_

In a fleeting moment
when one holds onto a rock,
they feel so invincible...

Yet, if one holds fiercely to their pride,
surely their emotional intelligence
is all but invisible?

                               Invisibly invincible.

3:33 – My clock unwinds in reverse, clinging to the
Vibrant hours of youth; a formidable mistress,
Wielding the greatest dominion upon the day’s wake

So…

Reset your clock to the echoes of yesteryears –
Rest in a past that offers no respite; a maze you’ll never escape
Amaze in the cast of fleeting glances at your own existence,
Entangled in the intricate web of your own perfect maze,
While those above, are retracing our steps upon the parchment
Of this bewildering journey, on the maze’s page.

My heart is ensnared by the way the light dances
in your eyes, a mesmerizing spectacle that nourishes
my very soul, you're my radiant source of vitamin D
As I lent you my tank top, my thoughts were tangled
in a web of our silence, as we shared a kiss that lingered
long, leaving both social tanks on E.

Your lips remain sealed, yet they whisper of fervent
dreams, each smile a fleeting glimpse into your passion
The career you envision unfolds like a cinematic masterpiece,
with you at the helm, boldly declaring, “Action!”

As my admiration for your curves surely deepens,
your unwavering positivity are all these straight lines;
unyielding, resolute, and always moving forward
Your essence is akin to a pen, sharp and purposeful,
having a point to make, making it so easy for me to
spell it out to you;  U R truly Gorgeous.

_

Oh, speak to me of these elusive dancing shoes;
for a love that could unfold so easily as a dance,
but I’m stumbling, lacking the steps to formerly romance –
It fills my heart with sadness, this reliance to chance,
for in the blink of an eye,

                I may have already missed my chance.

And then,
like a tempest, emotions surged through my mind –
ah, I believe it could only be the work of a UFO,

And there she stood,
a tall figure, her fingers surprisingly short –
they nicknamed her Finn; a name laced with irony,
for she relishes the Adventure time in the depths
of my heart, soul, body, and mind.

And truly she’s a catch;
swimming so effortlessly, and gliding so gracefully
through the currents of my every thought…

                                                       ­     Finn the girl.

I am the soil that farmer refused, flung into the vast
expanse, crushed beneath the weight of restless hooves.
I am the spark that could have ignited a revolution—
if only the shadows of doubt had not stifled my youth.
I am the visionary wielding my pen like a *****, and
unearthing these many buried truths.

I am the sky weeping a thousand tears swelling
these clouds; and overcasting my perfect smile –
I am the battalion feeding the fury of mankind,
standing resolute on the peaks of man’s greatest trials

I am the wandering cab driver, burdened by the weight
of unfulfilled dreams, seeking in the silence of his
backseat the warmth of true companionship
I am the mirrored gaze of a suffering companion, reflecting
their anguish- as I too bear the scars aboard the same ship

I am not the arbiter nor the prosecutor;
I am not less divided as man, or feel any more equal —
I am the contradiction, the enigma; I am the visage
that conceals the essence of the people...

I am the People!

_

To pit me against these holes of a mind —
a spiralling pit of contemplation; the value of words
Proclaiming to this ruin of yourself —  
calling her mine; this intellect is a field of mines.

And I must warn you,
should the mind veer to the left,
while the heart strays to the right,
It heralds nothing but your own demise.

_

She says I...
should treat her like a masterpiece of art,
And I’d be a fool to not get the fuller picture;

I might linger by her side, yet my position
remains a mystery, akin to a Khaled feature.

She hides behind her smile;
that’s a kaleidoscope of emotions—perceptual,
asymmetrical, mixed signals with her eyes –
okay, I think I got the picture; “she is a living
Mona Lisa;” yet, she remains to me,
an enigma.

Read from bottom to the top!


                                                         to fall of its E
                                               waiting                   D
                                 ­        curve,                            G
                         ­         unjust                                   E
                               an                                             •
                       such                                                      
      ­              on                                                 ­            
              lives                                 ­                               
          our
    live
We

_

My skins are woven in verses; this lyrical matter
I may not blend in everywhere; but it doesn’t matter
Don’t anticipate a fragrance of always being blessed,
I’m not exactly a gift from the skies, or a heaven sent.
  
Even if I’m used, don’t brand me as useless,
just use me less. And if I appear distant from love,
don’t label me heartless, I’m just choosing to use
my heart less…

Constructing barriers along the streets of life
even though I doubt foundations as concrete,
Coming in to complete a sheet of my worth -
still finding the chords; I seem so incomplete.

What are my labels:
lost, confused, hopeless, & odd
But correctly said, "these labels aren't all
I'll be - still I be, yond a star, a beauty nestled
within the clouds, to know I must always look,

Beyond!

__

Still in the stillness of the night,
I dream about my own my own demise –
And I don’t know whether it’s a prophecy
or just these thoughts on suicide…

By the heat of another long summer,
all my fears spring up; unfurling like petals –
But as a pretty flower without any colour...

And I still cry myself to sleep,
always behind this pretty smile
In the cold grip of winter, I melt away -
Drowned in inner tears, and like my clothes:
I'm burdened by a heap of thoughts - more to the pile!

Treading upon the fragile shards of time;
moments cascade into oblivion, as the echoes
of my bones resonate with the agony of existence.
I seldom boast of my worth, yet my lips dared to speak
with courage. I sought my place among the stars, wandering
the glassy avenues where the imprint of your steps lingers
upon the meticulously laid path.

My mind, burdened by the weight of stony tears,
contemplates the thoughtless utterances that birthed
yet another futile verse. At times, I find myself gasping beneath
the suffocating pillow of my own uncertainties, surviving on
the fragile threads of hope, faith, and fleeting joy that last but
a week; still, I feel like an intruder in my own sanctuary.

Dreams drown in the merciless shadows;
the dawn's light offers them a glimmer of hope – a sanctuary
for the spirit among the awakened. I drift in a half-sleep,
daydreaming amidst a throng of fellow dreamers, our youthful
skins too tender to fade, a heart yearning to be filled with cherished
memories.

These sins bind humanity in shackles,
desperately seeking an escape from the labyrinth of their minds.
Oh, is existence truly madness? Yet, in spite of the suffering,
we pray to live another day. And so this fragment of life is
my grace, a testament to the fact that I have yet to meet the grave.

__

Mmmh… a new, swollen blister blooms upon my eye,
a testament to my silent suffering. My mind lingers in the shadows,
a flickering flame that refuses to extinguish, yet devoid of dreams.
Each tear I’ve shed is trapped within an ancient jar, sinking into
the depths of a vast ocean, yearning for the tide that might one
day carry them away.

Will my dreams rise again, soaring like a fleeting spark,
threatening to pierce my very soul—or perhaps the dreams
of those who dared not believe?

Mmmh… my heart beats in rhythm with the relentless
march of time; the ticking of clocks, their gears grinding slowly—
half-alive, biding their moment until the final hour strikes.
My imagination relentlessly pursues a dream, even as they
dissolve into the void of oblivion.

My chest has hollowed, teetering on the brink of collapse
under the weight of my self-imposed despair. For every bridge
I’ve traversed or set ablaze, I feel the presence of a solitary bridge,
echoing with loneliness. Yet, one might surrender hope—
if only…

__

Put me in place of your heart with no coaster –
unguarded and raw; leaving behind my watermarks.
Elevate it to the brilliance of the one who reignited its
passion, revealing the architect of new love.

I shall attune myself to the melancholic rhythm of
your heartbeats, my fingers gliding over your skin,
eyes closed, crafting your visage in the canvas of my mind.

Even as your kiss bares the cold of your pain,
bestow upon me a devastating kiss, and I vow to ignite
your heart, even if it means extinguishing my own flame.

Must you smother me any less than you’d
love to do, even as the tendrils of your intoxicating
poison envelop me in a silent demise?

Yet, I would pen odes of devotion to you,
sorrowful stanzas of my longing, only to
weep for them in the aftermath.

Do your eyes still traverse the corridors of memory, like a VCR
rewinding its cherished tapes? Capturing your reflection in the
mirror—still radiant, unadorned, and unapologetic. I still find
myself consumed by jealousy for that bathroom mirror,
privileged to witness you from every corner of your room.

Consumed by the sinister allure of your skin’s shadowy depths,
a brilliance emerges that rivals the most exquisite treasure.
My dear, you continue to weave a tapestry of uncertainty around
me—thoughts hovering like spectres above, even as you attempt
to mask the passage of time with a new hue in your hair.

Yet, your capricious emotions betray you, revealing strands of silver
that ravenously consume my heart, and each sigh a testament to
your power. You ought not to linger in the recesses of my mind,
yet these last seven days have only intensified my fascination,
leaving me utterly weak.

I cast my laments to the skies, my spirit weeping profusely – the
cascade of your lip’s whisper, the tempestuous tides of your form,
the fortress of towering trees echoing the curve of your legs – how
can I possibly avert my gaze from your enchanting eyes? You have
transformed my heart into a crime scene, slaying me piece by piece,
all for the sake of uniting with you.

You were once my everything – everywhere. A whisper of a voice,
now a ghost in the air; you reigned supreme over my thoughts, –
my mind was your throne, your beauty an heir. I leaped into the
depths of your heart, clad in a jumpsuit, forsaking the safety of a parachute – and thus, I plummeted into your love from the moment
we first crush. I was but a mere pebble next to your rock, dwarfed by
your strength; shattered by your stability, reduced to mere dust.

My skin, now tarnished like rust – the remnants of my words
mingling with the oxygen I struggled to breathe, left gasping in your
breath-taking presence. Tears welled in my eyes, mourning the loss
of you, while the iron resolve it took to finally move on felt like an
eternity… from a love that must have been so rushed?

And yet, I still cling to hope;

You were once my everything – everywhere. But now I find my
heart adrift, lost in this wind to nowhere.

_

The legacy of humanity hangs precariously
Upon their own blinded whims of fortune –
While faith is seasoned by the labour invested,
In the banquet of faith’s supplication.

Yet instead of harmonious voices, their frictional
Howls intertwine as a dog chasing after cars–
Those parked must seem a feast to the naïve,
Whose journey is dictated by the drive of others –

So simple-minded, solely to blend in with the crowd,
As indeed, wealth wields power - it challenges
Every muscle and very sentiment.

In every petal lies a tale untold,
Of grace and power intertwined as one.
A world of wonder, fierce and yet so bold,
Where love and strength unite beneath the sun.
In these eyes – I’ve seen a woman’s world…

___

It’s a rose, enchanting, blooms with beauty rare,
Yet danger lurks within its soft embrace.
A tender touch of love, a whispered prayer,
But I ask if it has the strength to hold its place?

Still in quiet thought, I dwell and muse,  
As a man reflects on such; alas his worldly views,  
My words a burden felt heavy, and steep,  
For in such a world, my voice shan’t speak.

__

In the vast abyss of emptiness, as nothingness
reigns supreme, there lies a flicker of value,
a glimmer of hope.

Within our power to decide what treasures
we shall pour into the hole of our hearts,
the means to mend the fractures of
our souls – to be whole.

__

Genuine friends are much rarer than the fingers on
one hand — as only a handful can be counted upon.
They could be as numerous as the stars scattered
across a moonlit expanse, yet only a select few truly
cast their glow upon our lives.

Beyond my current state lies a distance
that feels even more distant than my
aspirations. A day of tranquility lives
solely in our daydreams,
beckoning the fragments of my being
to come back, urging my thoughts to
gather once more.

____

I am the void that lingers between the
stanzas of a flawless poem—words that
falter in their imperfection.
My voice is silent, with so much
to say - a paradox that leaves me frozen;
lingering moments before revealing your
vulnerabilities. Oh, the despair!
My faith lies fragmented and adrift—
these whispered prayers sway back
and forth, yearning to hold significance.

____

Do I hold any significance at all,
composed of the very essence of atoms
colliding in a chaotic dance?
"Dissolved," I melt into nothingness,
like ice under the sun, reshaping into
the visage of any soul that touches me,
flowing like water.

          Alas, I seem to be dead again!

Beautiful reflection; why do you seem so empty...
weighing your faith, yet your doubt overflows plenty,
plunging back into the abyss of your sadness—
your declarations of worth echo loudly, yet your lips
remain sealed, indifferent to the truth that aches to be spoken.

Beautiful reflection; why do you seem so empty...
Arms withdrawn from embrace, a gaze a sharp weapon,
severing ties to love, drifting like a forsaken leaf—
your words, mere shadows of substance, a hunger
that only leaves the soul impoverished.

Beautiful reflection; why do you seem so empty...
I should have come more often; would you expect me?
From the grime that clings to my skin, I sift through the
muck for miracles, offering a sweet smile that belies
a heart worn and weary...

Beautiful reflection; why do you seem so empty;
“cos I have gazed upon my reflection too many times,
as the glass being half empty.”

A life ignites, only to extinguish in time’s relentless grasp – just
as a year dawns, yet fades away without so much as a whisper.
Here I stand, teetering on the precipice of the new, bidding
adieu to the past, resting upon this pedestal of moments;
I yearn to voice my thoughts, yet hesitate to preach.

It is all too simple for one to recount the trials of a year, to boast
of triumphs over adversity. But what if, for some, the conclusion
merely serves as the bitter prelude to yet another distressed chapter?

In the grand of our existence, there are moments of sweetness,
fleeting as a confection – yet the bitterness we endure clings to
our lips, overshadowing the once delightful flavours.
This year has been a grand banquet, glorious yet marred by
unwelcome intruders: fury, regret, despair, heartbreak, betrayal,
pain, sorrow, and loss – a feast both lacklustre and so dreadful.

Yet, amidst the fury, there lies the soothing balm of silence to
soothe a troubled heart. Where regret lingers, it serves as a
poignant reminder of paths best left pathless. From the depths
of despair, a vivid portrait emerges, crafted from the ink of my
struggles. In the wake of heartbreak, I find solace in the truth that
even the most hardened souls harbour a tender echo of softness.

Betrayal has bestowed upon me the fortitude to extend trust,
albeit with an alert heart. In the face of pain, my spirit bears
wounds yet remains resolute, ready to rise beyond the scars.
Where sadness dwells, cherished memories dance through
my tears, illuminating the darkness. And in the shadow of loss,
I glean wisdom from the echoes of what I once cherished.

All these revelations I have gathered upon this pedestal of time.

Gravity becomes increasingly
envious of everyone: who've put me
down, kept me down - to let me down.

I have endured through the shadows of despair,
chronicling the haunting spectre of suicide,
Each word a desperate attempt to vanquish
her insidious thoughts, that creep back into
my mind.

As long as I draw breath - I live to write,
and write more so, to stay alive.

As the searing, ashen smoke erupts violently from
its flaring nostrils, it envelops me in a suffocating
Embrace, each inhalation a cruel reminder of the
scalding heat that sears my delicate skin.

I am crushed beneath the weight of its colossal hooves,
like a forgotten stone lost in the depths of a murky,
Unyielding puddle — its foreboding silhouette, crowned
with a mane as dark as the abyss, gallops through the
Labyrinth of my thoughts, casting a chilling shadow that
clings to me, a relentless spectre that whispers of doom.

This creature, a true harbinger of death, exudes a frigid,
acrid scent of regrets that seem to claw at the very core
Of my existence — night after night, my dreams are invaded
by tormenting visions, vivid and unyielding, mapping out
the grim path to my own funeral – a foul stench; chilling
reminder of cold regrets that claw at my very last breath.

I see a pristine white coffin, adorned with stark white
blooms, marred by the crimson stains from my own wrists.
And amidst these agonizing dreams, the ominous beast
stands tall, solemnly bearing the weight of my coffin towards
An unknown afterlife, a spectral horse of death draped in
the deepest shadows, embodying the very essence of my
self-inflicted demise.

The air escapes me—

As darkness envelops the night,
I shut my eyes, haunted by
The vision
Of ropes
Swaying from the ceiling
      Above.

With each glance,
A constriction
Tightens
Around my throat, a
Chilling
Reminder of
despair.

Our lives resemble relics nestled within the dusty corners of
thrift shops, all drawn to these forsaken treasures that others
have overlooked. We take turns giving upon these forgotten
items a renewed affection, a fresh perspective on their worth.

For we are all broken at times, displayed for sale in the hopes
of rediscovering our inherent value, yearning to feel complete
once again. Our hearts linger in the temporal marketplace
of time, where faded dreams gather dust, and past loves
accumulate the remnants of emotions once so vibrant.

Each of our sorrows lies like a heap of tattered garments,
heavy with the weight of our experiences. We observe as
the masses pick us, some to elevate our spirits, while others
seek to let us down.

I find solace among other hidden treasures, awaiting the
discerning gaze that can recognize my true worth; indeed,
our lives resemble relics nestled within the dusty corners
of thrift shops.

I am in the depths of memory, where we place our full trust –
By the spreading branches, shaking off their dust
Past reflections of fury, all the moments coming to pass,
As the stain of my smile is this visage in each glass
Pale lips still whisper, as these eyes devoid of light –
Wondering about myself; if my will is still bright.

Lord, at a journey's close, where will my spirit dwell,
Will my memory become the tales that they’ll softly tell,
In twilight's after glow, what echoes will I hear,
Be it love and laughter shared throughout the years?

Where time stands still, and you feel truly whole;
Is this truly a familiar place for one's lost soul?
Dying a mirror to reflect on all the moments, never lost –
Forged memories, of all the paths we’ve once crossed.

Letting my nightingale heart serenade away the night,
A melody that lingers, pure and bright.
With every note, it mourns the dance of death,
Though heavy hearts may bear the weight of pain,
Its song will rise, a balm for every strain.

Life is circular, even for those untouched by the realms
of faith or spirituality— every moment secular. Let us exalt
the fervour of true commitment, warn the youth against the
allure of materialism — my attempts of such were a mere tip
of advice, too blunt for those who didn’t own sharpeners.

I see of the stillness and shadows, that leaves drift silently,
nameless in the breeze; they grow increasingly embarrassed as
they succumb to decay. Yet, from the **** talk of human chatter,
the refuse of their speech can still be turned into the fertile ground
from which life may sprout. Even as the curtains descend on the
grand performance, the essence of existence continues to unfold
in the shadows, a narrative the world may never truly grasp.

Close your eyes and let your heart sketch the tableau—fold your
arms to spare the world further anguish; as the youth, armed with
lessons from their screens, race onward. They'll drive forever, though
forever is not a human art — lovers whisper, “I’ll love you forever,”
yet the cracks remain of one’s broken heart.

Let us pay tribute to the hour’s accord; strike a chord like a pact—
though not one forged in Lucifer’s handshake, bartering your soul
for a fleeting piece of existence in this world. Raise your sword,
sun-kissed and gleaming—this pen that can colour the world in
vibrant hues, a dream so vivid, yet never forget the wildness of
this realm; humanity resembles a chaotic zoo.

You and I – companions, yet at times adversaries,  
we are akin to the stubborn clash of oil and water:  
elements repelling one another, yet bound inextricably,  
Unable to sever the ties that bind us, no matter how  
tainted our love may appear with each utterance of devotion.  

“I THINK I’m in love,” a phrase that sends shivers down
the spine, as daunting to voice as it is to ponder; a relentless
battle within oneself, questioning the authenticity of such feelings.  

“Do they feel some kind of way?” becomes the haunting
echo in our minds, as we yearn to be known as “us.”

Yet, while “Us” dances seductively in our thoughts,  
a luscious word, what of the truth that resides within our hearts?

“What echoes in the void of a gun's chamber, poised at the head”
– the silencing of their countless voices howling within.
“What are the last words of a crimson blade caressing one’s throat”
– a haunting cutaway to a life now severed.
“What feeling envelops a lifeless body sprawled upon the floor”
– nothing but cold.

Does one merely attempt to compose their own funeral songs
– or weep a solitary tear for their own end, blinding themselves to
the haunting shadows of regret that herald their own downfall?
Does a fish, in a frantic bid for survival, strive to weep itself back
into existence, the moment it leaps from the depths, only to find
itself stranded? Are you familiar with the image of love's belly,
once alive with butterflies, now a dead man ensnared in a net?

The haunting questions of suicide linger like a ghostly whisper.
Can the choice to surrender to death ever truly unveil the answers
we seek? Do the celestial realms bear witness to our torment, or do
the infernal fires rejoice, growing ever fiercer with each soul they
claim?

Alas, it is only the departed who possess the knowledge of such
truths, and I shudder at the thought of being the one to unveil
such an answer myself...

Whisper the depths of the night— as angelic wrath burns away
at my soul, consuming me in a tempest of alienation, a spectre
unseen; - out of sight; I've lost my mind to my sanity that slips
through my fingers. Where, I ponder, if the appearance of a
grotesque smile will find its place in this so to claim, “beautiful
world?” I remain oblivious to the value of my treasures; until
the very essence of what I cherished fades into oblivion.

Direct my heart toward the doorway; what purpose lies in this
revelation — exposed to the harsh truth of humanity's rawness,
akin to the crude oil extracted to nourish our existence, fuelling
this artificial journey we call life.

The intellect of this age is only but artificial; what is cherished in
these times is only but superficial, fracturing the essence of love
we ought to share. For what is called to be love divided among
us, swiftly reveals the stark truth that all are not treated equal.
Casting shadows on the bonds that should unite us.

We are divided by this so-called love.

The profits, the blessed favours; the prophets and God’s flavours –
toss them all into the cauldron of my existence. May the Lord grant
me the wisdom to remain humble, to embody the spirit of a nurturing
father, a true leader only after learning the ropes of a follower. As I
journey forth, shall I tie those teachings into my path; from the chaos,
shall I pluck my beloved, out of the bunch, to be my favourite flower.

The silence, the powerful peace of power; the pieces of hurt resonate
with a deafening echo of remorse, there’s no need to answer. To every
son and daughter, embrace the legacy bestowed upon you by your
fathers and mothers.  – let the essence of your purpose guide you
steadfastly, no matter where your journey takes you, as you wonder.

In the ethereal expanse of our daydreams,
Pink and white skies intertwine,
Bound by a ribbon that unites our fingers
In an unbreakable embrace.

Time has etched its marks upon us,
The vibrant hues fading into muted tones.
Silver strands emerge, yielding to
The purity of white, yet the soft blush of
Pink lingers in the heavens above.

We remain tethered to our love, forever
Yearning for the ribbons we once cherished,
Now tucked away in the corners of our hearts.

Emerald jealous eyes, over the dominion of the clock;
Unshackled by the chains of authority, for who can
Predict the beginning of time or the path it shall traverse?
Time, the ultimate liberator of existence, flows like water,
Shapeless yet potent, wielding an influence that touches
Every soul.

Time, the most cunning of thieves, robs any idea
Of having more time. It slips through fingers
Like sand, giving short nights; relentless demands
Of an overbearing master, giving us longer days.

Is she merely a commodity, – or is she a daring spirit, traversing
the farthest reaches of love? To express to her young – an odyssey!
Often, they would hastily declare that a woman's deeds are common;
but to counter, her core is to weave a painting of sentences adorned
with countless comas.

She…

Is a stormy love, obliterating all that stands against compassion,
wielding a wisdom that is both fierce and gentle, she knows precisely
when to voice her thoughts or to elevate the spirit of a man who may
overlook her brilliance, a celestial body, she requires no stage to
illuminate the world; her radiance persists, unwavering, she is a
lyrical composition, igniting the pages that attempt to confine her
value, she embodies the sweetest of a restless soul, finally finding
solace in her nurturing embrace, she is tranquillity, she is affection,
she is the embodiment of patience, the lessons and warnings of a
discerning gaze – she is… a Woman.

I handle my liquor as well — as a well striving to keep afloat.
In the shadows the nights stretch long, and I come across a girl
with a captivating smile; her body, however, bore the marks of
countless encounters, of each man who sunk in her, a much deeper
borehole. Yet, she adorns herself with a cross, perhaps a silent
testament for both parties to start off by saying their own grace.

I’m seemingly fighting inner demons; as a silent war etched upon
my face — all the while chasing after every idea to extend this
human race. Yet, it is a cruel irony that the most profound revelations
often emerge only after, we have drowned ourselves in the depths
of unspoken answers in our cups.

And so, the clash of poor ideas and the taste of liquor lingers on;
as the drinks act as an unequal guide, to the morning — where in
the aftermath, the bitter collision of misguided notions and the
haunting essence of spirits endures.

I never truly experienced daddy issues,
Even when there were moments when his
Unconventional parenting, gave a hint of
Issue on how he periodically raised us.

Yet, he never did it for any press;
Or aimed for our childhood
To become fodder for magazine covers.
Covered with the words we could remember
From church services, not engaging in the
Practice of parenting, JUST
For public service.

He poured everything he had
Into raising us, drawing from
All he had at hand, from what
Was handed to him- to make him
A man. And for our own youngsters,
We will take the most
Important lessons to raise
Better men.

Wouldn’t you like to know, the kind of dreams we could have
been — beneath the depths of the sea; cherished hopes drifting
away, swallowed by the relentless tide of time, as we strain to
glimpse the farthest reaches of eternity?

As tears cascade like a territorial downpour, your mind unravels,
as you lose the mind to all your ideas. You yearn for a peace that
brings you to your knees, a surrender so profound it echoes in
the silence.

With your eyes shut tight, you invite your heart to unveil its truths,
allowing your innermost feelings to emerge, unshackled and raw.
Yet here I stand, feeling unworthy of love’s embrace, grappling
with the remnants of healing from the scars it has left behind.

I’m trapped in a dream that's impaired – both lovely and blind.
An uncanny Eden, where beauty and confinement intertwine
in a haunting embrace.

What little of you, bound by sacred oaths — we find two
spirits, familiar with the gales that lift us toward our
aspirations.

Do we not yearn for shared laughter, as the key for
equal peace?

This laughing note to our mutual harmony?

A melody of joy that ought to resonate, yet is drowned out
by the cacophony of man's war cries, throwing us off our
intended pitch.

Where have the noble minstrels gone, strumming a melody
to caress our beat souls—to exquisite listeners?

While the architects of unjust conflicts gaze down upon the
turmoil, their hearts untouched, as everything we cherish
slips away into the chasm.

To fall in love, I sense no perfect hour,  
Yet breaking hearts can feel like a shower.  
When love stops it’s rain- to fade,  
It's a painful cascade,  
Leaving sorrow where once bloomed a flower.

In these realms where your gaze lingers, they lie still,
like moss upon ancient seats—what minds dare to welcome
the defeat of a heart, or a soul that invents sweetness?

As her gown unfurls, caressed by the winds of passion,
oh, the trance of a lover newly discovered! Their skins meld
into one, basking in the bliss of a honeymoon beneath the
tender glow of their first moons after their wedding night.

Does time not twist and turn, restless only for those
who toss and turn each night- restless; stranded on the wrong
side of rest? Yet, a new day must grace our faces with its luscious
cherry lips, refusing to relent in casting a foolish brightness
upon our kind, igniting our eyes with its relentless glow.

Oh, would you not yearn to be the lover of the sun; to reflect
its anguish through a pure, innocent light? Your form shrouded
by the gown of clouds, oh sweet beloved—what joy it is to behold
you as you truly are, unadorned this night!

Our eyes, resemble still marble statues—both melancholic and
beautiful; they reflect the aspirations of birds yearning for an idyllic
sanctuary among the trees. The essence of our humanity aches for
wholeness, a desire to be a complete poem, even as the poet grapples
with solitude in their musings.

Burdened by their own dream's illusion, they don the mask of
the present, to linger in this moment, haunted by the shadows of
yesteryears and anxious about a future that remains unwritten to
our eyes. Thus, our eyes remain ensnared, confined to the now,
perceiving only what is before us, while the shadows of our history continue to linger in the background.

We may claim to act as deities, yet we are merely incomplete gods.
Forever yearning for what we cannot grasp.

Sinking into your shadow – a stranger in this place. As the ink
smudged upon your lips; leaves your voice spellbound, those words
caught in a storm within your throat. These torrent of emotions
surging in my heart, resembles rain drumming upon the pavement –
frigid as a stone adrift in the river's relentless current; it ****** my
skin like a thorn.  

Yet, the flicker of our love's promise remains, a distant glimmer,
a beacon in the vast expanse of night.

In a garden where red flags do love to sway,  
Our pink eyes instead see beauty, but not the fray.  
Though the mix of colour are rose’s gleam,  
The thorns are hidden in a deeper scheme,  
And the sharpness can lead two hearts astray.

In the grand spell of words, let me etch this sentiment into your heart –
I find myself so tired, like a Toyota limping along with a missing hubcap.
My carpet smile, never held the weight it should have; you revelled in
The tickle of my beard as our lips met. Yet, as soon as we grew distant,
I shaved it away, a symbol of our fading connection, a relic of this
Relationship becoming one of long distance.

Typing my feelings onto the screen, though the true message of them
Weren’t delivered so well, failing to convey the depth of my despair.
I began to loathe myself, believing that the love I once held for you
Was a tether, leading you on to lead you astray. “I’m sorry,” I whisper,
But deep down, I always knew you were destined for someone far
Greater than I could ever be, or at the very least, someone who would
See you as the answer to their most fervent prayers.

I guess you weren't the answer to my prayers...

I still crave the flavour of your skin, though it brings me great pain,  
As the flames of desire flicker and sway, we’ll endeavour to endure,  
Clinging tightly beneath the blazing sun, in summer's fierce allure,  
Together, trying to brave the tempests, in love's unyielding pursuit.  

Dinner awaits us at eight – do not tarry; dreams lie upon your plate,  
Nourished by my affection, a sip of your soft skin grazes my lips;  
Each touch of yours leaves me lost, grappling with how to respond –  
Your wisdom eclipses my own, a realm I can scarcely comprehend.  
No man has truly kissed every maiden under the sun, yet the world  
Shrinks for those who cross paths with the echoes of their past flames.  
Relative justice; I strive to connect, yet potential lovers have slipped  
Through my fingers, leaving me a solitary figure, comforted by a hand.  

And this fills me with grief, a tempest of shame; distanced by anguish,  
Haunted by choices that replay like relentless echoes in my mind.  
I dread living solely for another's affection, yet I fear even more  
The withering of my own love, fading into the abyss of neglect.