we poets spend lives
writing praise and penances;
the wine of our souls.

If I approach you my hair feints,
In the wind like my heart.

If I look at you my eyes glaze up,
A beautiful birdy flies by.

What little words we seldom share,
I show such trouble speaking.

What little time near you I spend,
I have such fainty breathing.

Rain drops feel like your finger tips,
What I imagine touch to be.

Temperate waters in the harbour,
To carry boats fine out to sea.

__________

He laughed but he cried
A clown whose real eyes was dried
A mascot who always tells a joke
But how he wished that his neck be choke

She laughed but she cried
A lady whose heart was ripped
At daytime life of her persist
But at night she wanted to cut her wrist

He laughed but he cried
A boy whose been deeply bullied
A smirking kid at home
The saddest child when he's alone

He laughed but he cried
A writer that has a lot of pride
To his readers he play and giggles
But his life is full wiggles

They laughed but they cried
They are lonely but they smiled



Written: October 3, 2014 @ 9:30 PM
Mysterious Aries

Wiling away someone else's
restless hours as they serve you
your elegant cafe au lait
you're flicking through newspapers
or maybe waiting for a friend
or a lover
or maybe contemplating
your next masterpiece
scribbling or drawing
on a folded napkin
or in a notebook
& watching someone
get out slowly out of a taxi
as someone rides by on a bike
& the first umbrella goes up
& it starts to rain
& the music is jazz
or blues & you're
dreaming of something
just people watching
& the hours pass
by almost invisibly
as if afraid to disturb