I used to like
wearing her shoes
It gave me a
sense of grown up
Never realised
Her shoes walked
through the unknown
untrodden roads
Which i could never
ever imagine to go!

But now is my turn
To get into my shoes
To not compare
and try to wear her shoes
But to find my path
To be on my own

How i wonder,
how did she walk
through the dark
Not complaining
But to focus on her duties
I understand now
Emotions turns aside
When it comes to duties
Be who you want to be
You let me live through
Helping me all along
Now is my turn
You live your life
Fulfill the dreams of your own
And i will stand by you
Somewhere from far off.

The ticking clock, like gunshots through my head
aimed at my youthful ignorance...
the scent of you still lingers in our bed.

I ghost through space, not living, not yet dead -
straddle chasms of our best intents-
the ticking clock, like gunshots through my head...

My mind still hears the poetry you read,
replays the laugh of youth's exuberance,
the scent of you still lingers in our bed.

I enter empty house now, filled with dread.
I feel your absence, all it represents-
the ticking clock, like gunshots through my head.

A fog billows in, begins to spread,
as death comes to erode all innocence.
The scent of you still lingers in our bed.

My nose has plundered through each precious thread
for faintest linger of your redolence...
the ticking clock, like gunshots in my head.
The scent of you is fading from our bed...



© Mar 2018, Winnie Carolina

My head is resting on the fog
that cushions Pillow Mountain.
My eyes are streaming waterfalls,
flowing like a fountain.

This misty dream, it seems
was but illusion, fleeting;
A second saved within a lifetime
on a random meeting.

The silken mist embraces you:
my feet are bound by clay.
The coldness of the Earth you left
binds me day by day.

California Kids

I’ll call you up on Saturday
And invite you over.
Take the 101, 110 and 1;
(Sounds like an equation!)
And you’re there.
Just use your GPS..
There’ll be a party at my house,
Daft Punk playing on the Echo.
It’ll be epic, Echoic!
With some vintage’ tunes,
Crankin’ the Beach Boys,
Watching surfers
Shredding out-the-back,
Past prowling sharks in the shallows.
Lets go to the dunes and maybe kiss.
I know that you miss me,
So don’t ask me why
And when you come,
I won’t ask
“What are you doing here?”
We’ll eat fish tacos,
Guacamole, Pico de Gallo
And drink margaritas
While we debate French new wave,
I’ll praise Truffaut while you
Tell me that Scorsese is the man.
When we get drunk enough
I will suggest a walk
Along the iridescent surf.
You should say yes because
I’m safe now that I drive electric,
That I turned vegan
(sorry about the fish)
and wear cruelty-free clothes.
I don’t grill snapper anymore
And take my shoes off inside the door.
Maybe we’ll make it to Tower 28,
Lay down and watch the full moon
Like Jim Morrison did to write.
I’ll tell you I’m glad you’re alive—
I’m no poet, but you know that.

Drenches half music blues
Paints my eyes his drips of two's
Like a software of compliance
Superior-what's inside
Interior-Inferior-Exterior
  Calmness-Family-Bless

Providence--resilience  
Anxiety you can tell
  at a glance
In a state of anxiety  
Nature calls cleansing
rinse
A world of society

Sacredly*
               Tiredly
                           World
          Inconsistent
What is at state?
No greener pasture
Present the future

Craziness high anxiety fire
More jobs to hire
Paints- birthstone- sapphire
Picture memories
  to capture  
Anxiety like sanity
Paints wellness next to
       Godliness

Eyes weaken but your heart
      Glistens