Love is some thing all life supports.
With out it the world would fail.
The Earth would also become pale.
If we yell and scream, at the movies and watching diaster and actions go un punhised.
What's the point in which we construct these out comes.
Down and applued, we strive for less friction in a world meant to hate.
All out comes in life are choas theory.
It's said a point of refresh in a moment spells greatness in outer ways.
Anti Struggles in a frayed life, would be nice if like flawless with a twister of held mischief.
Fictitious, his ambitious where you couldn't have thought of your own inventions.
Ingenious, with his very own mission you call him god I call him devious.
Mysterious, her cousins is with the hammer of dawn he seeks.
Many miles where traveled his path still un finished.
Until the hands grasp the power they will never have problems in life any more.
No more falling of tears.
Many days smudge with hard core pain.
Oceans rase each year over laping the coasts and its piers.
What to do too stop what it will yield.
Egos gone completion needing a new depition.
Reason of a world held high captions.
Compassion of a few is a winners ball.
Fades of ego in a darkless room.
Colors are prized as found of new surround.
Mercurial in my moods,
I switch up, off and on
Mercury rules me
Disputations nailed upon
My churches doors
and Cancer galore
You cannot buy indulgences
And use them on me
The only swaying I do
Is when the wind blows the trees
On a cool summer evening
When the Moon is nigh
And Orion looks down
From his hunt in the sky
We're from two different worlds,
You and I.
I desire to reach out,
To touch you -
But my hand is swallowed
In the galaxies between us.
Your eyes are cobalt planets -
Deep emerald waves
Crashing upon their shores.
The smoke curling from your lips
Is dark, dreary:
The forsaken Milky Way.
I watch you,
And I know -
I will never close that space.
There is too much in the way,
Too much noise,
Too many opinions,
Too many disapproving, shaking heads,
And furrowed brows.
Our asymmetries are miles deep,
Coursing through mine.
planets sprout from the ground
venus is picked up by a boy with nothing but good intentions
stars fall from the sky, and i reach out my tongue to taste them
i tell you i think we need to learn how to
dance in the stars,
tiptoe through the milky way,
tap dance along the constellations
we walk on ceilings here
and we sleep when the sun comes up
everything is backwards
flipped on its head
we walk on clouds
and we smile when we are sad,
and you tell me you love me
you have always loved me
you will always love me
everything is backwards.
Rendered into one, the promise of morning
Against the timeless, ancient values of night,
Eclipsed by the brutal reality of day,
Seen in the sky like distant stars,
Orbiting but separate and never the twain shall meet,
Save for when they do,
For all those times a baby’s cry sounds to ring in
His mother’s last breath,
Or he, stillborn, does not speak at all,
Destined to be silenced in the cosmic noir,
Mute, but not forgotten,
Or when, at our final appointment in Samara,
We hazard to ask,
“O Glorious Death, what is next?”
How absurd to stand
On moving land,
To touch the sky
As planets roll by
To drink the rain
Knowing from where it came,
To eat fruit and corn grown
From dead flesh and bone.
To enjoy the heat of the sun,
A vast nuclear bomb,
To breath the air
That burning deisel put there!
A fragile little thing. Xylophone ribs that heaved as coral reefs beneath a hurricane, and a prominent spine, a mountain range down a plain of pale white. Mountain range cutting against a pale plain in sharp and jagged ridges, a volatile and fearful structure, shifting with the quakes that came from the planet's heart, a flighty beat. Gashes in the land, deep fissures in his earth from tremors of stress in his core, bringing more fractures and gashes in the delicate white frame. Two brown moons, always wide and full. He was a dying planet, orbitting a dying star that pounded within, a ticking bomb awaiting a cataclysm; and such a force came to the withered shell of a planet. A supernova burst forth, and the fragile planet crumbled into nothing, thin fragile bones blowing away as dust among the stars, along with his brown moons and plains of sickly white. This was a death, and a beginning, too.
From the dust of his bones he reformed, the gashes of his tremors and quakes becoming hills and gentle ridges upon the healthy soil of his new skin. His spine no longer an unforgiving range of sharp bones and discomfort, now settled comfortably beneath his earth. A true structure to be relied upon, one that will not bend beneath force. His brown moons are warm and quiet, calming the tidal waves and vicious tremors that once stormed in his core and tore fissures upon his coasts. A living planet, one that could give hospitality and withstand forces unknown. It took a supernova, a death so loud all the solar system tembled in its wake; but from that, he was reborn. Greater than the sickly planet and fragile core, he became a system of stars and comets, constellations in beauty marks upon a thriving expanse of healed skin, a new being, strong and resilient.
Do not be afraid of the end, because more often than we may realize, it is a beginning; the one we have always needed.