slightly enigmatic


Underneath the cracking sky
a single blade of grass grew in slow motion,
not understanding the purpose of its process
but basking in the sunlight as it was so graciously offered.
Dreaming in a wild reverie that it was something greater,
the grass casted off earthly limitations and projected its spirit
into the universe so that it might be looked upon with love,
and be encouraged to continue an uncertain journey.
The grass witnessed others like it undergoing the same,
and experienced things that it did not understand,
wondering all the time what was real and what it had imagined,
and questioning whether there was even a difference between the two.
Warm weather and the winter winds came and passed,
and still the grass stood as tall as it could in the pasture,
proud of its scars and determined to touch the sun itself,
knowing that on this day if it were to be cut down,
it would simply regrow.


From this window I’ve seen much,
humans and cats and bees and such,
just last night I saw a lone bird dying,
and to my surprise there was no one crying,
maybe there’s no value in what was just lost,
or else all our hearts gave way to some frost,
I shook my head and looked the other way,
knowing it wouldn’t matter the very next day,
and as expected I felt right as rain,
temporarily forgetting that silly thing called pain,
“come at me!”, I threatened, the reaper could try,
I knew for today there’s no way I would die,
I wouldn’t be hooked or caught in some netting,
and I’d break all my chains without even sweating,
whatever it was could cause me no hassle,
so long as I was the prince of this castle,
unfortunately the royalty in my blood is fading,
and it’s safe to say it’s dangerous to keep waiting,
so for now I must bid you adieu,
until tomorrow begins and I write you anew.


I watched the damning sunrise
from the once comforting moonlight,
and as the light drew near my eyes
it was clear that I didn’t feel right,
within my grasp was all that I wanted,
even more that I had not planned,
but as morning approached I felt haunted,
as if a cruel fate had revealed its hand,
I stood awaiting what seemed certain disaster,
unsure of what action I should take,
I knew there to be only suffering thereafter,
all of my conviction forced to break,
in the final moments it dawned on me,
from places unexplored beneath the deep,
all of the things I once dreamed to be,
would resume after I’d surrendered to sleep.

It’ll Come

I’ve seen you here before,
you know,
wandering and waiting–
who is it that you’re looking for?
I’ve been here the whole time,
occupying myself with silly things
and taking odd paths to avoid anything serious…
who can say what matters anyway?
We’ll get there in the end,
so don’t you worry,
I really don’t like to see you so distressed.
Come here and I’ll kiss your forehead
if only you’ll believe in me,
my love,
but is happiness what you’re really after?


Born into contrast,
I learned to separate as days passed;
felt it out and created a mask,
now it’s this persona in which I bask.

I see too that you’ve found yours,
made as it were behind closed doors.

Too exist those forged in fire,
those are the ones I most admire;
constantly in peril but ne’er do they tire,
undoubtedly worthy of singing choir.

One might say we’re not as great,
slow as we are to rise against fate,
but I’m afraid I would disagree,
because I can’t find another you or me.


Underneath these fingertips
is the tale of a century;
an unwritten love song
capable of reaching a million hearts;
a poem profound enough
to not wither through the ages;
the power to create a blueprint
for a weapon so devastating
it would destroy the world;
the dexterity to repair
the failing organs of a human being;
a physical strike that might
end the strongest relationship;
a caress so gentle it would
melt away all of life’s problems,
and the ability to wipe away
the tears of their remnants;
a tribute to a lost loved one
that is boundless in its nobility;
a single touch for another
that would prove to be unforgettable;
an unshakeable grip on
who I am as a human being.


Once upon a wavering dream,
monsters called out in the limelight,
gamblers keeping secret their bets
as vacant stare was pitted against unholy beckoning;

sealed wounds worn on my sleeve,
I resisted in a state of revulsion,
a stubborn fortitude that proved immovable
even while the will to live was weakening;

slowly a shy flame was forged in the tension,
feeding on a persisting frustration–
the efforts to grow were not in vain,
I dared not let the flame be extinguished;

now I burn in the heart of this fire,
prone to bouts of determined effort,
in truth the end result eludes me
but ever forward I continue to march;

a sinister cloud of doubt looms
darkly above my reluctant acceptance,
denying access to the holy mountain,
so I sit at the bottom as the rain falls;

the struggle with darkness appears eternal,
a chain that is forged to remain unbroken
and shackled forcefully to this dying machine,
daily I must strike at it to no visible effect;

but madly I strike nonetheless,
futility serving only to madden me further,
until defiance consumes my entire being
and a brief glimpse of the inferno is caught;

a great raging strength boiling fiercely
deep beneath the tranquil surface,
in time it may bring the deliverance
I’ve long sought in the inspiring moonlight;

in another life the harbinger of my undoing,
many times I’ve seen emotion turn ominous,
instability pushing the unsuspecting over the edge,
often teetering in a most dangerous dance;

peering now found a surrounding sadness,
knowing grief to be only one facet of life
among the inexplicable innumerable many,
scarcely touched by ephemeral comfort;

without fail the exhaustion finds me,
caring naught for any distance traveled,
eyelids eager to shield weary eyes,
my head rests in a cradle of arms.


I’ve come to a crossing,
somewhere between
the abyss and the heart of the wild,
and I can feel the pressure
from my ancestors,
relentlessly pushing me forward
as I try to catch my breath
inside a crumbling sanctuary;
chased by the breaking dawn,
and when it breaks is when
I must go,
to brave the endless expanse and
don the cloak of a dreaming wanderer;
my faithful companion,
hold steady amidst the chaos,
cling fast to bountiful hope and
do not let darkness sway you,
for someday we will meet again,
after the journeys of a lifetime,
and we will share our stories.

Often I’ll just sit here trying to get inspired to write and fail, as I’m doing now. I’m currently listening to Water by Aesop Rock and lamenting the fact that nothing I write will ever come close to any of his work. Writing is in his veins– he was born to do it. You could spend your entire life analyzing all of his music and you’d be lucky to decipher a fraction of it,
and that’s if you’re smart. To the average person the lyrics appear nonsensical–it’s understandable I suppose, you might as well be standing in a foreign temple trying to read hieroglyphs, but I’d argue until my dying breath that it’s not nonsense. I’ll definitely regret it if I never get to meet him, he’s my favorite solo artist and a living legend.

Maybe I’m just trying too hard– the main goal of this entire site is to be a record of my writings and thoughts for posterity, it’s not like I think I’m creating anything deserving of accolades. Like most writers (I’d assume), I’m overly critical of my work and think it’s nothing special, if not garbage. But I like it being out there– I like having created something, even if it’s worthless. I really don’t think I’ll ever have kids but I still want to leave something behind, so this is what I’ve chosen. I’m also hedging against the possibility of dying much earlier than I should– this way, even if I do, friends and family will have stuff to read and remember me by.

If that’s the biggest goal, then it’d make more sense to focus on quantity instead of quality…but I can’t do it. It’d be too easy to rattle off strings of random words and thoughts, anyone could do that. At least this way, I can say I tried to write something good. I could never write everything I want to write in one lifetime anyway…I don’t think anyone could. You can see David Bowie’s struggle with that assertion in his music video for Lazarus. I highly recommend you watch it.

“Now one in the hand is worth two atop the tallest cedar, but what lies inside my heart is off the motherfucking meter.” – Aesop Rock

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