Traces of You

Wherever I am, 

Wherever I go, 

I find traces of you

In the lines of a song

In the rays of a sunset

In the sounds of the rain

In random laughter 

On Sundays

And prayers

And many daily things

To my walls

Dear walls, you have seen and heard everything, 

and I know you have seen me at my worst 

but have you ever seen me at my best, 

for I can't remember. 

You have seen me break-down into silent sops of forsaken nightmares 

but how often have you heard my laughter? 
-Remind me now, for I need to know that all were not black. 

Dear walls, you've seen me love and hate with the same fire, 

tell me what do I wear better? 

Tell me if I look better with tears soaked angry smiles 

or with the lifeless smile of a rotting spirit? 
-Remind me now, for I need to know that all were not as bad. 

Dear walls, you've seen me slip into the wide open arms of self hate 

and crawl through the filth of existence to a semblance of life, 

tell me why do you stay still? 

Tell me, dear wall, that there is a reason still of why you and I are here still. 
- Remind me now, for I need a reason to live another day. 

The Old Oak Tree

 Upon that old oak tree where the songbirds sing

Wherein my childhood laid I upon it's flatten branch 

To gaze upon the blurring horizon beyond my reach

Dreamt I a world sweeter than the songbirds' songs

Upon that old oak tree where the songbird nest

Wherein I dreamt away the grim childhood of my reality

For a moment of peace undiluted by the cares of the world

Dreamt I while tearing the fresh saplings off the old oak tree

Upon that old oak tree where the songbird hatch

Lay I as the hatchling fed as I have never been

Pass I all the cares of this world as life leave me to hatch

Dreamt I of life as my rotting flesh feed the old oak tree

My Head

I screamed to the void in my head
Asking existential questions to
The tangled mess of the past, and
To the blurry promises of the future

But in all fairness, my dear soul
Why do I fear an answer, 
Why do even an echo seems scary
Yet the eerie silence provokes me

Perhaps I do not look for answer
In the chaotic present that I resent. 
As the vicious agonist is my head
Yet a spot of paradise is my head!