Home

Home.

Down the road, across the universe,

my body goes, and I stay.

My heart aches to belong here.

It urges my lust for nostalgia.

But The nuance of this notion,

lacks the lustre it once had.

For me, all that glitters is gone.

The silver lining, has faded.

Why would I yearn for such an obvious detriment?

Why do I make my bed in a place I wish not to lay?

I always thought this was my home.

But I know that home isn’t here or there.

Home is where you make it.

It’s the place you became the person you were meant to be.

It’s not the echo against walls closing in on you.

It’s not the place where you bury yourself in a crowd of a thousand dirty faces.

This place, I’ve called home,

Only tightens my grip on the coat tails of the past.

It steps on the toes of my future.

It laughs in the face of hope.

That’s just it.

Home is not a place at all.

It’s a feeling.

Home is inside of us.

And I’ve always looked for it in the wrong places.

I’ve always Looked behind to find nothing but shadows of doubt.

It’s time I look ahead.

It’s time to find my place, my home.

I will find it,

And that’s where I’ll always be.

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Liquid Romance

Liquid romance.

Fluid, in nature.

Deplorable, in hindsight.

How many times will I give way

To the relentless waves

Of these half empty oceans I dive into?

Head first.

I never even test the waters,

I just dive Right in,

And let the undertow take me.

Whole Together

Pierce me again,

With those eyes like arrows.

I love the way they stab me,

straight through my heart,

just like the first time.

That very first time I was split in half.

The first time my life was someone else’s too.

And how I long for this look again.

How I yearn for the tension

that pulled us together.

Without it,

my life is my own.

And I am still whole.

I am still here-

Full,

but not complete.

Left with but a hole in my bleeding heart.

So it bleeds on,

a vacant room inside my soul.

And I have tried to fill it with another…

Another set of Bright eyes

to sink to blank stares.

Another youthful friendship

to age too quickly.

It would seem this room belongs to one,

and no other.

It would seem this heart still bleeds for old arrows,

these eyes long to be seen again,

This Room wants to be full again.

And it could be ours once more,

Full,

And complete.

So I can be half,

And we can be whole,

together.

Prolific Orchards 

Who are we to talk?

We are the fruits of a guilty conscience.

Well, the Apple doesn’t fall from the tree.

But not the tree, nor the apple are at fault.

It’s the man that planted them.

The man that nurtured these prolific orchards,

extending his reach through their fingers.

Dropping apple after apple,

leaving trails of fruit,

the common denominator isn’t hard to find.

You don’t even have to look.

Just follow along the path of bad seeds and you’ll find it.

A tree of his own, nursing the rest.

The rest of us.

And we’ll all fall.

We’ll be left at the foot of this tree,

hands too frail to pick us up.

Left to live and grow,

and drop apples of our own.

Red to Blue

You’re all I think about

I can be anywhere, at any time

And nothing will suffice

Something won’t even suffice anymore

And why do I still see you?

Though, I gaze upon your soul through stained glass eyes

I see all of your colours and cracks

Splattered on the wall as the light seeps through

Pain by pane, red to blue, the pieces tell more than a story

It’s An eloquent ode to a bigger picture

But I’ll never seep through

I’ll never see the other side

But it’s still worth looking