The Reaper Waits at the Train Station 

And the piano is playing somewhere 

In the back of my mind 

Evoking thoughts of then

Nostalgiac

Thoughts of you 

Of how pure it all was 

Of what could’ve been 

Of moments as infinite as the universe 

Of smiles as innocent as morning dew 

When everything was as beautiful, because every moment seemed to matter endlessly 

When we laughed because we felt joy 

Because we knew it in our souls 

Because, although we were not whole,

The idea that we could one day be didn’t seem so impossible 

It has stopped 

The melody of the piano 

And I hold my breath in anticipation 

Of the next time my mind will wander off from its usual routine 

And stumble upon some other magnificent tune 

That will rekindle the joy of lives past 

Celestial Culmination 

Satisfaction felt like the hand of God 

Stroking my hair 

And working his way down my spine 

While I nuzzled up against the chest 

Of Lucifer himself 

As liquid ambrosia traveled in waves inside me

Eyelids grow heavier 

And the corners of my mouth turn up in anticipation 

As I slide headfirst into pleasure 

Into bliss 

I’m reclining back 

The sun is bright, illuminating all of creation 

The atmosphere, warm and cold and stimulating my soul with overwhelming sensation 

I am here, I am present 

And it is perfect, the way all that is or has ever been should always be 

Ripples

 

Moments of solitude

In which I am still

There is a sort of loneliness here

 

Eerie moments of departure from what they call reality

Who does?

 

The ripples in the water before me are a testament

To the mercurial nature of all that is

 So is this truly stillness?

 

Everything is happening quickly,

Everyone is moving on

Every piece is finding peace

While I still search for sun

 

And drenched is my soul from waiting

For what I think I knew would never come

But still I sit here longing for

The ever late and vain morning sun

 

The colors in this mist don’t comfort me

My soul is restless,

Its withered from a state of urgency

There’s no more patience, no more hope, no more innocence

 

And things didn’t turn out the way they were supposed to

So how come the puddle before me glistens so?

The Sun is here, alas, too late

I’ve nothing left to appreciate its radiance with

 

The leaves have stopped giving me advice

They observe that I am a stone, plopped upon this throne of wood

They know nothing can be done, and so resolve to console me in silence

 

 

 

Wee-urd :S

Things are changing 

I’m not reacting to that the way I think I should be 

I’m more apathetic than I should be

What seemed vital is fading into the background 

And I’m left wondering whether it ever really mattered at all

So what matters now

Nothing?

Everything? 

How does everything relate to me

How am I connected to anything that is not directly an extension of myself 

I am imprisoned in the shackles of the uncertainty that was born of my sudden, unexpected freedom 

I am left to roam in the streets that were once forbidden to me 

These walls don’t recognize me 

This ability to make choices and be my own, what I most longed for in times of grave melancholy, is foreign

And while I feel less alive than I felt yesterday 

And acknowledge that tomorrow I will feel a little less alive than I do today

I remain cognizant of the importance of continuing on

I am making an effort to savor every last ounce of my own breath regardless of the exponential rate at which it seems to be dissipating within me