The Snail

The vagrant dreams of going home.

He wants a place to call his own.

"A place where I can stay, where I belong."

You can always come back here,

but you know you can't stay forever.

They always told you you'd have to leave,

But you never knew what those words would sever.

"It is not easy to accept these transient times,

where I don't own anything inside my life."

A vagrant of privilege suddenly realizes,

that nothing was ever his, lies of gifts and prizes.

The vagrant's shell is a lease,

and he owns no agency over his insides.

Once you settle in your home, at last,

arrives the moment in which you're due to part.

From all I've been given I own nothing,

nothing except maybe the skin on my back.

Something.

Sirius

I hold you upon the descent of November,

a rapid candle-melting flame, come December.

We are lain upon snow which still refuses to fall,

I still refuse to wake and sleep you still attempt to stall.

Refusing to wake up and to go to bed,

a cycle repeating when sun refused to set.

Our feet now frozen past the point to ever melt.

We lie under a snowfall which time before had never dealt.

You sing and hear the creak of straw,

play music on the heart you still refuse to thaw.

Before the ending dawns, I use my frozen throat to crow

lullabies to you, from back when time still did not flow.

Enter Sandman

You close your eyes and hope to die,

yet hope you wake up one more night.

The quiet demon seems to speak,

once you've passed the midnight peak.

Claw your skin and dread the sunrise,

for once awake it's too late to rise.

And the words your write they whisper,

but once you hang on they dispel.

And when you writhe with the sun you try

to shut out the imps who attempt to pry.

You've sought the fruit but were distracted,

and upon clearness the path's destructed.

So before dawn dawns you must make a choice,

attempt to live bright or allow their rejoice.

And you spelt their blood and guts on paper,

for the brief minutes you their thoughts could taper.

And come the morning and their smite,

expel their thoughts you fought at night.

Now close the book and leave them hidden,

for from your sleep they are forbidden.

Cestrum

I started writing poems after I met you. 

That much is a lie but I'd like to think it true.

I sleeplessly watched the moon while waiting,

For the post-midnight sign that of me you were thinking.

All the words on the dictionary would have seemed taken,

As your speech would constantly render mine sunken.

And of the moments we talked, some days I remember.

From goodbye in that month to hello in December.

These violet rimmed eyes I keep trying to fix,

Yet cannot for I’m hanging on a thread I did nix

Back when I was unready and ran filled with fright.

But just now, once more, you’ve kept me up at night.

Daisy, Marigold

I do not say

that I care no longer.

I just say, previous

feeling begone:

Under the shine of
your smile I still wonder,

About the times

I toiled for so long.

Those hands intertwined

move me yonder,

To the heart I, for you,

left alone.

Dear Daisy I thank you, I've been just once more, to the lands I thought to never return.

Dear Daisy, mine never, but I regret not. I have withered once yet been reborn.

Rivers Run Dry

Rivers run dry,

once the earth stops to blink.

Rotting from the core,

refused to change, but how, I think?

I refused to pry,

won't ask her questions.

Yet the rivers ran dry,

and the rest grew restless.

And I watched her wither,

fold deep into herself.

And once the earth unfolded,

what I received was not myself.

Apollo, part III

A name of no face,

a face of no man.

Bathed upon the sunshine,

in the back of my mind.

If I spoke would you talk?

I just pretend I didn't hear.

So pretty, I fear, 

pity I never came near.

Was I embarrassed, or shy?

'Tis but a memory, honoured goodbye.