Insomnia (1996)

Evening has long since fallen
Morning long awake
Weariness strengthens as the hours pass by
Yet, sleep doth not reply
I sit
I stare

Every posture has been tried
Darkness consumes my vision
I become abditive within my bed
But, still no rest is received
I sit
I stare

Am I abulic in my efforts?
I think not
Nothing would please me more than acopic sleep
Yet, the sandman still shows me no favor
Insomnia



Deprivation (1998)

It seems ironic...
I long to hold
And the depression sweeps over me.
Further down the morbidly satirical spiral,
Sad songs play in my mind.
The overwhelming depression pleads for holding,
Yet there is none.
That's the very nature of it,
And so it continues
To grow
To envelop and swallow.



Embrace (1998)

When I read of the warm and gentle touch,
A caring embrace and othersuch
When I perused the little love sonnet
I tried as I might to dwell upon it
Unfortunately, no poem however sweet
Can describe a hug in complete



The Perpetual Moment (1998)

Hyperness
Happiness
A smile upon our faces
Still a dream
From which I never wish to awake

The perpetual moment
Forever it goes on
Never stopping
Never wavering

The perpetual moment
It continues



Pop Nor Parody? (2000)

What if it's not pop nor parody? 

Say I wish to 
write a book 
or make a movie 
or write a song. 
Is everything imitation or reaction? 
Why do I suddenly feel so trapped? 
I'm imitating the past 
or reacting against it. 

Supposedly the best literature contradicts the society in which it is written. 
A reaction. 
Yet it retains transcendent qualities that are applicable to cultures in any age. 
An imitation of all that has come before. 

Anything deemed 'clever' can somehow be traced to something in the past, 
whether it glorifies or makes fun of it. 
Is any originality left? 
Must ideas be doomed to be pro or anti? 
Has every original joke been made? 
Has every original movie been made? 
Has every book been written? 

The nice word is 'influence.' 
"I was influenced by Joe, Smith, and John." 
In truth, 
they imitated. 
Critics throw around 'Revolutionary!' loosely. 
Is it? Is it really? 
Is it not actually drawing upon sources from the past? 
Whenever the question is asked, people respond, 
"Yes, but 'that guy' once said at the turn of the century that 
everything had been invented 
and others said that 
everything was discovered 
and look how wrong they were." 
Yes, they were wrong, but am I? 

Is there original thought left? 
Between six billion people on this planet and countless others in the past, 
is there anything that we have not imagined? 
From the purest holiness to the blackest, most-twisted dark, is there anything left? 
...What exists outside?



The Fool (2001)

A giant grin upon my face
I caught a hint of her

I knew before that I'd fallen
Now I know how hard

Only a few hours spent with her
And yet it seems so long...
So long ago...
So long until I see her again...

I'm floating and it will continue
At least until someone drags me down
But at the moment, nothing can deflate me

Merely inches from her face, but inches too far

Lips of indescribable beauty
Eyes that reassure and calm
And yet, a soul that inspires overwhelming joy

Countless others before me
Inspired by her unassailable spirit
So who am I?

I'm the fool with a giant grin upon his face



Uniquely Beautiful (2003)

The tv says that beauty is a formula.
Scientists discovered the equation.
The results resound on chaotic screens
and gloss magazine covers.

And yet they've left some out -
they've forgotten.
Against this media-saturated cloud
there's a uniquely beautiful
that punctures the fog
and exists outside of comparison.

Sunrises and sunsets -
Vivid pinks, purples, and oranges -
Seen by all, appreciated by most.
But there's a rare beauty
beyond this everyday aesthetic.

Easily mistaken for
the more common variety,
but held to the light,
peerless quality shows.

Instead of merely reflecting
wantonly off the surface,
the light is magnified.
The radiance overwhelms
as awe settles in.