We are elaborate animals made of wood
earth, flowing like water into the veins
of the sky.

The sun being a fist of lava, and the night
being an enticing molar—we are
a succession of tides, being swallowed
by successions of day; and how beautifully
we wilt in the presence of joy.

The moon may be nothing
but a luminous
stone

and to eat the poetry of it
is how one chokes
on love

but the romance of morning
is that if by midnight
you are alive, that is joy.

Crushed flowers are beautiful,
dried, pressed
not useful but certainly nice to look at
My sister affectionately called me a 'delicate little flower' one of the many times you made me break down, crushed from false accusation
until i eventually dried up
pressed myself until the pain no longer hurt.
I wondered why i had become such a fragile thing
shouldn't heartbreak build you up, a learning experience rather than reducing you to a few petals and a stem.
i feel more like a tree
green and great during the warm summer months
unaware of the freezing winter winds that will blow away all my protective leaves. barren. cold.
i hope someday i will become evergreen
beautiful, tall, luscious and full- pine or cedar or spruce
staying fragrant all year round

but for now i remain a daisy
nothing special
dried, pressed and crushed between these pages, within these words.

There was once a man
Who looked at the moon and asked
"Is there anything I could ask,
that you can answer?"
There was no reply,
as expected.

The next morning, there was a dog.
The man crouched down
in front of the dog and asked
"What are you up to today?"
The dog walked past,
as expected.

In the afternoon, there was a girl.
She was sitting on a bench in the park.
The man sat beside her and asked
"Are you waiting for someone?"
She kept gazing at the sunset,
as expected.

Night falls in a pub in the city.
There's a drunken man, had many bottles.
The man approached him and asked
"Is something the matter?"
The man finally collapsed after too much drinks,
as expected.

Lastly, in a room there are antiques.
One is a mirror in an intricate frame.
The man looked at the mirror and asked
"How do you feel today?"
There was no reflection,
as expected.

Expecting you to be there
Expecting you to care
Is exhausting
As I get lost in the echo
Of your hollow words
Whispers of emotions
You didn’t feel

Telling others of first sight
and first touch
but truly not recalling them

I became the victim
Of your “three word lie”
As I feel my heart die
knowing you can never
knowing you will never

Feel the way I felt
when I looked into your eyes

She feels all alone
This feeling is prone
Nothing can change this
Not even sweet bliss.

Aye it may work for a short while
But life is like an unfair trial
A god sits with unbearable wit
All his plays seem to fit.

What can she do? Is there anything?
Such a struggle, when clipped was her wing.
Falling falling spiraling down,
Off his head falls a golden crown.

He's lost the one valuable force
All because of one small discourse.
Gone gone, distant, afar.
All because of who we are.

.

Throw him scraps from the table.
Feed him tiny morsels off the lean.
Offer him last dregs from the barrel.

He’ll take anything you’d part with...
For his eyes are blindfolded,
and his mouth sewn shut.

He sees yet he doesn’t know.
He fights but he does not say.

He can only piece together so much
from mere dribs and drabs.

So toss this crow some loose change...
Clothe this jackal in complete rags,
And hand this vulture his just desserts.

He’ll swallow whatever you’re willing give him...



Because he can no longer bear
being left in the dark.