One Last Thought Before Sleep - 5/1/14

I lay my head on pillows stuffed with memories. As my body begins to relax, my mind ramps up its energies. Eyes close to reveal the stunning scenery of surreal sentiments, surroundings shaped by shows of affection. Such recollection is never unwelcome, but at this time, it's an esteemed guest. My night has drawn to a close, but my heart is open. It spills across my soul...staining the draining spirit that now seeps out and creeps into the night. The stars glimmer and gleam as the dream machine projects brilliant images of bae, while the mind bustles and beams with the sort of enthralled glow that could coat the moon in gold for all the world to see. It's a light that shines deeply in the dark corners of the mind, illuminating the places where nightmares and jitters could walk their dim paces and rear their grim faces. Traces of consciousness fade seamlessly into the slumber, coaxed by your ethereal presence -- ever-so-slightly. Nightly. You are the last thing to cross my mind; the first sign of a good night's sleep. A role that was not given. A role I didn't know I was missing. A role I hope you keep.

-A. Lewis

The Professor - 4/18/13

Professor.

I thought myself to be a professor of love,

As in: someone professing it to another.

You were the professor, however.

Teaching a young brother. 

Showing me things...

Holding a mirror to my flaws,

Filing down my claws with constant applause,

Positivity parrying my negative propensities with nary a pause.

Never straying from staying down for the cause. 

Committed to growth.

Unyielding, unrelenting.

From having fun to venting,

Giving love, showing love,

Teaching love, knowing love,

All without dissenting. 

True presence of the something I'd been missing.

Just as open to talk, as you are to stop and listen.

Professor.

I thought myself to be a professor of love,

As in: someone professing it to the world.

Her? 

Why yes, that's my girl. 

Boasting loudly, proudly.
Writing odes and such,
Feeling a certain way and saying as much,
Putting it out there for the world to see.
Telling the world how happy you made me.
However...you said far more with no words.
Expressions coming from a great place with great haste.
Speaking directly to the soul.

Anthologies of affection told through your actions;

Library of love in your heart.

Apparent from the start.

Rather than put on for the world, 

You focused on playing your part.
A leading lady destined to be a star.
Type of lover desired near and far,
Forever giving effort above and beyond par.
All because you love with everything you are.

Professor. 

I thought myself to be a professor of love,

As in, someone professing it to you.

Expressing feelings that were true...

Feelings that came from a place deeper than I knew.

Similes? I had a slew.

Metaphors too. 

However,

Not even a plethora of poetry could describe it. 

The delighted, excited, ignited, incited.

It was an unexpected occurrence...

And I didn't know how to make it flourish,

How to fuel it. 

You did though, 

And you did it so effortlessly that I felt foolish. 

Saw love, saw how it illuminates what the truth is.

Professor. 

I thought myself to be a professor of love,

As in: someone that really knew about it. 

However, 

I became a student of yours,

And there was nothing I could do about it.
To tell the truth about it,
I don't know what I'd do without it.

The fire you lit still burns,

A sign of true lessons, life lessons, learned.
I appreciate her for making me better.

Bless her, the Professor. 

-A. Lewis

Of Dreams, at Dawn - 4/2/14

Where do the dreams go? The ambitions we form in adolescence...the anticipation of adulthood...how do they get lost in translation? Do they die from suffocation? There is pressure to succeed, to accomplish as much as possible; to matriculate, graduate, assimilate, participate, innovate, generate. Start a family, buy a home, renovate. Just don't be a degenerate. Is that too much to heap on ideas that are innocent? Innocuous ideas of an imaginative mind, suffocated by the expectations of society; deemed immature and irresponsible by incontinent individuals incapable of achieving intimate introspection. Is that what happens, or is there more to it? Do the dreams disappear? Fading out of perspective as the "real world" becomes a very clear picture in the meantime? Does Father Time wrest those ideas away from us to clear our minds of clutter, or is he stealing from us the very thoughts that make our hopes flutter? It sometimes seems that we never had them to begin with...there are times when they're so far out of reach that it seems that we've lost touch with the fabric of reality. However, that very same feeling can be as comforting as wool, a warm reminder that success will require a rise to the occasion. Everyone needs some form of motivation. Dreams seem to ripen quickly, yet rot very slowly. They can be hard to pick when there's a lot to choose from, and indecision leads to poor commitments, which can leave us feeling lowly. Others expect us to act boldly, yet when actions don't pan out, they criticize coldly. Is it inaction that results in plans becoming moldy? Discarding dreams after a duration of indistinct determination can be demeaning, despite never being too confident in one direction, but universally leaning. It seems that dreams yearn for interpretation while we search for meaning. Maybe if we understood our desires, we'd learn about ourselves. Instead, we go out looking for ways to define who we are. Cruising around, wasting the gas in the tank. Diving for a ship that never sank. The ambitions we form in adolescence...the anticipation of adulthood...how do they get lost in translation? They get lost when we presume a transition to be a transformation. We attempt to change so that we may grow, not knowing that change is meant to be the result of growth. Providence finds those who remain true to themselves from the start. Where do the dreams go? Should they slip from our minds, they live on in our hearts, always insuring that our inspiration and dedication are never too far apart.

-A. Lewis

5 AM - 2/11/14

I could go into great detail,
But I'd rather keep it simple.
You are perfectly ridiculous.
An amalgamation of awkward and amazing.
Much like 5 AM,
I don't know where you came from.
Seems like a place that knew of my needs.
I've always been the type to give flowers,
But you also inspire me to tend to my weeds.
You even remind me to plant more seeds.
Special is the person that both instills and intrigues.
You leave the impression of a blessing,
Making a mark by leaving a mess
In the feelings I've tried to keep cleanest.
Your intuition is the keenest,
And when it comes to putting a smile on my face,
You're an accidental genius.
Much like 5 AM,
I didn't expect you at all; you showed up.
But as sure as the sun shall soon rise,
You quickly became a light in my sky.
And while the stars are still out,
You are the twinkle in my eyes.
This time of morning reminds me of you...
The unexpected that caresses the creative and collected.
I could go into great detail,
But I'd rather keep it simple.
You are perfectly ridiculous.
An amalgamation of awkward and amazing.
I don't know where you came from.
I didn't expect you at all; you showed up.
Much like 5 AM.

-A. Lewis

Untitled - 1/31/14

Hearts cuddled together like bodies, sharing energy. Minds reaching synergy as our bodies meet endlessly. Intricacies of our intimacy... Desires light fires that require ample attention. Mentions of them cause sweat to gather on the skin, physical reactions to the ethereal attraction. These moments, despite the incalescent heat, are frozen in time; endless periods of oblivious minds that see nothing beyond what they feel. Should we ever question if this is real...we won't. The legitimacy of our intimacy is up to us. What we create in these seconds, these minutes, these hours...it's all ours. Unique. Forever unfinished, even when we feel it's complete, for there's always another chance for such a romance...and never shall any of them compete. Every memory fights for itself, but never against another. It is borne out of drawing together time, its father, and space, its mother. Opportunity is the third dimension, with motive being the fourth. When all are present, it's quite natural to feel the direction and stay the course. Not a thing is forced, although wills are imposed. We both want to ravish one another, so we strive for our goals. Paying diligent attention to what pleases instantly; giving determined effort to please intensely. The ultimacy of our intimacy. Hearts cuddled together like bodies, sharing energy. Minds reaching synergy as our bodies meet endlessly.

-A. Lewis

Young Love

If I had one request, it would simply be you. If I had to describe my desire in one word, it would simply be "true." It's never that simple though. Feelings are complex, and expression can be complicated. "Simple" would be to let it all flow, but many of us are constipated. Dammed by how damned we think we are. Unaware of getting close to someone, too busy assuming that love is just so far. We get so caught up in trying to free ourselves, mired in irony thick enough to thin out all logic. Begging the universe for help, yet making predictions and stating conditions like prophets. Know-it-alls in a state of ignorance. Blissfully blue. If I had one request, it would simply be you. If I had to describe my desire in one word, it would simply be "true." It's never that simple though. It requires a lot of work. How can one give energy and effort without a concrete sense of self-worth? Wouldn't it be easy to give without receiving reciprocity? Wouldn't it be easy to be in a parasitic relationship, relishing the fact that it's a form of relation, although all time is spent feeding a monstrosity? It never sounds that way to the person living it. We're all trying to find someone to love, but we never consider if a person's preferred way of receiving love is compatible to how we enjoy giving it. Forcing circles into squares. A hammer for a screw. If I had one request, it would simply be you. If I had to describe my desire in one word, it would simply be "true." It's never that simple though. It could be, but that just wouldn't be enough. Apparently, it's not real if it isn't tough. The quality of love is now defined by ups and downs, the ability to endure. What does that really ensure? If we fight constantly, do we ever really make up? Honestly? That's emotional abuse. Hurting each other just because we know how to heal one another...what does that prove? Why would I cause pain to the person I'm supposed to care enough about to soothe? Searching for validation...the kind that should come from within. Love is growth. That's the only thing that makes it "real." Get rid of the stipulations, the judgments, and the expectations too. If I had one request, it would simply be you. If I had to describe my desire in one word, it would simply be "true." It always starts out that simply. I just want to keep it that way and keep you with me. We should cultivate what we have and cherish it intensely. Despite all that crosses my mind, you're all I really think of. The difficulties of young love.

-A. Lewis

The Involuntary Incident - 12/4/13

It's never really an option.
No matter how much you try to proceed with caution,
You're bound to slip.
Feel the motion as your emotions take a trip.
We can't choose who we care for.
When we try,
There are feelings we can't deny,
And we end up caring more.
We end up sharing more.
Surface questions give way to deeper oceans,
Icebergs of information causing commotions,
Titanic truths revealed, sinking secrets in the open.
Connections happen without any indication.
This always seems inconvenient,
But it's only because we want to connect as vindication...
A paycheck for putting in work.
Recompense for voluntarily risking being hurt.
Life doesn't function that way, however...
Pure intentions on misguided missions tend to lead to nothing but dirt.
We're much better off trusting the mysterious forces at hand.
No one knows how falling in love happens,
But everyone knows it cannot be planned.
It is as organic as nature itself,
A beautiful process that occurs on its own time,
Encompassing, harmonic,
A force powerful enough to bolster the spirit and mind.
An abundant resource that we all desire to find...
Plentiful in its own way, but scarce when unnecessarily defined.
Love truly is both patient and kind,
Forever embracing us and refusing to leave anyone behind.
Whether or not your idea of it complements mine,
Whether or not it seems to have a reason or rhyme,
If it's meant for us, our hearts will find a way to bind.
You see...
It's never really an option.
No matter how much you try to proceed with caution,
You're bound to slip.
Feel the motion as your emotions take a trip.
We can't choose who we care for.
When we try,
Cupid shoots with an endless clip,
Firing away until defenses take a dip.
Love has a way of creeping in...
A thief in the night,
Stealing away your emotional stability.
I guess that's where the fall comes from,
Realizing that your feelings are changing, rearranging.
Someone has slipped into your daily thoughts.
Someone has become important.
Someone has feelings that matter to you,
Feelings that replay in your mind like a broken recording.
It all happens without permission.
Despite avoiding this like it's perdition,
The combination of affection and attention
Puts you in a position where your feelings rival Heaven,
And just the mention of that person brings ascension.
No matter our efforts to remain impartial,
Our hearts will forever ignore attempts at detention.
Remember...
It's never really an option.
No matter how much you try to proceed with caution,
You're bound to slip.
Feel the motion as your emotions take a trip.
We can't choose who we care for.
When we try,
We run away from something within,
When we could embrace it and fly.

-A. Lewis