We’ve been fishing a well that has no longer any water
One that’s been empty for years with no sign of
Replenishment; just resentment
Filling it’s bucket
With words we use to break hearts and re-open scars
We only attempt to refill with intentions ill

I once fished you from that well
That’s when we fell in love

We dance around it every night
Searching for a way to relieve the sting
Waiting for our love to swell
But our bucket only pulls up lies and
Broken compromise from the bottom of that well-
We used to swim in the same water that we drank
We used to love hard no matter the pain

I once baited you from that well
That’s when I fell into your arms
But now look what we’ve done-
We’ve dried up the pool and never
Replaced the love that we stole
Now our hearts are just as empty as
That fishing vessel

One day.

How far could this go?
Illusionist pacify your need for
Substance,
Morality conquests.
You need a steady hand,
So you grasp for God but clutch
Straws instead.

The veil on your eyes show
White on your side but
Shade black for the rest of us.
Failure to adjust
To the misconceptions.
Failure to conceptualize
Scriptures misguided.
We taste the bullshit but
You still believe.

How far could this go?
Illusionist give you a chance to
Rectify magic-
Redirect madness-
Based on fiction, a fashioned
Story book.
But you still take their words
In a literal context
And build your life upon
Imaginary content.

That book is of liars; fiction writers.

That book is of liars; fiction writers.

Grand Rapids has my body;
the road has my heart.

Spread my wings just to see what becomes of me.
How is it that my hands can feel the clouds
When my feet still drag on the ground?
Kicking up soil of sweet nostalgia,
Reaching to my lips, a confectionery’s bitterness.
The truth is, I’m not sure how I’ve come to this.
When your head can feel the breeze that
The soles of your feet cannot,
The mid-space; the commonplace
Becomes shallow and vast. Too difficult to get past.
It’s where our bodies get stuck when our
Souls refuse to meet our hearts-
Or the other way around-
We cannot commit to the skies or
The sturdiness of solid ground.
So we float in this
Mid-space; commonplace.
For eternity, we may never leave
When our dreams are misplaced
in a world too colossal for our eyes to seek.

The truth is…
The truth is…

Some do exist who fly beyond this midway abyss.
And if you can catch them in flight
And pay attention to the astonishing sight,
You’ll see their struggle to lift above is not
Robust enough to crush their undying love for
The skies,
And their wings only pulse harder with
Fervent drive
In attempts to see their dreams materialize.

The truth is
(And I’ll whisper softly, this)
If you learn of these rarities,
You must latch tight and listen closely.
For these song birds sing to share melodies
Of hope and major chords so bright
To strengthen your own wings and
Prepare to lift you in your own flight.

Grand Rapids has my body;
The road has my heart.
Grand Rapids has my body;
The road has my heart.
The mid-space has my body;
The clouds have my heart.
Spread my wings and watch
As my world falls apart.

All that glitters is gold.
At least that’s what they tell us
and so by default, it’s what we know.
When the clouds hang low
and grace our presence with the threat of snow,
we close our eyes to spite the sun -
now hiding behind storms misunderstood.
We wait for winter to pass
and hope it doesn’t last past March.
Because we know that there is greener scenery
in the next season’s grass.
Grab tightly. Think lightly.
Imagine that we’ve jumped ahead to
the dusk of June;
and even warmer still: July’s moon.
Michigan lakes
glisten in August.
Michigan hearts
swell in harvest.
Michigan hands turn black and
freeze in refrigeration
in the first month’s
wintry blast.

Michigan hearts…

beat slower…

with frigid lovers.

All that glitters is gold
unless those sparkling hearts turn cold,
then we’re just…