a work in progress

here’s to relaxing in public.
i used to be incapable of said behavior.
now, my Zen is my personal savior
and relaxing with folk is my shtick.

nothing can stop me from making my future work out.
i mean that most sincerely.

and, quite frankly, this resolve is amazing.
still not sporting an engagement ring.
I am quite proud of that fact, too.

ah, to be twenty four and have the whole world ahead of me.

fills me with glee to see myself as a butterfly…
i refuse to not try.

i also refuse to cry for the next year.
how about y’all?

instead, I shall soar without fear
and embrace the felicitous horizon.

with oppurtunities galore,
i no longer feel afraid of before.

today’s morning feels authentic enough to deserve the title of yesterday’s glorious tomorrow.
ahhh, to have patiently waited for the transcendence of sorrow…

to have discovered that happiness shall always be real.

call me the timeless optimist whom knows nothing other than politenes and pietous zeal.

here’s to the usher of magical sunshine that keeos us cozy, warm, and comfortable.
here’s to those whom use smitten smiles to sublime away voidness until only tranquility remains.
here’s to the suns, the moons, and sagacious everyone and their iridescent brilliance.
stay true to the trajectory of your dreams and not happenstance.
with well tempered patience, we’re all going to go far.
so, remain the way you are.

love yourself today as if the intensity your heart and soul are as unbreakable and beautiful as sunbeams spilling into the sky after a dreary rain.
lastly, remain the same splendid sanctuary for your friends’ souls that you have always been.

Until next time,
Sean M. Smith


Here’s to High Sex

Violet rose bushes line the concrete walking path.
At night, the orangish-white southern moonlight floods the gardens of paradise.
With a mere flap of their wings, holomorphic butterflies map eternities’s seashell lined shores where the twilight times never end.

Ahhhh, to smell the sweet sanctity of chaos.

Dreams still come true in the land of my heart’s seemingly infinite ashing.
During the day, we all wear halos made of zen,
And the angels, well, they sing of sonnets, sunshine, and truth.
When a lyricist fashions art with a pen,
Intention inevitably ripples like the words of the wise.

Surprise! All is not as it seems when it comes to these creatures and their ardent epidermises.
The ever so gentle buttetfly wings glisten in time with these rhymes.

We need to stay on the up and up as the prophets of creative tomorrows.
Life needs some orchestrating, dontcha know.

Stay true to your hearts flames and the flair of the debonair?

Why isn’t most everything seen as Heaven sent?

For all misgivings, may saintly creatures repent.
Where there speech is lacking, may absolute and beauteous felicity find its place, for the immaculate, transcendental beauty of the world will never be erased nor will the smitten sunshine saints of the four seasons be silenced.

Here I stand, comfortable and face to face with the divine, devoid of any purpose other than to formalize the sublime.

Flowery for a Friend

As your emerald ocean eyes
Wait for another pacific sunset surprise,
All is bluish-green, white-capped calm.

Wishes upon dandelions
From forever ago still came true.

Depressively aloof from all things not truth,
Brood like a hedonist around folks
that neither bop nor jive.

I will strive for greatness for as long as I live!

Lonesome and Ambivalent: A Portrait

One man sits on a bench.
Not a soul is around.

The riverside sunset
acquiesces into twilight.

The waning crescent moon is a lantern.
Then, come the stars.

Red leaves seem to be spread
against the blue-violet night sky.

Winter’s crisp coldness
seems to frost the sky.

There is a disturbing lack of snow.


Without A Coma

I always thought I would age like a fine wine.  Instead, I just drank tons of wine for almost a decade.  I woke up this morning, twenty-two and nowhere.  I never realized that sitting around and making wishes doesn’t make a life.  It makes for time passing mockingly and a lonely life.


Sometimes, you meet someone.  And, you feel like you’ve known them forever.  They same the same thing.  Then, a month later, they take it all back.  I guess drunken sweet nothings are sometimes just that super sweet but quite nothing.  It doesn’t how much I believed in them.  They were happiness, an infatuation, that decayed into something less.  This is my morning.  I will try not to think about it at work today.  Not because I am heartbroken.  Not because I hope sweet nothings will become my everything.  But because I bought the ticket and haven’t taken the ride.  And, she is so neat, sometimes, I forget she isn’t all I have in this city.  So I will walk around remembering for the next time.

Hotel Ambivalence; A Romance with Me

I smoke cigarettes constantly
And drink wild amounts on unreasonable nights.

Struggling to stay reasonable and rational,
Irrationally dreaming of my dead friends who number five now,
I am that unreasonable bachelor, bored and apathetic,
Bounding and dancing to and from existential crises.

I have traversed treachery and ecstasy.

I have writhed and wept and loved many times.
My ascent of the mountain of madness left me tired.
How can the universe still be so remarkable?

How can a bleary-eyed comprehension of existence
Be anything other than utterly exhausting/

The worst times of my life are so arcane.
The universe’s unfolding seems so unrighteous but unshakable.

Perpetually wetting my cheeks with innocence tears for all life,
Lonely-lost-confused… Chaotic-inaccessible-untreatable.
I see blotches of colors and madness everywhere.  I don’t feel poorly about it.
What do you care if I daydream multi-colored sunflowers smooching while playing violas  on celestial beaches?
You shouldn’t because I don’t mind.  In fact, I love my nature.
I love every moment of this imperfect, bluish green, serene eternity.