somewhere in distant
horizons breathes my muse.
dawn comes to me in a dream.
while the sun's early rays
he widens his soft brown eyes, he smiles…
darkness hands me my landscape
in silence as i breathe, staring,
my heart is carried along this imaginary line.
as he sips his cup,
warm within this daylight glory,
the morning adores him and he smiles…
a glimmer, a faint hint of light i see
of grapefruit bubbles and raspberry tea,
like fireflies on the midnight hill.
he strides his fingers across the curtains,
running his hands through his hair, sighing softly, gazing away at
blue morning grandeur skies, and he smiles…
pastels in yellow flow around my scene
and i relish in the comely gold light for at last,
across the distance, we are gazing at the same sun,
and he smiles…
His eyes shined
like stars in the midnight sky,
he is perfect.
This love is perfect.
The way he talks with his hands,
the way he walks when he stands,
the way he smiles at me,
he's so perfect to me.
The way we can talk for hours,
the way we kiss in the rain showers,
the midnight drives back to my house,
oh how I love him,
everything in life is so perfect to me
he is perfect.
Can we hold hands in rivers peace,
By midnight closeness, lit up atmosphere
Bound to leafy trees, rustled winds,
Under a colossal warmth of current memory,
Where I'll memorize your heart's pulse,
And the count of the stars in distant galaxies
Can we embrace this twilight silence,
In a spare moment release of fatigued energy,
Resting souls on wayward fields,
Touching lips by embers of today's passion
the vast lane
passing buildings so tall
they beat the skies
and corrupt the night space
through the empty streets
seeing streetlights and neon signs
into awing them
instead of the stars
by the wind
and midnight dreams
caressing each mankind
lulling into a good night fantasy
to abandon the complexities
of the relentless reality
A slow serenade of pianos and birds,
solemn, broken voices caress
lonesome souls wandering the world
endlessly in black print dress.
Hands softly touch carved ivory,
[dark and white].
So easy, so effortless, and without disdain—
never false honesty, an unfaked feeling of pain—
a specter, an angel, clad in beautiful light.
Hair flowing like wolves under moonlight,
lips colored cold, pale wine.
Eyes drowned in a weariness pulling
magnetically, hypnotic in eerie delight—
a hopeless promise of paths entwined.
black can be two things:
black can tell you stories
or stare at you in silence.
black can be the depths of hell
or the limitless universe.
you can get lost in its darkness
or be found in its unparalleled dimensions.
black can be cold and idle
or etch an agonizing fire in your heart.
it can invite you for dinner
or devour you whole.
you can hear your blood rushing in its quiet
or be haunted by the resident banshee.
you can fall in love under the swirls of black ink when your tears touch the wet brush strokes
and you can lose yourself in the intricacy of her black pupils at midnight under the moon.
but you can also look death in the eyes and submit yourself to it
you can feel your heart blackening with the poison of heartbreak and grief.
you can feel the raging sun and the crumbling constellations if you close your eyes hard enough.
thunder jolts through your body like lightning on live wire
intensity builds up leaving you breathless but begging for more.
black can be the moment you took your first breath
and black can be the moment you take your last.
Something about a heart served with a twist of lemon
She wouldn't care for it.
In lieu of that, there'd be something else, sweet.
She said people used to be proud of where she's from.
She makes sounds like her mother, she says.
I haven't met her yet.
Conversation makes way as a live band does through a cracked window.
And I've seen that tattoo before.
It's a one-hit wonder.
She wears so many bracelets they laugh in a tambourine's voice.
Considered leaving this stamp on my hand from last night.
Well, now I'm a pop song too.
midnight thoughts and wasted eyes
waiting for the sun to rise
owls are howling, so depressed
the morning light will be our guest
dosen’t matter if we’re drunk or sober
wasted nights in late october
leaves are floating down to earth
feeling like we’re nothing worth
Once again, as night rolls in,
My eyelids do not fall.
Wide awake, despite how late,
I do not mind at all.
2:30 AM Reads an alarm clock,
Sitting on my nightstand.
Or the dim screen of my laptop;
In which its keyboard is at my hands.
The heavy sound comes right down,
But deaf ears it fell upon.
The sound of a rooster's crow, the sunlight shows,
Marking the start of dawn.
I'd tire now, what's the time?
It's clearly past my assumptions.
A glance reveals it's four fifty-nine,
And the bags under eyes display my malfunction.
Oops, then, I'll sleep again,
And get some rest for once.
Tomorrow, though, tomorrow...!
I'll be awake to see a full sun!
The day ends
and the night begins,
and midnight passes by again.
thoughts flood the mind.
in familiar sorrows,
all too familiar,
return every night.
with no one in sight.
Another night passes
and I drown