Early to bed, Early To Rise....

These last few days haven't been easy. Not only am I bored as hell, I'm litterally haunted by images from my past. The only thing I can actually describe it as is loosing something you really loved. Then days after you loose it, everything that you see reminds you of that one thing. That's what it's been like for me these past few days. In fact, that's what it's been like for me since the end of the summer.

That's how someone knows they love something a lot. When after it's gone, it's the only thing you want back. Nothing else seems to matter. My world has felt empty for the past few months and I think that's just the way I'm going to feel for a long time. Empty.

However long it's going to take me to undo the "thing" that is wrong with me, I'm going to have to live through. Whether or not I'm returned what was taken from me is another story. The truth is, I'm learning alot about myself now that this "thing" is gone. I'm able to see how much pain it caused me and how much it used me for all that I was worth and then looked for an oppertunity to get rid of me. However, I don't so much that it was waiting so much as something else in the midsts who was hoping to find some way to get rid of me.

Most of you are reading this right now and thinking to yourselves, "What the hell is he talking about?" I wouldn't blame you. Sometimes I have no idea what I'm talking about, but somehow that's going to all change soon.

One of the best parts about being a writer is being able to create characters at will. The true way that we do it is to adapt our characters from people that we have actually met or heard about in real life. This process seems to be the most easiest for me. I've met soom pretty colorful people in my few 22 years of life. Most of which were nice people just very colorful.

I say this for the fact that there is one evil thing about writers that no one ever thinks about. I've got a shirt that speaks bundles when it says, "Careful or you'll end up in my novel." That's exactly what I'm talking about. A writer's ultimate power is to take the people that he hates more than anything and to create a character that he/she can do as they wish. Once the project is done, the writer is able to sit back and have a good laugh at what he's done to the character based on the "asshole".

A project that I started a while ago is now back in process. After everything that happened this summer I didn't feel it necessary to continue it since the characters I created were actual people who I no longer have contact with. (Getting the picture yet?) But now that I've had the time to think it over and place my emotions to the side, all I'm left with now is the bullshit they left behind. So that's what I intend to do. You see, writer's analyze people before they ever concider what kind of character they would make in a story. I had six years to figure these people out and they never bothered to do the same to me. Now, I've got six years of fustration and I think some revenge is in order.

Project: Summer is now in full swing and I hope to have it complete fairly soon since I have most of the parts created. This book I will make available to as many markets as I can. Until then, still expect me to post stuff on here as usual. I know most of you are enjoying the poetry and as long as you enjoy it and come by and read it, I will keep giving you what you want. As a music performer, I know the most important part of the show is to give the audience what they want.

This next poem is about the one thing I had to learn how to do a long time ago, say "good-bye". There are lots of things that we say everyday now that we say because we feel we should, but we never stop to actually realize what we're saying and how much power it used to have. Take for instance: I love you. I've heard that a few times in my life and I realize now that those who said it to me, besides my parents, never actually truely meant it. Kinda sucks when you reach that point in your life when you understand how fake some people can be. And that's what this angel feels like in my poem.

Saying Good-Bye

Waiting to say good-bye
has always been the hardest for me.
From the day it all ended,
to the day I learned that our beginning
would lead to and end.

The war has left us
lost and alone.
and lost in a desert,
whose only known tenant is a star
who wishes no one looks upon.

You looked at me
and blew me kisses from afar.
I saw you walk into that tunnel of nothing.
Walking to a bird made my man
that tries to reach the heavens
that don't exist for the living.

For years, I was that part of you
that you adored like the song of the angel
that fell from the sky. Where is the love
you showed to me then? Is it where
you're going now?

I look through the shield
that keeps me from touching you,
from telling you, from loving you.
What is something so unyielding
that not even love may pass through it?
It's the steel of the hammer
that's breaking my heart.

I will keep my confession from you.
A symbol of my faultless epiphany which,
if I would have paid more attention to,
would have kept me from this moment in time.

It is, has been, and always will be
my curse.
It started from the beginning,
yet it gave no sign of and end. So could it be
that this is death? Could this be
the continuous, never-ending, beginning of my
melancholy way of life?

They say there is a light at the end
of every dark tunnel. But I just saw you leave
in a tunnel that was dark enough to swallow you whole
and then make sure you should not find your way out.
What kind of a tunnel is that? What kind of tunnel
lets you go forward, but not back?

I see you leave the earth on steel wings
that would not let any holy being fly in Heaven.
The walls around me close and there is nothing
but an opening to the sky above me.


God, damn these clipped wings!
What purpose do they serve if they don't let me fly,
if I can not wrap those in them who need me by there side?
What good is this sword of flame you give to your soldiers
if the shield you give them doesn't even protect them
from the fallacies of life, love, and friendship?

WHAT GOOD IS A MORTAL SOUL TO AN ANGEL
TO MAKE HIM HUMAN
IF THE ONES HE LOVES, CARES FOR,
WOULD DIE FOR, GIVE UP HIS SEAT IN HEAVEN FOR, AND MAKE HIM WISH NOT TO GO HOME,
DON'T LOVE HIM BACK!?

WHAT ARE THESE WORDS I CRY FOR?!
THEY ARE THE WORDS OF A MORTAL,
TO WHICH THOSE WHO RIDE ON STEEL WINGS
HAVE TURNED A DEAF EAR TO!

THEY ARE THE WORDS OF AN ANGEL,
THAT NO ONE WILL READ,
WHO HAS LOWERED HIS SHIELD AND SWORD
TO BE MORTAL AND DO AS MORTALS DO
ONLY TO FIND THAT MORTALS ARE CRUEL CREATURES!

LET THEM HAVE DIVINE LOVE!
LET THEM HAVE THE GRACE OF OUR FATHER!
BUT MAKE ME A FULL MORTAL
SO THAT I MAY HAVE IT TOO!

I snap back.
You're gone from my view for who knows how long.

On the other side of the shield
a drop of water falls.
Is it rain, is it a water spot?
I will never know, but
to look through it from the other side,
would look like a tear from me.

Let someone else carry my sword and shield tonight.
Tonight, I sleep as a mortal and I leave my questions behind.
Lord knows, you have already.

Until next time.

Just before bed.

This one was asked for by special request. No essay or opening for tonight, everyone. Tonight, I'll just let my poetry speak for itself. Tomorrow will be a different story.

The King in Her Life

Today is my day.

I watched the sun go down

on the day before today

hoping that something would change

from then to nowbut things have not.

The day is passing.

The night that I have waited for

is finally here.

My prince is in his carriage

almost to my door.

There is not much time to prepare.

I must start now.

I go to my mirror.

I open the make up in my music box.

The memories of you return to me.

The thoughts of your voice telling me

no matter how much of it I used

I would never need it.

The song that kept playing

as you showed me how to dance.

How great it was to be a child

when you were here.

With every brush of my hair,

with every dust of my face,

I'm only trying to hide my scars.

The woman in the mirror

is nothing without you.

It's strange.

I always thought

you would be here for this moment

and yet

you feel miles away

because you are.

I go to my closet.

There is the dress.T

he costume to hide the princess

that is really a pauper.

I take it from it's prison

and remove it from it's noose.

It fits perfectly.

But somehow, the embrace of your arms

telling me that you would protect me

from now until forever

fits much better.

The night is almost over me.

The symbol we gave to each other

the night you left on wings

and left us here without you

is shining high in the sky.

You told us to watch it with you.

It was how we would know of your love

and how we could keep our faith

that we were still with each other.

I watch it from my window.

I wonder if you're watching it with me

while you're protecting me.

In the distance,

I can see my prince.

You have not met him.

I hope you will.

I love him, but not as much

as I will always love you.

You would be proud.

You inspire him to be like you.

My guardian, my friend, my life.

A knock at my door.

The love of your life

How she covers the thoughts of pain

with the smiles she's given me since you've left.

I know what love is because of her.

That's how I know I'm in love.

"He's waiting down stairs."

she says to me.

"I wish he could be here"

I say as I look at your picture.

"He is, my love."

I walk down the stairs of my castle.

There is my prince.

In his uniform, just like you.

A symbol of protection, just like you.

And then he speaks...

"I have a gift for you tonight.

It's better then any night at any ball,

any gift of jewels,

or any dance with me."

What could it be?

He takes my hand and leads me to the door.

"Your wish is on the other side."

I turn the handle...

a rush of life...

the last moment I saw you leave our home....

the last time I saw you smile at me...

the last words...good bye.

There you were.

In your suit.

In your armor.

The armor you wore to protect us all.

You had the smile I saw you with last.

The smile that brightend up my days.

You stood with a tear your eye

and I couldn't see you.

My tears had blinded me.

My king had come home.

"I missed you so, my princess.

You're beautiful.

God let me come home today to see my angel like this."

"I missed you more,

my soldier,

my king...

My daddy."

Until next time.

Do you ever wonder...

...where they go?

Today being All Soul's Day, I figure I would put up this poem that I've had for a while. I never really understood why I wrote it until now. There are things we don't really understand at the time why we do them, but we know somewhere deep inside that in the grand scheme of things, they will have a bigger purpose later on.

That's where this poem comes in. Now if my internet hadn't gone out a couple of days ago, I would have completely forgotten I had t his poem. By the time I would have posted it wouldn't have had the same effect as it might have right now.

For those of you who know me beyond this blog and know sort of my backstory of my life, you know that it's been sometime since I lost my little brother. He was the only sibbling that actually looked up to me since my sisters were very much older by the time I was born. I was sort of the last one that my parents actually planned on. Then Alex showed up. There was lots of drama during that part of my life which I won't get into, but the point that I'm trying to make is that he's gone. I often wonder why it was I never actually mourned for him like I have for others who left my life. I loved him unconditionally and to this day I miss him very much and wonder what he would have become if he hadn't died so early in his life. Maybe I knew that in the grand scheme of things he would be going to a place that I wouldn't have to be sad about. I should be happy.

For the most part, death makes us realize things that we don't fully understand until we realize the person who's gone no longer has the time to figure it out. They're going to find out up close and personal. That is, if there actually is a Heaven or Hell, but we'll save that for another blog.

For now, I leave you with this work long lost in the Archangel Archives. I hope that after you read it, you find the same comfort that I did in knowing what we hope happens to us after a greater power than anything we know takes us off our journey though life.

Waiting

And here I sit.

Watching you from your window sile.

Being ever vigilant like the stars.

I'm watching you say your prayers by your bedside.

One for you,

one for your mother,

one for your father,

one for your sister,

one for me.

I can see your eyes in the moonlight.

The tears are forming.

You don't understand I'm right here.

I've never left.

I've kept my promise.

You wipe the tears from your eyes

and slip into the bed holding your angelic body.

Hours have passed and you've not yet closed your eyes.

There is no reason to stay up for me.

Leave the night to angels and demons.

This is no time for you.

Thought I lay somewhere with my eyes closed,

I can never pray, sleep, or dream again.

Turn to watch the moon.

See how it can fill the soul with things we cannot understand?

Remember how I told you to watch the moon if I slipped away?

I'm there.

I'm not that far away from it.

I'm not that far away from you.

By the light of the moon,your eyes become tired.

The sandman of your stories has come for you.

He sprikles his sleeping dust and calms the soul no angel would dare touch without my consent.

I rise from my perch like a bird of grace

and walk to your side.

I kneel like the knight I would have been to you and I here I will stay until morning.

No nightmare will hurt you, no fear of falling, no sense of loneliness.

I'm here with you.

Leave the night to angels and demons.

They have the night to carry out the business we cannot see and do not understand.Tonight, in this room, the night belongs to us.

Until next time.

Looking to the Skies

By now, you might or might not have noticed the medium for the basis of most of my poetry. The moon and stars seem to have this effect over my imagination that I have never been able to control. The Hunter's Moon this year was begging me for days to write something about my most favorite constellation in the winter sky, Orion.

Mediums for writing seem to be the hardest things for most writers to find. When you slowly make that discovery that you are a "Writer" then you start to realize that it's very easy to say you're a writer, but it's also another thing to sit with a pen and paper all day or to sit in front of a computer screen and write for hours on end. It's easier said than done. Then to top it all off, you might not even like what you're writing. I've been writing since I was thirteen and let me tell you, it never gets any easier. The writer who tells you that it gets easier after you've written so much, is pretty much full of it. The muse of your life changes and sometimes the biggest thing that you need in order to write some of the greatest pieces of your life, support, is never there. I guess that would explain why I've never actually completed a novel and in my heart I would love to.

The moon has become my muse as of late. It's a constant friend that I know will always be in the sky to guide my mind at night into a new poem or some new urge to get something down on paper. Writers are not born in the mind, they are born on paper. Although, anyone who has been writing as long as I have will tell you that without a mind, you can just forget about writing entirely. And then again, a few of us writers lost our marbles a long time ago. Hell, we take the chance of writing something everyday that might not ever get read by even the every day Joe or Jane like you reading now. Doesn't that tell you something?

Me on the other hand, I don't really care. Writers and artists are one in the same. We try so hard to create something that we hope others will flock to and stand, or in this case read, in awe and we will earn the admiration of millions. For a select few of us that actually happens. The majority of us stand back and just write what we know.

Perhaps one of these days I'll write the greatest novel of the twentieth century. Hey, I'm young, it could happen. But I won't spend the rest of my days thinking about it. I know that eventually I'll finish the novel I started three years ago about a reality that I really wanted and now I know will never happen. I guess that's why we have those little things that are part of us that give us hope. The reasons that we move on from the evils that conquer our spirits and help us to see that there is more beyond this one point. Tonight, I look to the stars one more time. This time, I look to the moon to wonder if a friend is still watching it with me.

He opens the back door
to his home and steps
into the veranda

The chill in the air
raises each hair on his arm
as sentinels standing guard

He wraps his blanket tightly,
his only protection
from sensation of the dead
moving in the night

The roof
made of crystal clear glass
to let in the sun, moon, and stars
and to proudly show
his favorite constellation

He waits for this moment
every year, through every season,
through every cover of clouds,
he's waited for his return

In all his glory,
there in the winter sky,
is Orion the Hunter

How proudly he stands
with the belt we know so well
and his arm stretched
brandishing his sword

How mythology has forgotten you
oh great Orion
but the stars make you shine
more brightly than the rest
in my favorite time of the year.

The Hunter's Moon
beckons your return
and all those who would be you,
but those who remember you
know there will always
only be one Orion.


Until next time.

It's hard to let go

I think once you read this one, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about. The real question is, who has the harder time letting go?

Untitled

A young man rises from his bed to find he is alone.

The one that he loved so much has left him by fate.

He realizes that he must face this world alone but fears his lost love does not understand.

He opens his French doors

to the second floor balcony in his funeral clothes and starts to sing.

"Jamas senti en el alma tanto amor

Y nadie mas que tu, me amo

Por ti rei y llore, renaci tambien"

The sunset sky starts to turn from a bright orange to a soft gray.

There is a storm coming. Though he can hear the thunder

in the distance, he continues to sing.

"Lo que tuve di, por tenerte aqui

Ya se que despedirnos es mejor

Sufriendo pagare mi error

Ya nada sera igual, lo tengo que aceptar

Ya hallar la fuerza en mi para este adios"

He continues to sing and raises his head to the sky to sing to God.

He explains that he has accepted this turn of fate,

but he does not know why his love's soul would stay to hurt him.

He begs for God to make it understand. Though rain starts to fall, he continues to sing.

"Alejate, no puedo mas

Ya no hay manera de volver el tiempo atras

Olvidate de mi

Y dejame seguir a solas con mi soledad

Alejate, ya dime adios

Y me resignare a seguir sin tu calor

Y jamas entedere que fue lo que paso

Si nada puedo hacer, alejate"

Now, he closes his eyes to hold back what is coming. He can feel

his love holding him once again. He begs for peace,

but the ghost of love will never leave him. He tries to explain

that he will move on in pain, but the ghost must leave him.

In his heart, he begs for serenity, and still he sings.

"No voy a arrepentirme del ayer

Amando te hise mujer

Por el amor aquel, por serte siempre fiel

Hoy tengo que ser fuerte y aprender"

He falls to his knees and begins to cry. He can't turn around to see

the ghost of his love. He cries that she must live so that others

may know of the love they shared together. He takes no

regrets in their love. He cries harder, and still he sings.

"Alejate, no puedo mas

Ya no hay manera de volver el tiempo atras

Olvidate de mi

Y dejame seguir a solas con mi soledad

Alejate, ya dime adios

Y me resignara seguir sin tu calor

Y jamas entedere que fue lo que paso

Si nada puedo hacer, alejate"

By now, the rain is falling harder and the lightning flashes brighter

then the sun during the day on the small town. The storm

shows the same rage that is in his heart. Once again,

the ghostbegs for him to turn and look, but he knows not to. He turns

his heart to stone and understands that he has said "good-bye". He understands that he

must live with her smell on his mind and the warmth of his love's skin far from him. Though

the wind and rain make him cold and shiver, he continues to sing.

"Alejate, no puedo mas

Ya no hay manera de volver el tiempo atras

Olvidate de mi

Y dejame seguir a solas con mi soledad

Alejate, ya dime adios

Y me resignara seguir sin tu calor

Y jamas entedere que fue lo que paso

Si nada puedo hacer, alejate"

The thunder and lightning have passed. Now all that's left is rain. But it is not rain. It is the

tears of a thousand angels crying with him. They cry because they can not tell him that his love is with them and loves him very much. The ghost is a gift from the angels to bring him peace, but he does not understand. His face marked by a trail of tears, he begs one more

time to God and to the ghost to let him cry the rest of his days. God listens to him and

takes the ghost from the room. The angels cry harder knowing the gift has been taken.

With his last strength, he turns to see the ghost is gone. His trial of pain is over. The last

person to cry is is angelic love. He lifts his head back to the sky, and says. "I love you, too."

Until next time.

For every holiday...

there is a ghost.

I don't make it a habit to do very many seasonal poems. I'm the kind of person who generally will just take the mood of the moment and create the story that wants to flow on its own. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. I've have a few bad poems here and there where I've had to step back and wonder, "What the hell were you thinking, Archy?"

Truth is, writing is much like science. We experiment as much as we can before we find the right way of doing something. Only difference is that as writer we're so fickle that we know when it's best for us to stop and realize that it's not going to get any better. But we're determined to milk that idea for all that it's worth.

There is one thing I know I don't like writing about, though. Ghosts. I wrote a poem a while back about a man who lost his bride very recently in his life and started singing to the heavens in honor of her and also to beg her spirit to leave him alone. That was a bloody tear-jerker. I based it off of a Josh Groban song called "Alejate", where he sings about letting someone go. I'll have to post it sometime. Maybe I will in this blog-o-mania that's about to happen.

If this opening essay isn't making much sense, it would be because I didn't wake up not too long ago. I've been meaning to post these blogs for a really long time, but never got around to it. Last night a poem came out that was just too good to let it get by the holiday and never be read. This one is for everyone who has been waiting for the next poem.

Talking to the Wind

Quietly resting my mind

just to past the time

from a restless day

Listening to the sounds

of the cardinals and blue jays

singing in the trees

and hiding in the bushes.

- Their song doesn't compare to your voice

I lay on the crisp grass

with one hand behind my head

and lift my eyes to the clouds above

creating creatures with my mind.

There won't me much time

to do this as I always have

- No, there will be

The days of the autumn sun

will soon be gone

and left in it's place

is the winter moon

- Frozen tears are coming

I close my eyesand let my mind drift

into a silent reverie filled with your image

- Will you always dream of me?

A period of silence

created by fate

that decided that my destiny

was to wander this earth

questioning my purpose

without you here to help me

- The footsteps you feel beside you are mine

Heaven forbids me

to shed anymore tears

- Why cry when I am here next to you?

I've done all my mourning

and now is the time of rejuvenation

for you and I

- You will not grow without me

While I will never understand it;

the sensation of you next to me lingers;

it haunts me like a bad dream

- It is a curse we shall endure together

Somehow, I can still hear your voice

flowing in the breeze

through the trees

that blows against my face

making sure I can hear every word

- You will never forget me

I open my eyes again

and watch and the evening eye

cast its light on me

though the sun overcomes the world

- I'm there with you

I stretch my hand to the sky

in a strange hope

that you might touch me once more

- Heaven isn't so far to touch

I laugh at my innocence

and how gullible I must seem

to chase shadows and ghosts
- All will make sense soon
After all,destiny has separated us

for a reason.

We will have our time again.

-Only I know when

Only time will tell.

-Tonight.

Until next time.

No matter how hard you try...

you can never forget the things you love the most.

It's been a while since I've written here. A few of my new readers have joked with me on my MSN messenger asking me if I've not gotten "the urge". I remember a while back how much I used to hate that feeling in the middle of the night. Now I have it in the middle of the day also. It feels like the guilt that you've not done something you were meant to do. Now it's 12:04 A.M. and I'm sitting at my computer trying to fill in the words in this blog that have been in my head, gathering enough force to find a way out through my fingers. They're winning now.

My blog has gotten some attention since I started actively writing it again. My poetry seems to connect with a lot of people. That's the way it should be. That's the way everything thing you read should effect you. It's the essence of the writer that's in the work he's just created that should fill your heart and mind with something you can't quite put your finger on, but you know it's there. I love doing that to people.

I've been noticeably different these past few days. People I talk to can just sense it from me. I know what's wrong with me, but I'm trying my best to keep myself from remembering what it is that's bothering me. I have a tendancy to want to go back to the past and thinking that there is a chance to go back in time and change a few things. I guess the fact that I've written fantasy most of my life, I'm starting to think that some of the things I've created are actually real.

I can't say that my life has been perfect. Hell, no one can. Most people would give up a whole bunch of things in their life to have a perfect moment for once in their lives. I didn't have to give up more than money to get mine. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, I'll try my best to tell you what The Perfect Moment feels like....

The Perfect Moment

Picture if you will
a night of crisp air
and only the light
of the full moon
to make you foolish.

You stand in the darkness
and look up at the jewel in the sky
how it shines just for you
tonight.

Your mind wanders to that spot,
that place,
that moment,
where fate,
in all is vast mystery,
showed you it was truely real

And then the moon
it's blurred
by a tear
caused by a smile

A smile so strong
the stars shine brighter
the wind softly blows
and your mind plays
the perfect song
to help you remember
that one moment.

It's there
it's that point in time
you hadn't even known
you were waiting for all your life.

It's that first breath,
that first hug,
that first smile,
that first anything
that never was more real
than at that moment.

That point
where if you were asked
you wouldn't be able to tell
what was happening around you.

Cloaked in the moonlight
you hold onto that moment
for as long as you can
hoping that it will last a little longer

And then you blink
and just like that moment in time
it's gone.

That feeling,
that revery,
that ounce of hope
that there was a reason
you were meant to be here.

The moon
hidden by a cloud.

That experience
written over by time.

That moment
turned to memory.

And now
it's in the safest place you know...

Your heart.


And if you can remember something like that, then you know what it's like.

Until next time.