He was driving down ******* Boulevard He had killers in the car
He drove with a blank stare as the killers put their clips in their pistols
His soul was the color red stained with blood from all the murders he had ordered and committed
The car came to a stop He pointed at a white house

Written by Keith Edward Baucum

---

i

blue grey clouds
of crushed
velvet

sunlight
tears
the
seams


ii

embers of
delicate peach
ignite flames
of fuchsia

the orb of
sun burns colors
away to ashes

blown into floes
of white
mare's
tails


iii

tiny bird
settles restless
on the
highest
branch

flits
away


iv

wind
through
the weathered stones
cries then whispers

luring
the children
who lie within our ribs
to break free
and sing
songs
of
play


v

mamalaria
cactus
wears her
wreath
of
pale
lavender
flowers

sings to
her babes
clustered
below

saguaro
listens



soulsurvivor
(C) 9/13/2015

... when you have to
have a dictionary to
read poetry...

... and you are still
not understanding!

I tried a lot
But i couldn't become a poet like you
So i became the poem instead
And my word....
...you write so beautifully about me
Describing each and every facet of mine...
My beauty
My sensuality
My vulnerability
My pain
My fury
My desire
My dreams
My hopes
My fears
My insecurities
My strengths
My weaknesses
You capture all of this so beautifully in your writings
Your poetries about me are like paintings painted with the most exquisite of colours
Your words arouse my soul
They tease and touch my heart
Your writings are honest
Your writings tell me more about myself than i ever knew
Keep writing about me
I love reading it
It gives me an insight into the unknown
The unexplored side of me
The more i read your writings
The more i fall in love with you
I enjoy being your muse
Never stop writing
'Coz i fell in love with your words first and then you

I questioned tomorrow

Are you real or fake?
Am I afraid of you or do you make me stupid brave?
Do you love or hate?
Will you consider being easy on me?

Sadly, tomorrow had no reply

He just came

Day by day

Moment by moment

All I really can do is try to create my tomorrow today

Skipping lightly on surface tension
hopping lotus pad to pad
barely left a ripple leaving
the domestic shenanigans.

Now rogue ronin rock,
no master no disciple
I wander without orbit
gliding between

Thirty suns warming
cockles of a deadened heart
dreaming a home