
filled with nickels and dimes.

What a shame that their mommies,
can't follow them to college.

What I'm Looking For

When you took me out,
on our first date of many,
there was a moment I knew,
that I'd set you apart from the rest.

It wasn't when you opened doors,
like a perfect gentleman,
or pulled out my chair,
as if I was a princess.

It wasn't when you let me order first,
then offered to pick up the check.
It wasn't even the simple fact
that you gave me your undivided attention.

It was when you noticed the goosebumps
on my arms, as we walked out of the building,
and threw your jacket around me,
as if to say everything would be okay.

KPB

When the sun sets at night
and my thoughts turn to you,
I can't help but smile,
at that universal moon.

If the night sky were clearer,
I'm sure in its reflection
I could see your pupils
glistening with the glow of angels.

What is it about you?
Both nothing in particular,
and everything in the world,
and that's what makes you special.

Someone I feel I can trust,
and a soul I've come to adore.
You don't have to keep guessing,
for didn't you say to put it blunt?

Dear ,

Yes - I'm writing this to you,
because I know you read me regularly.
I now have the attention
of about three to four people.
I wonder if she knows I'm talking to her,
and not the others.

Your intuitions were right,
when you talked to the duckling.
Much like you have ears and eyes,
I do too - and choose to use them.
And I know how you know,
the subject of my writings.

Those five little letters -
My! You are so perceptive...
You really don't miss a beat do you?
Yea, I remember that promise I made,
and it isn't about getting even,
but rather having a blessing crash down
and implant itself in my heart,
where I hope it stays forever.

----

As a P.S., I still hope some nights
that you find a way to smile,
and are able to enjoy your life
to the fullest extent possible.

In a galaxy far away...

I'd like to miss you,
but I'm not allowed.
You see I have this thing now,
something called commitment.

But that's not to say
you will be forgotten.
Much like any good book,
you'll hold a place in me.

By either chance or destiny,
I've found someone more special.

Someone who looks in my eyes,
and says "I love you",
which is something you implied,
but could never do.

Past Me

But at the end of the day,
when you turn off the lights
and are left only with yourself,
everything seems in place.

Other people are out of the picture,
and your worries are put on hold
while this ruthless thing called reality
gives you time to rest your brain.

For a few last brief moments,
you're scared, fearful, apprehensive.
Then sleep steals you away,
and you wake up.

You go throughout the day
being slowly consumed by emotion.
Just before you decide to retire,
it reaches a pinnacle, and then you sleep.

Nothing has ever existed for me
just before I go to bed.
No one to hold, no prayers to give,
no kisses goodnight, and no hope for tomorrow.

no title

Dissipate in to the streams of my memory that have forever flowed and never stopped, much like this run on sentence, that has neither an end, nor a true beginning, but rather just continues to exist like the humans of the world, constantly seeking for dreams and the courage to pursue them, sometimes finding themselves in a moment of joy, but for the most part ending up in stages of futility, which, when reflected upon, help us grow and achieve the objective of a thing called "living", which is comprised of things like love and desire, but ruled for the most part by the need to survive, whether it be by marriage or a job promotion, and often the idea that in the end none of it will matter anyways, for each human, from the Dali Lama to a hillbilly sex offender, will begin a particular minute of their lives where they die, and nothing can stop it, only the questionable prayers to a particular God give us comfort in the thought that it isn't really the end, because we all live our lives, much like you are reading this sentence, realizing that it isn't too long until the end, and you can see it, but you continue to move along until, after a few more commas, there is nothing left to read, and no life left to live.

My Blue Blazer

There's a couple things she taught me,
such as to not promise it will all be alright.
The only promise I make now,
is that I'm just me - and that's all I'll ever be.
If that can help you, then great,
but if it can't, I can't help you.
I'm not going to change outfits
to play the part of every occasion.
I have one old, blue blazer
and that's the one I'll always wear.
But if it means anything,
I've had that blazer my entire life,
and have never needed it sewn.

"Sometimes, honey, mommies and daddies choose not to live together anymore..."

It was one of those lies
that had an underlying meaning
hidden within it
(those hurt the most).

You said you were gonna lie down,
"To think about some things".
But we both know what you meant,
didn't we?

It could be anything.
Why you had vows,
why you had children.
Please don't make me guess.

If you can't talk to me,
then atleast leave a post-it
on the kitchen table,
before you leave us.

Me Being Me

Giving everything I have,
it never seems like enough.
I always seem to fall short,
lacking some sort of final push.

One step from perfect,
and thus wholly ruined.
Not quite where I want to be,
always one word away.

So tantalizingly close,
before my dreams shatter.
Shatter like tears of glass
cutting the skin on my cheeks.

I despairingly try my best,
yet am never quite good enough.
I do my best to be myself,
but it's never worked in my favor.

Come...

If this is a dream I don't want to ever wake up.
I'm so deeply in love and feel so lucky
but at the same time feel sorry for others.
I'm sorry they'll never be this happy.

I hope I'm good enough. I hope I have enough to sacrifice,
because I would give everything for you.
This overflowing love pumping through my veins
has broken the record for the largest estuary system
in the almanac of my heart.


That loving touch has released some sort of chemical
that gives me a high no drug can match,
but sadly I still suffer withdrawal when you're away.
I never want you to leave my side, I want to hold you forever.

Stay close and be with me
and I'll make sure you're always happy.

Apartment Darko

I'm sitting in my broken down apartment
on my bed without any sheets
and with a floppy piece of shit I call a pillow.

I turned all the lights in my room off
but the streetlamps below mix together
with the sound of prostitutes,
and make it harder for me to go to sleep.

I close my eyes and think about the world.
I hear police sirens wailing a few blocks away,
a bedtime sound I've lived with for years now.

I wonder if someone's died, who it was, and why.
That sound is like a wave, going up - back down,
and up - and back down, over and over,
night after night after night.

The faint hum of the overhead fan
that only has one speed - slow,
perpetually drones me in to a sleep.

There I'll dream of things that I hope aren't dying.
I don't want the streetlamps shining in my face,
and I don't want the sound of sirens in my head.

Picnic

This lazy August afternoon offers us its grace,
filling the air beneath the large oak tree with warmth,
and permitting the birds to sing while we eat.

The blanket is cushioned by the grass,
and warm and cozy to the touch.
Out of courtesy for our privacy the ants leave us alone,
and the bumblebees find elsewhere to buzz.

Clouds scoot across that amazing color of blue,
and a light wind acts as a kiss from Mother Nature.
The smell of the flora reaches my nose,
and I close my eyes, thinking it must be heaven.

God has created the opportunity for all of these things to exist,
all of these beautiful, wonderful things.
But I think his best work of art to date,
is sitting right here on the blanket with me.

I am Stephen, hear me rawr~

From the darkest reaches
of the most mystical caverns
with the most gruesome beasts
and fearsome foes,
hear me rawr.

Hear that desparate cry,
part anguish, part ruthless,
echoing in your head
and reverberating
through your heart,
hear me rawr.

Take heed to my shout
and see my words that scream,
like that of a lion's
marking the Savanna territory,
except mine are on paper.
Hear me rawr.

Agendas

The old man walked over to the same old bench,
in the same old park, with his same old newspaper.
He sat down, the sun as his lightbulb, the grass his ottoman,
and began to read about the world, and see who had died.

He heard a young man, he guessed in his twenties,
yelling throughout the park at the top of his lungs.
Something about Republicans, and a political agenda.
The old man simply continued to read his paper.

The young man searched for prey and saw the old man,
and with his eyes narrowing in sight of him, he advanced.
"Sir, have you heard about the upcoming election, or taken..."
The old man went on looking up old friends in the obituaries.

When the man was finally done with his tirade, he added,
"So, how about it then? Would you like to register and vote Republican?"
The old man's eyes were reduced to slits and he let out a heavy sigh.
He looked up, and said:

"I'm sorry, young man, were you saying something?"

What Love Does

Things change when you're in love.
Kisses become wake-up calls,
smiles become permanent,
and naps are taken when you aren't even tired.

Your once stoic phone gets a work out,
and your e-mail inbox is a little more full.
Away messages change to "missing you",
and the sun shines a little brighter.

The eyes see things differently,
looking through the scope called love.
You can't help but follow your heart,
to that bed where your lover lies.

Eternity gets positive connotations,
while holding them in your arms.
Love is how two people are happy,
even while asleep and unconscious.

The clock hands can't move fast enough,
when you're separated from them.
The moon couldn't hang higher, nor shine brighter,
when they're as close as they can be.

Yes Elton, I can feel the love tonight,

And that twisting kaleidoscope
has become so much clearer.
A confusing mix of colored prisms
has become a face I've come to love.

I'm no king, certainly no vagabond,
But good luck telling her that.
(Apparently I'm "the best").

But my wide eyes are not from
exploration or adventure.
They were opened to the truth,
from where the westerly wind blows.

And just like you said Elton,
my heart beats along with hers.
Star-crossed and in a dream,
I can feel the love tonight.

---


http://www.lionking.org/lyrics/OMPS/CanYouFeel-EJ.html

I Picked a Flower Today...

I picked a flower today.
It had two stems that jutted out
from the main stalk.
And on the tips of those stems
was leafy foliage that tickled my face.
Its petals were deliciously tantalizing,
however I don't eat flowers.
To bumble bees and hummingbirds,
this flower must have been Paradise,
a dream they longed to reach.
It had two roots that dug themselves
firmly in to the ground next to me.
It was screaming for me to pick it,
practically begging for it.
And although I knew at that moment,
that picking it would alter it forever,
I decided to anyways.
Ever since then I've taken care of the flower,
since it was my choice to pick it.

Nuh-uh

There's one thing about you I lightly deplore -
For my heart can't stretch to say abhor -
Arguing my case each day, I implore -
That you'll come to your senses for sure.
For no matter the amount I to you adore,
You will never, my darling, love me more.

You're Beautiful

In my honor tonight,
I hold a celebration.
With you as my guest,
We'll thrive in pure elation.

Take me by the hand,
Swing me all around.
The love runs so thick,
I'm scared that I might drown.

This night's the same for us both,
A moment long overdue.
With a dream before our eyes,
We can't help but pursue.

My heart beats faster,
My jaw hits the floor.
It's so refreshing to have,
What I've never had before.

I make a toast to you:
I'll never cheat or lie.
I'll never see you hurt,
Atleast until I die.

Thinking

Wake up, and think.
Take a shower, while thinking.
Get dressed, still thinking.
Brush my teeth, also thinking.

Barely make it to my 9AM class,
only to think there, too.
A couple of hours become an eternity,
when all I can do is think.

What am I thinking about?
Oh - I don't know.
(And did you think I'd tell you anyways?
It's so much fun to tease).

Poem at 3:50 AM

Ok here I go. I'm not going to think, or else I'll never get started if I do.

How many ways are there to write it?
Probably something like a thousand.
And equally as many ways to say it,
although I usually just use that one.

I could say the words I always say,
Special, Great, Awesome, Sweet.
Or I could say them all at once,
by saying that one I usually use.

You know what it means, though.
That I wish to be with you,
to eat with you, to sleep with you.
I'd like to think fulfillment is pending.

All of what I feel for you is summed up,
With utter brilliance. Who understands best?
You do, which is why you'll know right away,
after adding a forward slash in front of it all.

Prose on 10/6/2006

This isn't really a poem. Well, I suppose if you were to ask Allen Ginsberg, Walt Whitman, or any number of their followers, they would all say otherwise.
The textbooks define it as prose poetry. So I can write whatever I want here, and I've already spent some of that space explaining what this is.
With that out of the way, let me say what's on my mind today. (Love is).
People should know I write about what's going on in my life. Last February sure didn't seem like it was very fun, did it?
Well, my recent entries are about somebody. (They don't live in the South).
I kind of thought you'd figure it out, and maybe you have. Or maybe you haven't. Either way -
I do love this person. And it's different from before. (Oh so different).
So if I've written alot about love lately, I wonder what that could mean?
Yes - what could it mean indeed...

The Lioness

You do not seduce the savanna lioness.
You admire her from afar,
until she says it's okay,
then you proceed carefully.

You do not indulge yourself by touching her.
You slowly place one hand on her back,
until she is comfortable with your touch,
and then you stroke her gently.

You do not brag about her to your friends.
You get to know her as best you can,
until you've come to respect her,
and then she can brag for herself.

You do not love her, and leave her.
You realize in the beginning it will last,
until the inevitable, heartfelt end,
else you do not love her to begin with.

You do not weaken in your feelings for her.
You feel more passionate for her every day,
until you know that you've found it,
and then you'll have extreme happiness.

(In case you didn't know,
it was never even about,
the savanna lioness.
I love you.)

Underneath the Gown

I wonder if you are the one,
And if our love draws nigh.
It must be true, it must be true,
Which I'll now tell you why:

Whenever things turn for the worse,
I know you're there for me.
My happiness, a treasure that,
You always gaurantee.

Though rain and storms and wild winds,
You'd fight for me so brave.
I bet you'd fight until you died,
And fight more in your grave.

You make me happy to live life,
Help make my dreams come true.
Which is why I stand with fervor,
And, say those words "I do".