Some see the Stars.
Some see the Moon.
Some see the Sun.
Some see others.
And Some See themselves.

I can't breathe.
Fall asleep, false teeth.
Around my head an anxiety wreath.
Emotions packed away re-sheathe.

Here they come to mock me, hick-ups.
Cat calls and lame pick-ups.
Cover-ups, build-ups, and hook-ups.
I have no time for these hang-ups.

Time to calm down.
Breakdown?
No, back down?
Maybe crack down?

In 1, 2, 3, out 1, 2, 3.
Release your banshee.
Sip some hot tea.
Blame the bourgeoisie.

I'm beginning to wonder
if I lost that magic touch;

These words used to come so easily,
to frame my dreams and nightmares

The paper used to beckon,
gleam like a beacon

While I was lost at sea, the words
would be the rope to pull me free

They gave me just a little bit of clarity,
until they faded away.

I reach and grasp,
maybe catch loose threads,

But it's never strong enough
to pull me to safety.

I miss the magic of words,
of creating invisible images.

It's just starting to feel like
my magic has faded.

“Be encouraged, all ye friends of freedom …. Tremble all ye oppressors of the world! “

23.02.1723
19.04.1791

"And still we tremble under the oppressors of our world... our cries for freedom go unheard!"

28.06.2023...

Celestial ocean

Arms outstretched

We sail beneath the light



Calamitous wave

Rising in the dark

To subjugate the night



Watch the stars fall

A drop of wishful

Our faithful will provide



Warm premonitions

In pale embracement

As fostered fates collide