Become a corpse,
And Rest In Peace,
If you go to Heaven.
Face the fire,
If you go to Hell.
20/6/2023

A red bicycle just sits on a wall
waiting, waiting patiently, to be rode

To be out on the road once more;
more or less a reason not to be left out in the cold

Red in a fiery paint; red fury blaze in a colour as bold
waiting, waiting patiently; not on display, being
watched and ignored

It had hopes of being picked out of that store;
to be out in the world with so much in store,
—to be so much more

Waiting, waiting patiently; once as excited as the little girl
that opened him out of that Christmas box;
To be found in awe of a child and their parent's applauds

But alas, as it's winter's pricking thorn,
this red little bike has to wait all winter, pierced by the thought
of knowing he has been left out in the cold

Giving you a lot of space
Not communicating and realized trying is futile
Friends need to back off and regroup sometimes
Wishing you the very best of everything always
When you are ready to reach out an understanding ear or welcoming door awaits you
For now, take care of yourself

C@rainbowchaser2023

You don't have to say a thing
not even my name
we walk a bit

from embrace to embrace
securing all the preceding
deep in our belly

Maybe there is too much
to discuss, but soon
half words will be enough

and we will kiss each other
with poetic sentences
full of love in their gaps

like our whole life is
an agenda full of gaps
filled with friends

care and roses
experiences kept deep
in our belly without words

She was a wild fire, he burning ice,
Drawn to her gaze, the flames entice.
She, a sky, he a cloud for the rain,
Falling for her, pleasure entwined with pain.

She was a dream that stole his sleep,
An elusive reality he couldn't fully keep.
Like a grape on a branch, he kept on staring,
Yet no sour grapes, no bitterness sharing.

She was a wave in an uncharted sea,
He an incomplete circle, seeking harmony.
She was his everything, yet he remained silent,
Living in shadows, his words distant.

She soared like an eagle, he an avid observer,
A steadfast tree, hoping for a moment to serve.
She encompassed his world, his heart's sublime,
While he, a silent admirer, running out of time.

The rolling plains give way to the deep forests,
Dense and full of springtime vigor.

Yet far within, these woods are thick with moss and untold mystery.

Many that enter are never heard from again,
but few will tell you that it is always their choice,

As they found something far better than anything they had left behind.

I sit here on the edge of these woods,
the warm smoke of my pipe faintly combating the crisp submountain air.

I sit here in the evening, not long before dusk slowly unravels the sky, to reveal the stars once more.

I take a draw from my pipe, its light beginning to show shadows on my face, as the daytime hours dwindle.

The sun sets as I place my pipe back into my well-worn coat pocket.

As twilight arrives, I set off into those peculiar woods,
And I hope I will not return