Ordinary People

7:30pm and tears are framing my eyes.
Not sad, just tired, sleepy.
(time to inject myself with energy)
Another one with a number of grammys under his belt
will be holding an arresting show
and I have in-demand patron tickets for free
everyone is excited:
my proud phone won't stop screaming
alerting me of messages dripping with envy

how does one humor irony?

when this is all i want to do:
curl up in warm a ball while reading the book of your thoughts-
I want no other company but your words
I want no other song but your song-
so I arm my brain with the fragile rhythm of your verses instead
to carry me through the glittering night ahead

And now I reach the part
where I clumsily grasp for words
to end this stalling masked as a rambling poem
so that I may start pasting on my priceless, practiced smile,
pretending that gold is worth my while

and later in the coliseum,
while standing and swaying with the eager crowd
and screaming in hope for an encore or two
My honest wish would be this:
For the echoes of my applause to travel far,
far too distant for all of them to hear or to see
for my genuine acclaim only to rest
wherever you may be.

The Sleep Cycle

in that place between being awake and falling asleep
an army of voices including mine,
whisper night after night of feeling empty,
as darkness dissolves the illusion of comfort laid
brought by the fraudulent brightness of day

and before you completely shut your sight for the night
you speak:
what is emptiness anyways, but a feeling?
an emotion, relative and unfounded
grounded in the vast, indeterminate truth
of pristine... nothingness

but the distance from your dreams
to your every waking moment-
from the safe womb of truth in your sleep
to this space of absolute uncertainty is infinitely immense-
so wide that questions cannot help but arise,
on why, seemingly without choice,
you end up always on the same path
always doing the same thing
always opening the same door
that leads to the world
of perfect... fiction or fabrication?

but answers are not quite ready to reveal themselves,
so in respect to the stillness that you cannot see
you swallow your questions instead
and just... cope.

powerless, you stand witness as the cycle endlessly repeats,
as once more the powers that be signal the deception to start
and you have no choice but succumb to the sun
as it prods your eyes with sly lights that lie

and as you breathe in the morning air,
(with its atoms, made of sparkling, shining promises)
you make room as this time, it is the darkness that dissolves
and you wake up smiling,
just as you did a thousand times before,
hopeful...
blindly believing once more.