Waiting to Disappear
Song

There is a song there he thought. There’s a melody to hum, and words to be sung.
There was a song there he thought, waiting to flourish and bloom, all it needed was the right voice.

Rock

If you are not my rock, who will stop me from crumbling in this wind.
I have stood up against many harsh gusts, and I have held you through many storms.
I am yours; but if you are not my rock, then who will keep me from crumbling into nothing.

August 18 2014

With a pen whose ink flowed freely, I wrote three words.
The ink was smudged and the paper was wrinkled, but the words burned bright with truth.
Far away from any eavesdropping ears, I would say them over and over again.
Late at night I would whisper them, as if darkness could mask the meaning behind these soft words.
Perhaps I was afraid to lie; Or
perhaps I was afraid that it wasn’t a lie at all.
Even so, my fears did nothing to dampen the truth; for as we lay there together, I missed the feeling of those words on my lips.
I would feel them waiting eagerly on the tip of my tongue, longing to be free.
Know now, I am unafraid of this truth.
No longer will I hold it back from you with clenched teeth.

With a voice clear of doubt, I read to you this poem.
Every letter of every word flows off my tongue so simply, and easily.
Every sound of every tone is at home on these lips.
Know now, I am unafraid of this truth.
I once missed its feeling as it lay waiting upon my tongue, but never again will the words be missed, for they will freely be spoken.
Know now, I am unafraid of this truth.
Out loud in the brightness of day, or with the moon as my witness, these words, I will say to you.
I love you.

August 11 2014

Beneath the falling sky, night took my hand.
It turned off the stars, and it dimmed my heart, and the darkness overcame me.

August 10 2014

My love for you will not waver, even in the howling face of the worlds strongest hate.

Walk

The branches of trees rustle in the soft breeze casting dancing shadows onto the concrete below.
My heart beat calls out in the empty night but I hear nothing but my own steady breath.
Leaves tumble along in the gutter leading me down the pavement with the echoing steps of my feet.
I will walk and walk, and walk longer still.
I will walk until my feet are no more, for my heart will never cease searching for you.

For my VERY few but VERY appreciated followers:

First off, thank you! It makes me very happy to know even one person likes any of my writing. I appreciate you liking and following me.
I’m not posting as much as I like but I’m getting back into the swing of things.

It seems somehow I posted a couple poems twice on different days on accident. I’m not sure what’s happening but I’m having many mix ups with my posts lately. Anyway. Thanks for reading. And thank you for your support.

Love,
Jacxk

August 3 

Maybe I was meant to always feel lonely.
Maybe I wasn’t meant to feel at all.
All I know is behind these eyes, all I am is empty.
And it seems now that the things I need are things I’ll never see.

August 8 2014

It’s always you I’m running to,
for you are my home

My heels are the things that are on my feet, but you’d never notice them among all the African sea snakes.
It seems to me that, despite the bamboozlement of today’s wazoos, I still find time to negotiate my prize with the unofficial newspaper rack.

So, I bought flowers so to speak, the kind with the television eye lids. I liked the way it pushed the sofa. It is truly a metaphysical feeling. Even with the new paper on the top of the railings, I still felt the sand under my ear-bows. My eye-bows on the other hand became rough with grease and butter.

I think in the end what I’m really trying to say is this:
When you start to feel like the flowers outside your sink are becoming too silky in the glare of the numbered fire hydrants, just let it out, yknow? Soak in the fragrance and take out a pen, because your next shelf will not be as forward as the hydrangeas.

Jack Smith, 6/26/14 fwoof (via atenaciousspirit)

One of my finer works I must admit. So deep even I do not comprehend the art that I created.