Zero Commitment

Please, don't take my sadness for sorrow

Instead cherish today and its promise

For I cannot promise you tomorrow 

Though many anecdotes we borrow

The impending end brings no solace

Please, don't take my sadness for sorrow

And into the late nights we burrow

Though our conversation seems flawless

I cannot promise you tomorrow 

You pierce me like a gilded arrow

And look sheepishly as if you were Adonis

Please, don't take my sadness for sorrow

In the late nights I bellow

Wishing I could finally be honest

But I cannot promise you tomorrow 

As I leave to the borough

I leave behind your serene calmness

Please, don't take my sadness for sorrow

For I cannot promise you tomorrow 

Spinning Top

I am an errant spinning top

Teetering at the edge of the table

And I see you gaze at me

Captivated by the flurry of indistinguishable colors

Anxious over how dangerously close I come to falling

Will you catch me?

No, it’s foolish to expect to be saved

Instead my base continues to pen the table

Writing invisible scribbles on the surface

That you can barely read

Coin isn’t spent on my affair

Nor is it skill or glory

I spin because I am compelled to do so

By the hard surface beneath me

I hope to make a garden

Perhaps my constant friction will till

The wooden surface beneath me

And I’ll leave it to you to plant the seed

Hopefully we will have a bountiful harvest

I sense myself at the edge

I know you are watching me so dangerously close

You tell yourself this is my chosen fate

But how I wish that I could possibly

Slow down and tend to my garden

Furrow by furrow I will be delicate

And plant many different crops and flowers

So that I may give them to you

But you have already decided my fall

I spin resigned in gravity’s wake

At least the friction has stopped

Until I hit the surface yet again 

Re-entering the atmosphere

I can still write from time to time
Too bad the well is dry for today
I'll drink tomorrow

Though yesterday was plenty hot
Today is a cool summer day
Not thirsty now, I'll drink tomorrow

I know you've been waiting for me
Or at least that's what today's sun has been telling me
I'll come with the wine, we'll drink tomorrow

I have been running like you told me
Now we're stuck in the Dog days
Can't stop sprinting now, I'll drink tomorrow

Cold Winter days coming soon
Then today will be summer
You'll be gone from me, I'll drink to you tomorrow.

Sorry I couldn't keep my promises
I kept my promise today
Tomorrow I'll lose it. So I'll toast to you tomorrow

I know our lives were sorrow
But there is a buzz about today
Our thirst of life will be quenched tomorrow

Under the Ramparts

Sometimes I don't want to fight at all
instead I want to take red white and blue streamers
and then wrap myself up like a mummy
Then I'll sit down and listen Louis Armstrong,
he's wrapped up too.
We both smile and then pretend that the world is doing it with us
Too bad we're alone and nobody knows we're happy
Fireworks appear each time he sets off another note

And yet people would still scoff
They'll point out we don't have any clothes on
Fine
We'll take our medley somewhere else
All the irony in the world won't deny us this performance
All the sarcasm in this poem won't deny me my happiness

Rhapsody in my writing

May I stutter?
These notes are scattered.
You can only hear whispers of my voice.
Pianissimo please
shadows of birds perch on my shoulder
They whistle, with the treble clef
I hear your pencil tapping on your book
it's worn out, with its cardboard corner peeling off
My pants brush on this bench as I get up
Oh here we are.

The ants look up at me
one foot after the other I make the ground tremble
I am big and fat. I am unashamed
I yell, " Hey Come over here and look at this"
But I immediately take back the statement
One final plea for this poem
Crescendo please
Finally

Resignation

You've relegated me to this prison
On here I am caged in an infinitesimal emptiness
What you see are my echos
What I hear are my own musings
The river can never be seen from the outside
You can only see its condensation on the glass wall
Yet I am drowning every night
You can see my sullen clothes drying by my side
So now I sit naked on the floor, while you peep in.

The floor is cold and black.
There is no light in this prison.
My echoes serve as the only indication of life
You cannot hear them. Instead you see the condensation of my breath on the glass panel
A rainbow appears when you try to wipe it off
You are cold, I know, but this warmth comes at a cost.
There is no real bed for me to rest on here
Such idleness is pointless when you live resigned
You will soon leave to your bed

Now I am once again alone
I talk only to myself here
And once in awhile I'll crack my knuckles
to create a percussion for my discussion
My musings speak out your name
But I know you are not there
So their colors fall on deaf ears
What does it matter?
They are a symphony
I am their maestro
I shall take my bow now.

God complex

The world's family tree splinters off in an erratic pattern that dips and dives into each other. We look at this an call it entropy. But for those lucky enough to take a step back, they can see an intricate snowflake waiting to be completed.