Blowing in the wind,
Smells of salt; a hazy mist,
Sands of time run through sands so fine,
Damp with the tide that crashed like a fist,
The sun on the horizon starts to fade.

Cold and crisp, we sift through the waves,
Capped ice; a foaming delight,
They fill the air with sounds so fair,
Our toes fall through the water like an anchor,
The light falls and the night reigns.

Fingers upon fingers, playing on their own,
We fall through the air; cutting the sky,
My back to the earth, yours to the moon,
Our gaze locks like lovers leading light between us,
The sounds of the world come alive.

A gentle caress against skin so soft,
A kindled embrace, rolling against sand so coarse,
Passions flair in the darkness, the night breathes heavy,
As the ocean kisses the sands, so too our lips,
Whispers and sighs cut through the crashing flood.

In the dark, windy eve shines stark an orange light
Crisp and warm, caressing the wood curves gently; no fight,
The harsh burn breathes life to the embers, now shining bright,
A veil of smoke falls gently, hazy is the night.

Now traveling up the stock, whose polish: iridescent,
Up to the paling, rugged cheeks whose glow: florescent.
In the blue moonlight, his eyes shine pleasant,
Enjoying the taste, thought, life, love; vibrant.

Sitting in a weathered chair, creaking wood, rocking back to and fro,
He sat still, thoughtful, as pristine as wax, as delicate as snow.
Taking drags in the dark, the orange relax, a seedling starting to sow,
The stem broke the soil, words forming in his mouth, questions starting to sough.

He looked up from his stupor, sharp minded, clear and concise,
A solution to his problem, no matter its cause, had broken the ice.
Now he stood tall, elated, anxious, worried his words would suffice,
Then he sat back down, rewarded, confident his ideas would entice.

With the sunrise: emerges a world of cruelty,
Though natural like a running stream, and a flower’s beauty,
We see it when fires rage on and volcanoes erupt;
Even more when animals are maimed and poisons corrupt.
Yet none I would venture,
Can compare with human horror,
Who spilt rouge over lust, greed, prose and power,
They would gladly raze cities, massacre families and abhor,
In cold blood or warm, killing more makes man dour,
And Whether to catalyze or antagonize we’ve made time; seconds and hours,
But are we a product of the world’s cruelty or is the world a product of ours?
Perhaps it is our own; after all it is our curse,
To evolve is to make great, even evil,
So making greater our hearse.

She was a lost and beautiful skeleton,
Caught looking at the sunrise,
Torn by images of him; like firelight,
They flickered in her eyes,
Burning; the smoke clouded blue skies.

He was a big and invisible boulder,
She kept heavy on her shoulders,
Her body trembling under the weight,
Her mind, riddled with love and hate.

But show your cat teeth to the lion,
And carry it no longer,
For with time, we’ll make it into sand,
So agreed, you’re keeping my hand.

Like a flower in a human skin coat,
You’ll wilt before you bloom,
Like a gardener in your colorful, cool, garden,
I’ll care for your tomb.
So keep your eyes on the sky skeleton girl,
Soon you’ll see the sun.

The slits of glass give way to light,
Which cuts through the air and sun leeched curtains.
It falls weightless on warming skin,
Breathing life into stillness.

A gentle caress, a sultry glance;
Statuesque, they cast shadows on the wall.
Shadows that illuminate and contour,
Express and entrance.

Longing rapture in eyes, incandescent and iridescent;
Loveless yet sensuous silken skin that tells of life well lived.
Your broken heart rests on shoulders, colored and vivid;
A world is painted in timeless elegance.

What horrors has she seen? Said the looker so enthused.
What grandness has passed her eye? Says another just as true.
Oh the colors so earthen tell of pleasures and sorrows, yet whisper of frailty.
They speak in tongues that can never be trusted, only pondered.

The intricate oil work from a badger’s fair coat,
Show delicate and smooth,
All the features of her roistering frame;
Passions of the heart now told by passions of the brush.

The life is still, but forever infinite.

Sometimes I wonder, or do I wander?
Not to any particular starry night, nor down any quiet road,
But it’s all the same, if I should sunder,
For I carry a heavy load.  

Consider the simple truth; ‘tis but an honest request,
That life give fruit of the yellow moon, and wholesome no less.
It creates no fruit too ripe nor produce too bitter,
Therefore nurture in spite lest fate incur.

Burden me with thought yet leave me thoughtless,
Bless me with love, yet leave me loveless.
No tender thine care, yet mine is a flower.
In bloom it is rich, yet when wilting, ‘tis dour.

So let me be, allow me to ponder,
As my feet sift the Earth and my ears the Thunder,
I’ll behold an adventure; but because I wonder or wander?

Of feathers and rain,
Both washed and running,
His strokes are free but damp,
His words are clear and flowing.

Thousand strong, they speak of life so light and pale,
Where the wind blows soft in an off-white sail;
In the faded colors they are but a dream,
Still the ocean breathes salty, calm on the breeze.

On white they bleed,
Under summer sun like rain they dry,
Although in the wet they run,
Still some day they all must die.

And they bled such beauty,
Their death so tragic, is now such glory,
Of feathers and rain they seem,
In faded colors they are but a dream.

Metal work rises higher than the cold air from your mouth,
The cold falls on the streets, faster than the birds flying south.
My hand in yours and we walk a few blocks,
Sounds of the city fill our ears:
Gunshots at earshot, screams louder and whispers hot,
I wrap this ratty coat around your nape, wiping away your fears.

The color is grey and the sky mirrors the hue,
The clouds cover sun and the cover brings shade,
This shade covers people, hasty and grimy they are,
Colored by the neon and the night with no star.

‘These thoughts make me angry,’ I say,
You turn your head.
You know the thoughts I think, you nod and reply,
‘I think about them everyday,’
I stop, gently holding your gaze and sigh,

‘I loved this city, and now I love you,
I loved these streets, and these buildings too,’
I turn grave for a moment, ‘It’s sad but true,
The crashes are many and the trees too few,’
So you look at me and say, ‘Alright, what should we do?’

I stand there awhile while the people walk by,
They push, grunt and sneer; no care from the passerby,
I don’t have to think but I try and pretend,
The answer is so clear; this is the end.

‘Let’s leave this place,” I say,
“Okay. Let’s.”

We are the only species to make luxury of our ****,
While others survive we still crave one more thrill,
From that, I wonder what heights we’ve attained?
The bigger the better were the words that have reigned,
We’ve risen and triumphed by reaching evermore higher,
Yet as the towers raise so too the flames of the fire,
They’re acts of ******* I think, a necessity of our ego,
To rise above the others, on from the ashes, on we must go,
Into the woodlands where no animal makes pelts of its catch,
And in the jungle where no animal credits their kills with a patch,
They don’t pick from their bones,
Or other atrocities we so humbly condone.
They live with no thoughts, no questions, curiosity or phone,
For our curse is our blessing, a clear paradox is shown.
Yet if evolution were no bittersweet friend,
If we never learned to question the end,
If from our **** we only ate,
We’d still be on all fours, making light of our fate.

An old man whispers softly,
Bowing before the old grey stones,
Tears falling lightly on the brim;
Petals falling to the earth.

His fingers feel the coarse of death,
The cold stone, with words so heavy and grim,
Carries with it life, coursing deep in its veins.
A life now forlorn in the earth below.

Dressed in stark formality; his respects for the dead,
He yearns for the warmth in his hands,
The grace of his feet; the light of his head,
One last dance was all he asked.

Now waiting in the familiar silence of years come to pass,
He rested his eyes and let his head fall;
Quiet was the day when his heart followed suit.
Yet, in his redolence a golden tune had filled the yard.


And the gold had spread, captivating and encapsulating,
The leaves the flowers, the stones and fences,
All veiled in a vibrant hue of a time gone by,
Ethereal was the hand that guided him through nostalgia’s sweet haze.

Now vigor had taken him: embodied with life he stood,
The hands he so tenderly held once now returned to him,
Warm were their touch, though living they were not;
He knew this, his eyes closed in reverence.

The gentle tune had guided their sways,
With revived vitality he made his dance with death,
Graceful were their swings that led the ball,
Elegant were the strings that filled the hall.

With reluctance he made his final twirl,
Dropping her deep in a final embrace;
The music crescendos to finale,
Sorrowful, he lets a longing, loving smile escape.

Just as well, she escapes his fingers,
The breeze whispers softly the words of lovers;
Tender was his smile now, he opened his eyes and looked high above,
Not questioning where or how, but grateful beyond love.

He ran his hands on the cold stone once more,
His fingers feeling the smooth of love rather,
Those words now carrying with them the world he’ll leave behind,
As he walks down the green, cut path;
Leaving the graveyard for the very last time.

With glee he sinks his teeth in floured delight,
The roasted beef so tender, and melting cheese so dour,
His eyes alive, and happiness flourishing,
The child so young, knows not a world forlorn.

The rip of meat from shredding teeth,
Pulls away the lunchtime meal, stretching cheese like a broken seal,
His eyes alert, and weathered years showing,
The man now strong, forgets a world forlorn.

Onwards now with finale in sight,
The drink nearly gone, and watch ticking on,
His eyes are weary, his arms reserved,
With age he is slower, but wise from a world forlorn.

Before the finish though, his eyes look up,
So brown they were, but blue they felt,
From Images of life, of love, of glee,
Both golden and grey, he remembers his first bite.

Now with a boyish glow the old man grins,
He takes his last bite and sips his last sip,
He takes a paper and pen, his hat and coat,
And leaves, happy to have lived in a world forlorn.

It comes when the wing crisply cuts air, or when the brush flicks with flair.
Through the pews when the light paints walls a vibrant, revenant view.
Masterful as a Commander; catching her gently in the shifting tides. 

A carpenter’s touch, a moment of nirvana; it is we, serenity savors.

Let it be graceful as a Danseur; falling as silk in pirouettes
Yet impossible to grasp, a flash of truth like lighting: an instance over.
Still the chase is everlasting, so long the giver is victor.
For stronger we’d be, pursuing love like the dawn of the hunt.

A luxury, free.

Soft morning light seeps cooly through the window,
Filling the room with a dreary gloom;
It tickles her nose and taunts her restless state.
She tosses as the thunder crashes and turns as the lighting strikes.
But to no avail; a dreamless storm innate.

Now in the pale day he whispers softly,
The words, they race and run down her spine,
Caressing her mind; that heated spark true.  
Her breathing shutters and her back arcs,
Yet still… that grey rain lingers on.

So they stay the day away,
Lost in the cosmic reverie of but a moment gone by.
While the wind whispers beneath the songbirds,
And the trees sway in a blissful dance,
She found in his arms a warming solace,
breathing easy, mesmerized by petrichor's trance.

It is so, life continues by light’s love.
For the Earth is soiled and she is satisfied,
Twas a rainy grey so dull and bleak, but
A day so divine had bested her weary mind,
And she nodded, passing gently into sleep.

Twilight and amber arrogance,
Gives clear expression, sans irreverence.
If my gaze were caught, would you reciprocate?
An exhibition of cream behind the rouge,
Dawns that archaic esperance.

So timeless the elegance yet reservation becomes you,
A reluctance to inquiry; you’re still burdened with virtue.
Let time behold the charms we so coolly converse,
Where smoldering embers revive at a whisper,
As if crawling from a hearse.

A flicker of light lines the color in your eyes,
Arise strings of blue, where well worn secrets reside.
At the precipice of finale, when the pieces are all played,
The queen takes his king,
And the plans have been laid.

We arrive where the fires light;
Clean sheets, light and cool.
Once embers now they ignite,
And your fingers run the wool,
I relinquish black silk,
And you trade for lace.
I surrender white cotton,
Then you keep the pace.
  
Analog half past morning, in the dark of the night,
An exuberant caress,
Both fierce yet polite,
It breeds that gentle potency,
With a shiver of delight.

So solemn and light; I arose,
And soon smells of cinnamon not rose
Filled the room which lay still;
scattered with clothes.

Now the rays kiss our sheets and climb silent up your toes,
They crawl warmly to your eyes and conclude,
That look of yours: it glows.

There are such horrors a man can do.
Such troubles a man will know,
That when dawn brings blood and dew,
Those troubles a man will show.

When the sand blows freely and hot,
And the earth is dry and frail,
Those lives lost perhaps for naught,
will show cheeks a whiter shade of pale.

Now those dead lie still in the leeching sun,
While red lies leech the living,
For when great horrors are done in fun,
The men show no forgiving.

So speak none, but sing and chant,
and sleep none, but rhyme and rant,
For revolution rings in their hearts,
Believing bloodshed proves their parts.

They remember not the massacre today,
But the future; whose foundation they've laid,
For when they look back on such horrors, they will say:
The greater good is where lines blur from white to grey.

A lamp sits lightly,
In a world veiled blue,
Pairs of eyes look longingly;
Iridescent their hue.

The flowers wilted, dried up, lonely on the sill,
They stay a lifetime in the blue room.
With dancing petals falling still.

Shoes untied in a corner,
Their laces unfurled on the wood,
As their soles grow older,
They stay firmly where they stood.

In a rocking chair, alone he sat,
Creaking softly to and fro,
The food tastes empty, as the doormat,
His cheeks gaunt, lackluster; no glow.

On the bed, tired and lost, she lay,
Her shoulders tremble and lips quiver,
Regretfully wishing the day away.

In his rolled up, off-white, worn down tee,
His dark wash, tea-stained, black paint jeans,
He lights a cigarette and pays the fee,
Takes a drag to catch a break; never mind the means.

In her faded, washed out, burgundy sun dress,
Her long cut, well knit, light beige lace,
She pulls out a cigarette too, lightless,
Heaving a sigh to cut the still;
never mind saving face.

He turns reluctantly, a pain in his eye,
The lightless, lifeless and heartless,
Melts his soul, threatening to die,

He pulls out a flame to spark a revolution,
Her eye’s light speaks just the same;
A mutual solution.

In harsh arid air, dry as the Gobi,
Sits an old man, weathered and worn by the sun.
Silent, before a fire that dances and jives,
Looking effortlessly beyond the eternal blue sky.

He smiles, toothless and benign,
No words escape but he passes a carved jade pipe,
Embers burning bright as I breathe heavy the orange glow,
'Paradise flowers illumination,'
So speaks the smoke that falls gently from my mouth.

I am immediately stripped of my body and my mind now soars,
Far beyond the sky and moon,
Yet present I am,
Flying on the sands of time in a desert that harbors no life.

He looks to me as a statue,
So sturdy and stoic,
yet gentle like clay he is frail and I fear nothing.

The earth shifts beneath once more,
Enveloping me in bright reds and deep magentas of a realm that buds like the blossoming spring,
Before me he is no more, yet you are in his place.

Intimately the fires rise, flickering now in your eyes as you stare with flames of passion that burn bright,
Your linens ripple and flow with ease in the whispering wind.
I lean in, reaching as you do, yet I am taken away once more.

Surging forward I fall back into the depths of a dream,
Where hazy figures whisper; oh how effortlessly do their woozy words charm,
Like the river I flow, they chant,
But know not where I lead, they urge,
Speaking in tongues of riddling madness, I am captivated.

Yet their wise words heed no response as I speak but say nothing, lifted again into a golden white oblivion that emerges from the depths of darkness. In this twisted haze you return to me, caressing my skin with silken tendrils.

We embrace in a lovelust passion, consumed by streams of blue that sway and pulse as we do.
I look into your eyes and see a universe.
What do you feel? She asks in heated breaths.
As I begin to ponder I am pulled from her arms, floating high above the clouds looking down on an ancient Earth.

I feel a beauty greener than the bamboo that grows deep in the forest, hidden in the shade of the mountains, I speak.

What is this beauty?

An air of elegance that course through my veins like a breeze through the vines,
That twists and turns like the jungle leopard who creeps through the trees,
With ebb and flow that sings a soft melody, more gentle than the calming stream,

She looks to me in silence,

I feel a beauty that is you, and you are the world. I take her hand -- and the world is beautiful.

As I utter such words my eyes grow weary and the day soon goes dark. I sleep for a thousand years but wake the next morning with the eyes of an old man peering down on me.

You lead your river's flow, he says smiling his toothless grin.

Soft morning light seeps cooly through the window,
Filling the room with a dreary gloom that tickles her nose and taunts her restless state,
She tosses as the thunder crashes and turns as the lighting strikes.
But to no avail; a dreamless rain is her fate.

Now in the pale day he whispers softly words that race and run down her spine,
Caressing her mind, speaking lines traced by his fingers.  
Her breathing shutters and her back arcs,
Yet still that grey rain lingers.

So they stay the day away from life,
While the wind whispers and the trees dance,
In his arms she remains as the candles burn,
Mesmerized by petrichor's trance.

For the Earth is soiled and she is satisfied,
From a rainy grey so dull and light,
A day so divine bested her weary mind,
Passing gently into night.