during her first steps
she cannot see through her eyes on the wings
thus she cleans her inner lens from magnifying –
with every other step she listens to her soles
A tiny, pale blue dot,
is all there is,
it is not such a lot
but it is everything
We share this speck
of dust in a void,
and what we are,
what we were,
and what we become,
is all because
I am a mime.
Burning fingers pressed
against frozen air.
Fingerprints engraved on the whirl
of wind that guards your heart,
hides your heart,
traps your heart in the eye
of the storm. Snatches
wisps of meaning
with intrusive fingers.
Promises bits of something better…
I draw closer.
Laughing, taunting, stealing
the breath from my lungs.
searching for air,
gasping for words,
for some part of myself
to launch into the wind
as if it could reach you.
Bright lights and long nights
Lots of laughter and music
Earth, Stars, the canvas, brushed
Each being a thread in its tapestry
Illuminating verses in history’s ode
Soul; Debate of old, Mortal’s kin
Far fonder than a blissful reverie,
Aura of vibrant, pure wonder,
Scents of nature divine
Something is menacing in every bemuse;
as something unspecified grows into my cranium.
flare of old remembrance transpire me into a nerve-racking feeling.
The boundary in my intellect has become slain;
The road I stride has become deceased;
as all subsistence commodity thing’s are lamented.
The only thing that exhalation is only the extinct zephyr.
Like a Metaphor, a Poem brushes my Lips
A Surge of Emotions waxes… Then stops
Before I clutch the ephemera, it slips
Bursting Dew in a million Drops
Fighting the Wild Thicket of Thoughts
Imploring the Jumbled Clouds to Clear
I Seek Inspiration to dawn its Brilliance
The elusive Muse to Shed its Fear
Crouching behind a Facade of Whimsy
It’s There, I Know… Just a trifle Shy
Its Delicate Heavings tug my Heart
Flirting the Corner of my Eye
My Being Thirsts Coherence
Those Minty Floods of Creative Flush
Ode to a meadowlark
Ah, rising sun, kiss morning’s dew
Chill breath of night away thou chase
A sprite from trees there yonder flew
But why flies he away in haste?
As I through meadows lonely pace
Crimson orb, paint sky with red
On fields, again, new day doth break
Yet from love’s loss my heart has bled
And Sorrow, joy of life does take
As o’er these fields my way I make
And I have suffered now so long