you've never read my poems

Most words, unheeded.
Most feelings, unwanted.
Like a migraine in the heart, light hurts.
Even a relief like the one you offered up--
nothing.

And my best days are your worst days.
The sun forgot to shine.
Wake up, you sleepy head.
It's only dark because your eyes are closed.

And when everything and nothing become one feeling,
you almost forget how you felt at the start.
Like a prick,
like a tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.

And most of the most,
is the least of the least.
Like a dream.
Not a sleep dream--but a vision dream.
A future.
But today is crowded down,
like a subway on the hour.

If your mind shunned your heart,
and the two played different teams,
you'd wonder, wouldn't you?

Nothing becomes everything--
all at once and never.
Interchangeable time is like an open casket.

phresh--

I've often wondered: when do fresh, young, idealistic eyes become old and wizened?
When does one grow so accustomed to the sights of beauty and joy that they no longer reconize or appreciate it?

I hope to never reach that point in my life.
I hope to always see the world through my own eyes.
To not let the world change or alter them to fit its own agenda.

I hope I remain.

I hope.
Eternally.

that is all.