Footprints

 

We all leave footprints along the paths we set upon in life.

We look back upon those footprints and reflect on the travels that have led us to where we are today.

What we are unaware of though, is that we do not leave just one set, but several sets of footprints.

Each set of footprints unique onto themselves as we are unique as individuals.

Each set of footprints we leave behind reflects one of our many characters.

One footprint for our family to follow, one set for our children, one for our lovers and so on.

One cannot expect our lives to be viewed in the same manner by everyone witness to it.

There is no possible way for people to perceive us in the same fashion or way.

Everyone’s perception of us is an individual and discernible view of who they think we are.

Perhaps the footprints start out as one set and come together at the end of our path.

But somewhere along the path we split off into different directions of the same life.

Maybe it was a lie we told someone, a secret we keep from a friend or just a moment that we are embarrassed about.

Whatever the cause or reason, it splits our character into another piece of who we are.

Do not be ashamed of any footprints you have left behind in the path you walk upon.

Embrace them for they are who you have become and have led you to where you are.

Be proud of them for they will speak the tale of your life and the person you were.

Never try to hide or sweep away those footprints because you would be deleting a facet of yourself.

Learn from them by looking back upon them and remembering where you were and how you got there.

Manage the people in your life by remembering what set they will follow and seek.

From this you will see that in the end those footprints will once again join.

And when they do, you will have come to your journey and paths end.

But not too far behind will be those who followed your footprints and will continue to follow you.

Innocence

 

There is a time in life when we believe things to make sense

A time in our lives that is colored by our youth and innocence

A moment when we know not the difference between wrong or right

A moment when we fear the darkness and reach for safety of the light

A span of our lives when we believe all the words that we hear

A span in our lives when we think those we love will always be near

Then comes an instance when the innocence is torn apart

In that instance we lose the love we have through holes in our heart

We are forced to see the truths about the world in which we live

A world that feeds off of the good-natured and all that they give

A world built upon the blood of the naive and their dreams

A hell forged through depraved sinners tirades and screams

There is a time when we believe things to make sense

A time when we are blinded to the truth by our ignorance

Time

 Only moments have passed since our lips last parted.

Yet it feels as if a life time has passed between those agonizing moments.

I began missing you before we had even spoken our good byes.

I find myself losing count between the seconds from the minute I last gazed upon you

and the seconds I count until my gaze is captivated upon you once more.

Time bares no weight when the time I am measuring is the time without you.

The hands tick and beat louder than a drum as I stare at the clock on the wall.

I can no longer tell my heartbeat apart from the incessant ticking of the hands.

Each second becomes an hour and each hour drags on to be a week.

I lose all grasp of where things begin and where they come to an end.

I navigate the cracks in time in hopes to find a quicker way to you but to no avail.

I struggle to move to you as quickly as a light illuminating a dark hall.

I raise my thumb out in hopes to catch a ride on a ray of sunlight that may carry me to you.

I close my eyes in hopes that sleep will ease the suffering of time.

Yet nothing soothes the burn of the time when longing for you.

Felicity

 

I keep my distance, not for the sake of you but for the sake of me.

For the sake of keeping my soul my own and not losing my sanity.

I no longer look down the road we shared, which with time grows obscure

But I look down the path I’ve now set onto, which I pray easier to endure.

I turn my back and walk away from all that I had believed to be genuine and true,

I continue to travel on passing each and every emotion I now must learn to subdue.

I will continue down this path I have set myself upon and trust it leads to simplicity.

I will continue to increase this distance between you and me for it is the key to my felicity

Would you?

 If the sun rose tomorrow and with it, I did not, would you and your heart weep?

Would you search the earth for me? Would your hands have the strength to dig deep?

If the winds blew but did not carry with them my words to you through the skies,

Would you grow wings to search from above, having the courage to never close your eyes?

If the words I once wrote to you, seemed to have lost their meaning or their rhyme,

Would your heart know it was all enough, the simple measure of time?

If I were to leave on life’s final journey, which would be my ending trial,

Would you walk along side me, hand in hand, in comfort along the final mile?

Could you say to yourself that the love you felt was fully expressed and truly shown?

Would you believe I felt your touch, words and love to the very end in each single bone?

Would you know in your being that you did all that you could do from start to end?

Or would you question yourself and ask if you had lived up to the task of being my friend?

Salvation

 

Up until now I had no real reason to wake and to face the days,

 

No real reason to alter my life’s course or to contemplate any of my ways.

 

Each night spent in the solitary sentiments created by my own doubt,

 

Struggling with difficulty to achieve peace but yet losing every bout.

 

No remorse or regrets for all of the wrongs and all of the lies,

 

Simply a heart devoid of feelings and a life covered in darkness by grey skies.

 

All my hopes and all my wants had slipped between the cracks of sorrow,

 

But then came you, with your kind and confident views of tomorrow.

 

You managed to lift my head above the seas created by hurt and spite,

 

Becoming the comforting warmth in my winter and in my darkness, the light.

 

You held me tight and close and shed away my uncertainty and fears,

 

You whispered in my ear your words of comfort and put an end to my tears.

 

You continued to believe in me when I myself had lost all notions,

 

And you made me able to once again confide with your love and devotion.

 

For all that you have done, I can never repay or fully show my appreciation,

 

I can only say these words and show that I am thankful for you, the key to my salvation.

 

Feathers of a Crow

 

A night as black as the feathers of a crow

Laced with the essence of lingering clouds

Flowing as if driven by a pulse through the air

The warm night wind blows over my bare chest

Dry and tepid, it flows over me like a blanket

Evaporating the beads of sweat on my skin

The moon light casts shadows in the dark

Each taking forms which seem to dance

Hiding all the impurities of the days sins

The stars above glimmer as if to call to me

Like a child I reach in hopes of grasping one

But like all else they are apparent yet distant

The sounds grow faint and silence begins to fall

Only the dreams being carried away can heard

In a night as black as the feathers of a crow

She cries

She sits impatiently
She waits anxiously
She ponders it all
She cries

She paces the apartment
She cooks a dinner she won’t eat
She stares at pictures
She cries

She looks at the clock
She checks her phone
She sees his profile
She cries

She remembers when they met
She remembers promises made
She remembers when it changed
She cries

She lays in bed unable to sleep
She makes excuses for it
She hopes tomorrow will be different
She cries

He comes in the room
He lays down beside her
He turns over and goes to bed
She cries

Memories

He sat amidst a sea of Mac Books, grande nonfat soy lattes, cardigan sweaters, and the whir of milk being steamed. He idled there contemplating, yet never seemingly being able to reach a conclusion to all he pondered. He wasn’t under the delusion of hoping to find the answers to life or the reasons behind the “why’s” that plagued us all. He simply yearned to get back the inspiration that used to be the fire that flowed from his fingertips.

For what seemed to be forever now, he could no longer find what once came so easily to him. It had escaped him just as a lucid dream does when one is awoken from it too quickly. Now that feeling was fleeting from him and it grew as obscure as a faint childhood memory.  Memories that drove the passion that resided in his soul, and memories that stoked his flame.

He sat arching his head back and raising his head, almost as if pleading with the heavens for a cure. As he drew his head down, he saw a vision appear among the paltry line waiting to order. She stood there amid the crowd that seemed too had grown invisible in her presence. He found himself having to be reminded to breathe as he sat there in complete awe of her beauty. The sunlight that entered behind her seemed to envelope her body in a shroud of resplendence. The detail in her statuesque beauty seemed to have been carved by Michael Angelo himself. The strands of hair fell perfectly along the lines of her face and accented every delicate curve. Her form was robust and yet gentle, like a rose that had been forged from marble.  He couldn’t help but be completely drawn to her essence in the most uncontrollable way. His eyes gazed upon her and followed her movement in astonishment and bewilderment.

Where could a creature as alluring as her have come from he wondered and asked himself. His eyes truly had never been laid upon such a Venus and he felt sorrow for that reason. She seemed to glide through the air as she walked up to the counter to place her order. He could see her lips move and he could make a few words out but it seemed unimportant. He was fixated on her voice which to him was what an angel’s voice would surly sound like. He grabbed his cup which was stone cold by now and managed his way to the counter. He asked as politely and as innocently as a timid child for a refill as he stood next to her. She smelled like the air in the moments when an overdue rain began to fall in late summer. She had a sweet aroma of rose petals and lilacs that had filled the air of tiny room. There was also something familiar to her aroma, like the smell of his pillow after a long stent away.

As she picked up her cup, she turned in his direction and smiled innocently at him. He could feel his heartbeat in his palms and the heat of his blood as it flushed his face. It was a sin to the senses to never have been exposed to such a marvel as this. His soul wept inside him for it had now known the true meaning of the creation of beauty. All things wonderful had come into existence to simply attest to her splendor.

He made his way back to his chair slightly uncoordinated almost as being intoxicated by her. He sat back down, never once breaking his sight on her in fear that he would miss something. She turned from him and began to make her way to the door from which she had appeared. He felt the breath leave his body as if the floor had been taken away from beneath his feet. He writhed in agony internally as he sat there wondering what look was set upon her face. His mind flooded with thoughts of whom she was and where she had come from. She reached for the door and as it swung open she turned her head slightly towards his way.

Her eyes caught his and for a brief moment he felt as if they were connected. She smiled once more as she broke away and turned back towards the door. Had he imagined that look or the coy smile on her face or was it as real as what he was feeling. Should he get up and make his way to her and ask a simple question as to her name? Surly someone as lovely as her had someone equally as lovely awaiting her somewhere. Perhaps not, perhaps she hadn’t found her true “the one” and perhaps…

“Perhaps’s” seemed to be filling his mind as seconds ticked on into minutes. Maybe he did this as to know he would not have the chance to catch up to her. He would have no way of knowing more than he already knew of her and what he had experienced. He smiled a coy and innocent smile and he turned back to his laptop. He laid his hands to the keyboard and like a storm in the dry desert he began raining down words. He struck the keys feverishly as if he was frustrated that his hands could move no quicker. He continued on throughout the day only pausing to give his fingers and hands a brief sense of respite.

The day turned into evening and the coffee shop went from bagels to cups of relief from an arduous day. He stared at his screen with a sense of accomplishment and gratification. He went back through all he had written putting in his finishing touches. On the last page he hesitated for a moment trying to find the perfect closing words. He reflected for a short time and finally closed his work with this note…

“To the girl in the coffee shop, thanks for the memories”

 

Tyranny

We all take from the journey called life a lesson learned.

We all take from the journey called life a lesson learned.

A lesson that to one another is as different as the days are new.

We sometimes see what hides in the threads through closed eyes

Or completely miss the blemish on the nose on our own faces.

We take with us, as we start each cycle, the teachings of the past

Yet we still struggle to understand why we use the same wrong answers

Unaware of one another we stumble aimlessly with our indirect motives

Not realizing that each is contingent upon what we plan for tomorrow

All the plans we seek to make don’t ever come to pass and we wonder why

Could it be because we dream instead of plan and wonder instead of plot

What happens when we become self-aware and live life for ourselves

Instead of living it like the masses who look towards falseness for approval

If we could somehow strike hard and fierce with a sword of virtue and truth

Then maybe someday we could sense what is asked of us by us

But until the day we can stand on the balance of individuality and expression

We cannot think to be rid of the grasp of the tyranny of those we erected as gods.

Jury

 

Here my cries as I sit in front of my jury!

My heart filled with a rage and a burning fury.

My hands bound by the chains I forged in lies.

Lies told for acclaim from the posh and the wise.

Residing in a place produced from tragedy and detest.

I failed to overcome and failed to meet the test.

In my own steps, I faltered from the quest.

I lost my way and in doing so failed like the rest.

 

I lost the sight of the light that lit the way,

To a path that I knew would lead to an amended day.

I gave up to the temptation of an elementary being

I gave into enticement and stopped disagreeing

I cursed whichever God I believed in at the moment

Created an existence of loathing and descent

Where perceptions of love had been skewed and bent

Where those infected were infected with resent

 

I throw myself on the mercy of the twelve I have created

A panel of emotions conflicting and negated

I will pay the toll for the whatever verdict they bestow

There shall be sacrifice and forfeit, of this I know

I will atone for the sins committed against my soul

With hands bound in chains I will seek to fill a hole

I will try to bring forth light to a vision black as coal

I will confide in myself and no longer play the role

Perpetual Thirst

There is a constant thirst that lies deep within my being.

A thirst that parches every recess of my mind and soul.

A ceaseless longing for a remedy for this malady

That keeps me from a true sense of attainment.

A thirst so inscrutable that shows no sign of respite,

Hesitation, end or culmination there within.

No measure of speech, elation, or indulgence can seem

To allay this perpetual thirst that resides in me.

Each day spent in search of the elusive glass of 

Remediation that could cease this consuming yearning.

I see no means to appease this beast, for it dwells

Deep within regions of my senses that I do not dare venture.

I am bound by my own treason to live my life with this

Unquenchable, relentless, perpetual thirst.

Silouhette

He sat there somberly, watching her silhouette grow fainter as she walked away. He wasn’t quite sure what she was thinking or feeling. He was completely unaware as to the expression on her face as she turned and walked on.

Perhaps she did it intentionally, not glancing back that is. Maybe as to spare his heart from the questions of “What if”, or maybe the anguish of a truly knowing. Or maybe she did not want him to ever know. Knowing this was easier for her than he believed. Either way, he was thankful she spared him in such a way.

She would, in this way, remain forever his. As the immortal embrace of Romeo and his Juliet. He would pay tribute to her with no end. Flecks of her unblemished porcelain skin would line the pages he would lay words to. Strands of her hair would be the pen he would clutch as the same words coursed feverishly through his hand. The blood that flowed through his veins that carried her to his heart and to his existence would be the ink that would eternally immortalized her.

She would always continue to be his, along with the memories, as long as his lungs drew breathe. He could never give his muse up. He would more so give up his life than to give up the singular most greatest and prolific love and inspiration of his life. He looked up and noticed her silhouette had completely faded by now.

He felt his eyes well with tears of anguish and tournament, and then an uncontrollable laughter erupted from within. He was utterly baffled as to where this was originating from. He had just witnessed his everything disappear before his very eyes. He realized then the laughter was coming from the sentiments of the joys of knowing her. The tranquility he felt of being in her arms. The serenity and ease his mind felt as he counted each of her lashes as she slept. The passion of tracing her curves and dedicating them to memory, to later explore them again and again, as if finding something new each time. The creativity that flowed through his hands as he sat and gazed upon her beauty and the words that came to be, almost as lovely as her. The love that so many strive for and so many more perish without knowing, he had been fortunate enough to have experienced.

All though shorter than the dawn, it was never bitter and he knew then he had become more of a man and a better one for it. He picked up his journal and tucked it under his arm, and the laughter slipped away between sighs, and wiping the tears from his cheeks, he began to walk away slowly. Gazing down the path they had many times strolled hand in hand, he put his lips together and began to whistle a familiar melody. It was the same melody that had started it all, and with that he became a silhouette that soon came to fade.