In the stark white marbled halls
where the pit of the gods lay,
where they cry out their inky black tears of depression,
at the fall of their progeny,
at the loss of their dreams;
here my heart sinks in despair
plugging the last remaining escape for the blackness
causing it to swirl and eddy,
pooling within the clean white depression that lies in the heart
of this palace to humanity.
It rises slowly from its drainage ditch,
like an inescapable horror
plodding on tirelessly till it over takes me.
There are stairs down to the pit
vanishing silently as the thick waters rise;
how I long to step into those waters
and feel their warm embrace;
I can feel it surrounding my heart, sunken as it is,
and my body yearns for that comfort,
for what I have known all my life.
Sinking in to my chest,
the water hugs in,
grasping my body,
lifting me up to float effortlessly on its sadness.
Held aloft by my old friend, I close my eyes
to sleep in silence and wait
for light to linger here again.

Let's go some place brilliantly blue
where gold grows green
and the world finds red
only when the yellow goes to rest,
and we can dance bare foot
to the light of those shimmering colors
refracting in the prisms of glass
struck up by our swiftly swinging feet.
We can spin as the world turns
purple in our eyes as white comes out
to play in our merry games,
and we will jump around brown turned blue
hiding and seeking,
finding the light in joy surrounded by black.
It will be you and me
in this land so full of color
so that our eyes cloud magnificeint hues
when we realize;
we can't contain this with any form of paint.

I sat outside tonight,
because the world was beautiful,
for the sky matched the rain;
a star for every droplet
of pure musical chime.

As I lay upon sweet soaked grass,
my surroundings became nothing more
then great harmonics from a sparkling xylophone
situated within a black room filled with glitter-
who no one told where to stop,
and it stretched to fill all notes of sound.

In this massive expanse of the imagination,
beset by stimulus on every side,
the human mind finds the space to dream in silver-chrome
and make it turn reality.

It's just like walking on air.
Easy at first, easier still,
if you get the running start-
legs racing and your arms pumping-
for just one more inch of distance,
but then physics kicks in
and you fall.
You fall slowly cause
the air here is viscous
and sadistic and
lets you drink in the moment
for hours-
that turn into days-
that turn into weeks;
just long enough that
you forget that you are falling,
you forget that sudden silence
as you fell from the unseen bridge
like a pin twirling in air.
Then you hit the ground
and-
there's a bounce and a twinkling sound
as life leaves the body.
The pin then stops in rest.

This is just a reflection of a reflection,
nothing more
than a mirror watching
a reflection pool
as it ripples in the wind,
the lone grand path
to the statue at the end.
If we could, but
walk on water we would reach
this marble plinth
and read in its lines,
in its form,
what it means to be human;
a secret we long to learn fully.
As it is we content ourselves with this-
the reflection of a reflection.
Today the water ripples;
pushed by the winds not found yesterday,
and in each small wave
the reflection of a reflection
dances and glitters, showing us
one new piece of the plinth we long to see;
taunting us with beauty,
filling us with peace.
Each new day brings a new
reflection of a reflection
giving us hope to find the subtle meaning
and youthful grace we knew so long ago-
but that is lost to us.
We leapt for knowledge
and forgot the ways to walk on water,
so now we watch and write about
our reflection of a reflection.

Tell me,
do you tire yet
of yellow roses
littering your wall;
hanging upside down,
and weeping their color
unto your bedroom floor
as they fade to match
the beige wall paper
they are tied to.
Paint one red
with passionate love.
let it be the shocking difference
in a swollen sea
of normalcy,
and long forgotten friends.
When its color fades
I promise to you
it will not go beige
to blend into its surroundings,
fading from your sight.
It will remain dark red
like wine, a reminder
of those heady moments
and happy nights,
where joy and laughter
flowed down the street
from interlocking fingers
moving in step
to one conjoined beat.
Hang that flower
in the middle
so it may proclaim
“I have stolen her heart,
and given her mine”.
Don’t settle now for yellow roses;
reach out and paint
a rose deep red.

A shoe on the building.
The other in…
Well ,
It’s in the air.
One step forward
Or, maybe,
It’s one step back.
Sometimes
It’s hard to say
Because-
Flying is like falling
Just  don’t hit the ground.
At least,
That’s what they say.
There are two shoes,
Twisted,
Tied together,
Linked by their strings-
A couple
Hanging alone-
Just sitting here,
With a shoe on the building;
And the other in the air.