On the white screen dance the stringed dots
Mind spilled codes of hieroglyphic thoughts
Slowly they emerge handholding lines
Not always yielding intended designs.
Something was brewing inside the head
Coaxing to weave and take it ahead
The drunken horses so wildly gallop
There is no leash to make them stop.
Nerves are taut and they won't relax
Till all is vented they reach the ******
It was thus fated the moment it was sown
What's to be grown could never be known.
As the fever wanes arrives the new child
It may be adored or it may be defiled
The canvas is washed clean as in the rain
Something is brewing to be vented again.

She Is Summer
by Morning Star

Lace like innocence,
but she’s no fool.
A smile that tempts,
a glance that rules.

Sunlight kisses
her honey-gold skin,
But it’s the fire beneath
that draws you in.

She walks like July —
bare legs, bold heart,
Soft on the outside,
a storm at the start.

She laughs in the breeze,
wild, uncontained,
Too free for a frame,
too real to be tamed.

She doesn’t chase seasons,
she becomes the heat.
Every glance is a rhythm,
every step — a heartbeat.

Elegant, cheeky,
sweet with a twist,
The kind of girl
you’re scared to have missed.

So here she stands —
sun-drenched and true,
Dressed like the view,
but far more than the hue.

i listen in
to the whisper of the trees-
like a silence that the earth
can’t quite hold,
words that try to be secrets
kept between the land and the sky
but the wind grips my sap-stained palms
and the branches reach into my soul
like bones crawling out of a grave
and into the air
quietly
but there.