Awakening:

a line
disconnected
turning on itself
twisting and folding
shifting into sentences
becoming more poignant
than it could have ever become
on its own
shaped by destiny
fueled by [naive] hope

unaware
as the pages blur together
of the man and the pen
scribbling hurriedly
before the cover
closes
and the book is stuffed into
a jacket pocket
for later

Icarus:

I am no Icarus

I ran out
of air to breath
up here
long before
I could be burned
by the sun

A Fleeting Thought:

flitting in
like morning light
through cracks
in blinds
closed loosely
in anticipation
of the dawn

your smile
devastates
my pretense

I may give airs
of solitude
and shuttered
windows
avoiding
meaningful
eye contact
like a recluse

but
I no more
want to be
left alone
than to sleep
through the morn

these
superficial rituals
performed
for show
and in a vain
attempt
to protect myself
from waking
before
sunrise

yet
though
still dazed
by sleep
I am quite
convinced
by
the way
your light
dances
across these walls
that you are
nothing more
than a car
slowly passing
by
in the dead of night

Madness:

every time
I take the time
to clean the house
from top to bottom
I find in some unlit corner
a madness
that cannot be banished
or tamed
or quenched
or killed
lurking
in the darkness
waiting for his turn

Stars:

our lives
are lit
by
distant
burning orbs

raging
through eternal night

fueled
by
violent
chain reactions

consuming
themselves
in a race
to become
pure light

our lives
mirror
that
of those
that
illuminate us
from afar

our fight
our rage
our striving

burning

until
we too
become
someone else's
stars

Boxes:

we are all the same
every one of us
packaged
in people-shaped boxes
built from bits and pieces
held together by
people-grade wires

just trying to be human

Puppets:

never content to leave

well enough alone

one or two strings

in my hand

would never do

not to be

a mere puppeteer

but a veritable master

my fist full of threads

pulling each in time