Here is some of my poetry...

~Letters to the One I Can't Love~

Sometimes I hate you
Sometimes I don't
Mostly I wish I had been the one you had chose.

And all the memories were forget-me-nots
Only in my mind;
For you they were she-loves-me-nots
Holding me as much as you tried.

Sometimes it's your fault
Sometimes it's fate's
Mostly it's my fault for not saying it straight.

And all the beauty of your love went by so fast;
Your hand was slipping as I dove through the past.

Sometimes I hate her,
(You chose her instead)
Mostly my best friend, so I can only have regret.

And all the times you touched me,
You opened a door;
The times I touched you
I did nothing more.

Sometimes I fall so hard I break gravity;
Trying to find someone I can fall for, who will catch me.

I needed to find a speed to break that gravitational force,
To separate the two bodies;
Who knew the gravitational force would fail in its course,
Leaving me distraught, trusting nobody.

Confused, and scared,
I fucked it up;
Annoyed, done with care
You picked her up.

And all the memories are I-wish-I'd-nots
Haunting my mind;
To you they are I-love-you-nots
With her by your side.


~Love, Ever Changing~

Anger, in hasty words or blows,
Itself discharges on our foes;
And sorrow, too, finds some relief
In tears, which wait upon our grief:
So every passion, but fond love,
Unto its own form of redress does move;
But that alone the wretch inclines
To what prevents its own designs;
Makes all lament, and sigh, and weep
Disordered, tremble, fawn, and creep;
Postures, which render it despised,
Where it endeavors to be prized.
For others- born to be controlled-
Stoop to the forward and the bold;
Affect the haughty and the proud,
The gay, the frolic, and the loud.
Each nymph, but moderately fair,
With no less rigor there;
Behold as many gallants here,
With modest guise and silent fear,
All to one attraction bend,
While it's high pride does scarce descend.
All this with indignation spoke,
In vain we all struggle with the yoke
Of mighty Love: that conquering look
When next beheld, like lightning strike
The blasted soul, and made us bow
Lower than those we pity now.
So like the tall stag, upon the brink
Of some smooth stream about to drink,
Surveying there his armed head,
With shame remembers that he fled
The scorned dogs, resolves to try
The combat next; but, like him, if the cry
Invades again our trembling ear
We straight resume our wonted care;
Leave the untested spring behind,
And plagued with fear, the wind we out-fly.



~Cerulean Murder: A Metaphorical Standby~


Cerulean slashing into the eyes of the pallid young, breathlessly awaiting the dance. 
Blue that pent up in the heavens and rebelled to be released. 
Blue that screamed out in anguish, in pain, in beautiful murder... 

The band of crows counted the moments to the feast, anxious to sup on the blood of the young, and the young looked to the blue with laughter... 

Laughter as loud as the cry of the crow, the band of crows, the murder, in the storm's eye,
The beautiful storm, cerulean hue; beguiling and contorting the minds of the young, joining their deaths in the field...

Green and young, just as the children above on the surface,
Their feet gorging on the writhing soft blades,
Anticipating, unconsciously, the murder...

Flashbulbs of white struck off with no respite, searing the sky,
A catastrophic orchestra expecting the murder to be wrought upon the young
Who's feet feasted on the soft blades
Listless and wishful in the reflecting eyes of the beholder.


~Roundelay for My Sea-Bourn~
(an Eire Styled Ballad)

Oh! sing unto my roundelay;
Oh! drop the bitter tear with me;
Dance no longer on holiday
Like a running river be;
My love is dead
Gone to his death bed
Ashes strewn in the sea.

Blonde his hair as the yellow corn
White his neck as the crisp summer snow
Young his skin as the new born
Cold he lies in the ocean below;
My love is dead
Gone to his death bed
Ashes strewn in the sea.

Sweet his tongue as the flute's note,
Ready to dance was he;
Skillful on drums, his sticks always broke,
Oh! he lies in the sea;
My love is dead
Gone to his death bed
Ashes strewn in the sea.

Listen! the raven beats his wing
In the lower memorial;
Listen! the death-owl calls loud; he sings
To the nightmare as they go.
My love is dead
Gone to his death bed
Ashes strewn in the sea.

See! the white moon shines on high;
Whiter was my first love's shroud;
Whiter than the morning sky
Whiter than the evening cloud;
My love is dead
Gone to his death bed
Ashes strewn in the sea.

Here on my first love's grave
Shall the bright recognitions be laid
Not one holy saint to save
All the sorrows of this maid;
My love is dead
Gone to his death bed
Ashes strewn in the sea.

With my feet I'll walk the mires
Like the sea where he lies dead
Elfin-fairy, light your fires,
Here my body will forever bed;
My love is dead
Gone to his death bed
Ashes strewn in the sea.

Come with acorn cup and thorn
Drain my heart's blood away;
Life and all its good I scorn
Dance by storm or feast by day;
My love is dead
Gone to his death bed
Ashes strewn in the sea.

Jealous women, crowned with hate
Bear me to your deadly lies
I die-I come- my first love waits
This the damsel spoke and died.