Little more
Then a callous effort...?
True to my spirit; a chance, a form
To notions care to find worth

Little back
Where almost sake also...
For a simple right, to the instinct we lack
A habit of merit in the kind, is a shared owe

Little mere
So found a new silence, to be the kind
Suppose and revealing a who to we're...
The pious beginnings of a stead to mind?

Little bite
To eat the days needs, without the pout of deeds
Taking a time away from us, let us see the might...?
That means the most, for must to begin a history that leads

Little mean
Saving grace from a strength's limit, toil in logic
Does a liberty know us for a savior's intuition to seem
The better of could, the nary of faring the rise of life be intrinsic?

Little blue
Waiting on the lucre, the dote of simplicity to favor yet
The sameness of prowess, to ask in suggestion a curious look
Is moments at own, an atone or a thought, of the loan we met?

Finish my pout:
Still in silver service, silence for stone
Speed of specialness, I implore to route
A friends smile, to a season of its loan...

Brazen, the tooth of intimacy
Even to the point, of reticent doubt
We are the sigh, of a debacle, ready for instancy
That has come and gone with needs, the many is now...

Courage
And the taint of a maligning lip
So sovereign, for a river of couth's, wage
*** and deliberation's share, in the stoic misery we whit:

Is a taste in wishes with none's voice, for more?
Set in mutual distrust, the music of completion...
Is a hardened drive for poised meager and tumultuous, war?
Of sincerity to fathom the just, the tow of comprehension with sin?

I hate, therefore I dream in colors...
Of heaven with a remembered plea:
Sated with your soul, and the intricacy of what honor; force
I have given not, the heed of history, in the voice of youth to be free...?

He stared down
                into the dark, twisting waves, as if
a voice spoke to him from
                                                         the watery depths
                             below.

                                            It seemed to pull him in and
                                                                                              pool in him.
It swam circles
          in his curiosity.

The Sun stabbed at the waves, washing rainbows     over
glimmering abalone.
                Translucent bubbles danced
in its light.
Fishbones lay quietly on the ocean floor, forgotten.
                                                                                   Starfish whispered to him, tales
of how they had lost their arms to the
                      creatures that walk in the sun.

                                                        Urchins complained about the oil pooling in their waters.
Sharks gave him the silent treatment.
And despite the fact that he too had legs and walked in the sunlight,

                               he knew he was not made for the sun,
                      but for the sea.
                                                            And the waves whispered his name with
salt and foam.

Oil on the water

Gentle spilling colours

Tumbled greens and inky blues

Fade to yellow and pinky hues

Filling the puddle

A requiem for rainbows