Fair Flying

It's dreary here, where comfort bears no place in my mind It's fickle fear that puts us here wherever we are this time And it hurts like hell, knowing I cannot tell the difference of lye and lime But I imagine then the perfect plan to configure new ancient rhyme... And it is said when we go to bed, in the morn we'll feel sublime But it is not Sublimity I want; It is the vastness of time.. I know it's strange and I know I'm deranged, but sometimes I'd like to rewind.

And when the party's done and I've had my fun what will be left to hide? A snicker here, a chuckle there and all that is left is to reside among measures of mischief tapered to themselves, starry street lamps falling over wooden shelves, And somewhere there is a barren wasteland of dreams where everything seems to take heed from its wake and suffer horrific fate in the cerebral cellar where it only puts itself at stake.

It is sour in my mouth to say that there is an end to everything and anything, but all things turn to ash and like summer, fade away  in the most cruel way that we least expect despite the vicious cycle. When long summer days turn into strong winter nights, I am taken aback by anything and everything, for there is a certain escapade I want to approach with some bit of dignity that I have left, but I cannot; for everything comes to an end, everything has a vice, everything has an end. Eternity is a long time to complain about things we barely understand, and I suppose it's had to be this way over and over and over again.

If offered the chance to go back, would you? If given something for all that you lack, could you? If Heaven split open and allowed a re-do, a re-run, a flashback in time, another cycle un-spun, would you? If thrown a bone of time untold, would you take it? To create the coils of new and old, could you make it? Of all the glamour you carry with you, is any of it certain to begin to renew you? There are many bits of time in my life I would try to subdue or re-do if I could, but I don't think  I would change one thing... Would you?

Good news, my child, you're a winner, not a loser, full of life but always thinner! Great news, my dear, you're not a child, you're an adult-- always eager  but never wild! Splendid news, my love, I've chosen you above all else to comfort me and hide me from all that is new!

Everything in this world is given certain weight: Life, loss, love, Hearts, health, hate. And we shouldn't take any of it for granted (though we do, let's confess) lest we lose our heads in the process. Everything in our world is fragile to the touch, but if you're gentle and somewhat sentimental it will always be enough.

Feeling your lungs expand against your heart so warm A hot air balloon or two Tucked under your chest for safe keeping. Pulling your skin apart away from flesh upon flood Of tired air and glass And shapes big and small underneath it all.

Perhaps we're all just a bunch of bubbles, floating about in a salty abyss and I keep colliding into you because the current keeps pushing me that way and I never know what to say or do because it's such a tiny thing, an irrevocably obscure thing that I hope to one day decode like some precious little puzzle. I think we're all just rainbows in a world of rainstorms and rage and it takes a while to get where you're going because nothing is easy in the heart of the storm; but that's where we prefer to stay because the wild wind curls and frays our luminescent dreams from our hair and pulls new reverie from our eyes-- secret little spies. Meanwhile my love for you is just as loose, intangible unsightly to most eyes and it feeds on my hope like some drunken lark, losing sanity to those nasty spies; but at the same time it draws me close pressing my heart against yours-- striking hard against shores

There aren't many things I'm sure of, but one thing is certain: under any terrain I'll be okay I'll be perfectly fine because you are mine and though it's a very thin line, I'll cross it if I have to through a river of rain I'll follow the signs and I'll be just fine with you.

I'm always the one who says "you're never alone, not really " and while that's true I think it's safe to say there are moments when being alone is all there ever is and all you feel is solitude in a world of aptitude, and I personally don't want to feel that way.

When the air is ripe with ice And the fire in your lungs burns bright Tuck a shadow under your arm And exhale, Release the alarm And let everything dissolve Into resolution to always be solved And seek brighter stars And fight worthier wars And everything will be greater Than it ever was before.

I once knew a girl named North who dreamed she was a snowflake, and covered her mouth in melodic laughter whenever we looked her way. Her brother was not as sweet, though he was all smiles. He gave us gifts for a while to butter us up and wear us dry as we filled the lakes with sighs. I once knew that boy named South better than any for I had seen his better side, his truer stride and I was content with it all; But with rain comes snow and Summer follows Fall, and down south we glide back home.

Either you're poor or a bore or just plain rich And you know your heart's sore, but you've still got an itch, Good luck my friend, but you're a wicked witch in a world of words black as pitch that cut like a sword right to the very end and lips as curved as the winding river bend. Never again my friend, will I write if you ever turn your cheek on a warm yellow night for a dreamer who dreams may always lend their ear to another who dreams and pretends that life is a box for them to climb in and suffer forever in rusty old tin.

Pardon me for asking during such a troubled time, but could you spare one moment for one simple rhyme? It won't take very long I can promise you that, In fact this isn't even my best, But I'll take off my hat To spirals of sugared glass and white chocolate cake, To pies of pecan and berry, everything simple to bake, For it is well known to most that dessert is the way to go when one is feeling off, out of place or a little bit low; So if you ever want some sugar Just ask and you shall receive, And there won't be too much or less or any excuses from me.

The air is a thousand souls flitting through the wind the snow a million memories slowly wearing thin; This storm is a cool canopy crafted for a queen, this frostbite nothing but flush from a dream; The sky is a bounty from where crystal creams spout, my mouth an open cavern caught in a drought; our hearts race and I wish to taste the subtle sweetness of a frost-kissed face.

The lowest of lows is a trip down below the Earth's crust where we rust and pound our fists on the inevitable cysts of life. The hardest of falls are followed by the call of someone in pain whose hope has been slain by our own metal hearts where the true struggle starts in strife.

I'd like to think my voice has some merit and that when I tilt my head back and laugh, I'm not always judged for it But a smarter voice in my head tells me it isn't so Because that's just the way things go and I have to constantly remind myself to breathe and brush and blink. I'd like to think my heart will find its way and that when I try so very hard to explain myself, they'll understand my delay, And every little bit of what I used to know comes back Because that's just what I expect and I know full well my words mean nothing, no matter how hard I try to make them mean something else.

What a surprise, I'm so shocked Never would have guessed What a surprise that it stopped.

Follow me follow me home I'll show you the way to go Follow me when you are low Through thick and thin, sleet and snow You will never be alone Upon mud, metal and stone Throughout all that can be shown, I'll show you which way to go; In light of day we'll walk slow, So Follow me,  follow me home.

You have a choice: Either put yourself in the place you suffer most, Or take yourself out of it And hit "restart". Life's not as easy As a game, You say, But I can assure you what you're doing Might as well be the same. You have a choice: Grin or frown, Swim or drown, Short or long, Soot or song... And every time,  You choose wrong.

I would say "I can't see you", but that would be a lie. I see you in everything, and sometimes I don't even try; It's not me, it's you and I know now better than ever that when the grass is green it's because of You, the sky goes from pink to blue because of You. What is seen cannot be unseen, and the unseen is YOU.

This clock of mine has four hands instead of three, because he likes to keep track of time right down to the T, and so that every millisecond is spent  with me. That clock of mine, it broke unexpectedly one day and I tried to piece it back together or perhaps find another way, but I couldn't and I shouldn't  anyway because it's unable  to be fixed, and irreplaceable. This clock of mine has two hands instead of three, because keeping track of something like time is like catching dry ice in your bare hands and swallowing it whole.

I ran into some trouble yesterday when the sun was at its highest and I was at my lowest and nothing could perk me back up. I collided with some trouble last night when the sun finally set and I finally pulled myself back up again.

If you tell me to watch the news, what will I find? Will it be happy? Sad? A little bit of both? Perhaps I'll cry from laughter and anger, and all I'll see is number upon number of nothing at all-- sticky statistics and  gory gossip we can't ignore. If I tell you to watch something new, what will you say? What will you do?

When I was little, I shut my eyes to imagine how it must feel to be blind.... You move slower more careful, because there is less to see but more to take in with every breath and fingering touch and feathery kiss that life's passers by have to offer. Perhaps, you are blind, even for just a moment-- How do you see? How do you feel? Have you forced yourself into blindness? Is it brave of me to say I could be blind if I had to be, or is it ignorant to assume the best from the worst? When I was little, I shut my eyes sometimes and pretended I was blind, and I walked in the shoes of someone I never knew, and prayed for the return of sight.

it's not obsessive, but it's compulsive, the way I feel around the words I once used; and perhaps intrusive is a useful word when describing how allusive my life's become and it's not permissive, or dismissive, but it's a whole bunch of words at once.

Now I am happy, Now I am overjoyed When your voice finds its way to my ears, And all I can do is grin. Now I am happy Now I am thrilled, But what about tomorrow? Or the day after? What about how and later and when? Between now and then? When all is said and done, who will be the one to keep the joy strong?

Here's my heart, Keep it safe. It's afraid of life and death and love and hate but if you hold it gently, it will glow and make you happier than you know... Here's my hand, Hold it tight and run away with me in the night. I promise I don't bite, but even if I do, you'll still love me and hug me, won't you?

It's hard to explain, the love of a mother but I'm sure you've heard (one way or another): they are the heroines of our world, grand goddesses of sapphire and pearl, bearing wisdom of a thousand wide-eyed girls.

Winter is nice, but she can be nasty when she wants to be: the corners of her mouth sharp as ice, dreamy look of contempt cuts close in her eyes, and the kiss she brings to life is a thief bearing a knife. She taunts us with ribbons and soft-petaled clippings like feathery dust on white air glittering in the night as we stare. Winter is nice, but her sisters are nicer,  and she is seldom as sweet as they; their smiles are broad and warm with eyes the color of sea and storm, and they wrap you in a blanket of gold while we wait for the return of mulch and mold.

"reuniting" would imply there is more to the story than this, but there is not one thing I would change and though it may seem kind of strange - I propose a toast to new friends, beginnings and ends, kisses and hugs, bashful shrugs. "together again" would mean there is more to the story than this, and that there is always a better ending waiting and saving and mending for that time to come.

(For those who are confused: http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/2014-november-pad-chapbook-challenge-day-1 ...each day of November comes with a poem prompt, and each day I do my best to write a poem fitting for each challenge.) ~ ~ ~ It's done It's over You've won But don't shun me Keep me as I am and I'll keep you as you're meant to be let go of her let go of me It's over It's done We've already won Game over Goodbye, October.

The last week of October was perhaps one of the best weeks I've had in my whole life thus far. Words alone can't really explain why, and I suppose pictures could do the trick, but altogether there really isn't much of anything that can describe or depict just how happy I've been and how content I am. I guess I'll do my best to explain... It started off Sunday evening, when my family and I went to my grandparents' house to celebrate my aunt's and little brother's birthdays. It was a lovely evening, full of warmth and laughter and good food. Of course, that's a usual thing for my family get-togethers, but it was a well-needed night to experience nonetheless. The kids said grace for us at the dinner table, and we enjoyed homemade food made by my awesome grandmother and mom.  We also spent time going through jewelry and other little knick-nack heirlooms that were once my great great aunt's. It felt wonderful to be able to sit around in a cozy hom