A Poem.

I want to tear the ceiling off the walls that hold me in.
I want to draw a picture that crawls with fact
that you would see, if only you would look THROUGH your spectacles.

I am consulting the face on the wall
that I dreamed of in ink
and painted in color
I am consulting the face on the wall

I am conversing with her
talking about my dreams
my dooms
my heart that holds my mind
and my mind that stares blankly at the wall

I am imagining with him
I am seeing the things that I can only see in the deepest of night
the creatures that make up nightmares
and the light that brings dawn
and the music that I only hope makes up my soul.

I am holding a ten-thousand-pound weight
over my head and in the form of a brick

A brick as rust colored as the hinge on the doorway through this hell
that I can make mine or yours
in the matter of thought

I can move mountains in my imagination
I can see through you
I can test the waters of your truth


' Tho' soft you tread above my grave '
in the night
and soft you whisper
of your dreams and your mind

Because I want to be the only one who understands your mind, Oh time, oh Dreams,
and the galaxies that spread across the cosmos in your eyes.

I want to understand my own troubles.
And the color that alights in the eyes of dawn
as they open like petals in the morning.

I want to feel the wind again, against my shoulder, in the sweet summer moonlight.

I want to feel the rain and answer not in just poem but in hymns of Time; In philisophical questions and art that bleeds through the canvas of our scars and helps to heal wounds.

We all want to be more than we are, more than the slugs we see ourselves as, as we look below our imaginary spectacles and gape at the uglinessses.