Below the Surface

He was observed: made from scratch.
He was seen scratching away
at the surface: the stubborn dirt.
He scratched long into the day.
He wanted to reach the hurt.
Not before long, the day was gone.
He found nothing here, so he
scratched there. He couldn’t see
as he scratched deep into the night.
The sun came up, and he looked
down and said: “I can make some-
thing from all the stuff I found.”
Tired and dirty, he walked home
with stuff that can never be shown.
He was happy to have dug below
the surface: a place only he knows.

Wasting Away

Days fly, and they don’t
say “hi!” or wave “bye!”
Days fade as memories
are made. No time to be
afraid. The world turns
just how a candle burns.
None of that concerns
me. I try my best to feel
blessed – to digest stress.
I try not to waste away,
but I must have my rest.
Like a car sitting alone
in an empty parking lot:
Sometimes, I’m all I got.
I am the bullet being shot.
Will I hurt or help? Die
or try? Crawl or Fly?
Should I wonder why?
Do I fall or do I rise?
Either way, I wont waste
time easily misplaced.
I choose to face the day
instead of wasting away.




A Poet’s Dream

A Poet’s dream is to be heard
and not seen. A Poet’s dream
is to create, to wait, and to
discover one’s own fate.
A Poet’s dream manifests itself
in words, sounds, and mounds
of half-written ideas found
under the surface: underground.
A Poet dreams a dream brighter
than the sunlight and better than
a good night under the stars’
inviting sight. A Poet’s dream
is to change the world –
to rearrange things to release
one’s hidden pain. Just like
ghosts, Poets do not show them-
selves, but they do know them-
selves. A Poet’s dream
is to live a life that can manifest
itself before and during the night.

The Distance Between Us

Miles separate
me and you.
You live a ways
away. I live with-
out you everyday.
It feels strange
because thoughts
of you surface
on purpose. It is
like you are here:
closer than before.
Distance between
us means nothing
to us. I trust that
we both watch
the same stars
shooting across-
finding the lost.

Back Words / Backwards

Upfront, the words pierce

like razor-blades in a mouth.

But behind the words,

the truth remains about

The surface shows little

about the past we’ve seen

and it doesn’t reveal

what we mean.

The words come out

when we’re not sure.

but behind the words

is a soul full and pure

We go backward to

see the past,

But lose the present

moving too fast.

But we speak honestly

and from inside as

the surface reveals

what does not hide.