Like a modern day Sisyphus
he was condemned
to reloading the browser page
hoping for a glimpse of her
for the rest of his days

'I want to be perfect, daddy'
He looked at her, smiling
She was standing there
With her father's eyes
And a look of grit
That she got from him

Could she be perfect?
Could anyone?
He had always thought no
Perfection, so unattainable
Because with the rose,
Comes the thorn

But there she was
Undeterred.
Intrepid.
Unflinching.

His heart did the thinking for him.
'You already are, my angel'

At one moment in time
  she was poetry in motion,
'til she pirouetted herself
  unto dusty shelves
midst old clouded rhymes
   & recollected love notes
yet, there were echoes
  glistening 'tween strands
   of web's interlacing design,
meshing her finessed
  past within gossamer's
complex entanglements
  amid labyrinths of
    ancient symphonies
she dances, still ~
  silently in her head
flirting with destiny
       albeit, not as grand

At times,
It may seem like an escape,
But in the actual sense,its nothing close to escaping..
It creates worse feelings,
Leaves loved ones depressed and confused,
And doesn't give your soul the rest it deserves upon leaving your body,
Suicide is never a solution,
Its a sign of weakness and hopelessness,
And we all reach that point,
But if we survived once,
We can always survive our difficulties..

why do you post so much
when you receive so little

I post so much so that when I add up all those ones and twos
I have a modest days harvest

I am but willing prey to the wiles of the full grown moon.
She guards the night sky...
While I patrol these grounds...
Grieving over the seconds that have gone too soon.

I am a vessel... all emptied and barren.
what once was full,
now echoes faint
the glories of yesteryears.
Afloat still, adrift upon the currents... aimless and sullen.

I am a ghost... haunting no one but my own.
Immortalised...
Anchored...
to a body of mist and haze...
Occupying this space where worthy wind had once blown...

I am a beggar offering nothing but my open palms.
Hope etched tight
into my knackered knuckles
and calloused digits.
Please... take them in yours...
soothe them...
grant me your touch, your coveted balm.

sweet and sour plums the
fruits all covered  in black ants
  an intense fragrance