His gaze cast down

Bone shackled by sinew

Strange and crooked

Open flesh with written thoughts

About what you had

Been trying so hard for

Old and strained

Now unfamiliar

Yet kept closely

Up his sleeve


An emotionally driven question…

What are my emotions worth if all they are,

is the result of my imperfect perception

possibly misinterpreting what I have heard?

We are clearly emotional beings,

because everyone has feelings.

Yet, I find myself grappling with this question,

because I find that so much in my life depends

on my emotions.

How can it be though?

When nearly all my emotions are through a lens of

imperfection, misinterpretation, and misinformation,

how is it that emotions

end up being the deciding factor for most things?

What good are they when they are more likely to be

misdirected, misunderstood, and misguided?


He was not alone

Rejoined said with struggle

Home again he wanders

Blue and crimson in his bloodshot eyes

Buried in his own skin

Like the bullets his heart

Was so fond of catching

And holding fast too long

Those mists of the deep

Would not drag him to a grave

He would willingly march there

Were he breathless and without flag flying

Diligent and unwavering

Shut away from himself

Gone now to a place he could never seem

To bring himself back from


Every one says

Push forward

Keep going

Don’t look back

That’s not where you’re headed

As if life is linear

They never tell you

That sometimes

You just end up

Working backwards

Or looping back

Or you bring that past

To the future

And make a

Complete circle 

They never tell you that

They lead you to believe

It’s all linear