I get fleeting glimpse of the skies whenever I glance at her eyes
I see the stars entwine,twinkling,dancing to the rhythm of your heart.
breathing new air into my lungs
Which certainly rejuvenates me back to life.
Cover my scars with words that spell out "you'll be fine" synonymously as a tattoo would promising me eternal shine.

I could've been sceptical and believe my eyes have seen a mirage due to the paths in the past whereby a candle went out in the long run and introduced me to the dark.

Comforted me with a smile that ignited your aura.
Smoothened my tongue with that honey that sourced of your thoughts that are floral.

I

This is for you.
This is for me.
This is for the present and for the future I might have seen and for the future that might be and for the future that will be.

This is for you.
This is for me.
This is for the us that might be and for the us that will be and for the us that might never be.

This is for you.
This is for me.
This is a promise.
This is a dream.

This is a memory
Remembered five years too early,
Seen seven years too soon.

This is for me,
For the hearts I guard and for the promises I claim and for the faith that will not waver.
For the days I remember and the days I don’t remember and the days I hate to remember.
For the nights I’m up and wondering and the nights I’m up and screaming and the nights I’m out and dreaming.
For the times I lose my focus and the times I lose my strength and the times I lose my center.

If this is for you,
and one day we might be and will be,
and one day you might be and will be
standing here with me,
please wait with me.

It might be and will be and might never be.
So please wait with me.

Still I will hold on to the One I know who was
and is and will be and will forever be.
This is for me.

II

This is a story
pursued five years too early,
forced seven years too soon.

This is written
with divine hands and not mine,
without the constraints of my human mind.

This is His dream,
not a dead scientist's
ramblings on what it is and what will be and what might be and what might never be.
We are but madmen,
ranting and raving and crying
and losing our voices to the wind.

This is His story,
not yours, not mine.
This is His call,
not yours, not mine.

Should we end up on the same page,
molded with the same ink,
and finally be,
then we will think of the title together:
             a phrase,
             a word,
             in essence:
                   He was and is and will be.

 But we are on different books,
 led to different lines,
 caught up in our own whirlwinds of words.

The rest remains unwritten.

And so I wait.

Others promised
to fill your eyes
with stars. Only stars.
But I will populate
your mind with galaxies,
complete the space
with swirling clouds
of asteroids and
black holes to swallow
your sadness. After all,
stars are obviously bright
and beautiful, but alone.
I will help to discover
somewhere within yourself
the need to create
constellations of us,
where our myths
and morals intertwine.
You and I and our
moments, syzygy.
Gravity only exists,
so we can fall together
but still weightless
to see that our mass
doesn’t affect our matter.
How stars collapse
under their own weight,
fading out, is so unlike
the way we expand
amongst the cosmos,
heavenly bodies of ours
joining the rest in the halo,
interstellar where I will
cascade over you, a pulsar
radiating waves of energy.
These shockwaves form
a singularity of us,
with no time or direction
but we know what we are;
a meteor shower for those
still simply Earth bound.
Gazing into the sun, they
promised stars, blinded.
Blinding, our explosion
of formation from nothing.
Let there be planets
where beings flourish
and evolve, and I will
gift you their moons,
the craters filled with
dust of my words hidden
where no winds can
ever disturb them.
They promised you
stars, so you can become
a satellite and orbit
and worship their light.
I will give myself,
a supernova, and you
will learn to craft galaxies
so I can explore them
within you, and revel at
the beauty of the unknown.
Our universe won’t fit
in their telescopes.


**V. K.

What if I tell you that
This world is going to end
And that end is not too far,
You probably won’t believe me.
Allow me to take you to a journey
A journey to the end of the world.
A world without a hint of greenery.
A world with all sorts of armaments but no food and water.
A world congested with people.
A world infected with diseases.
A hot world on the verge of a cold war.
A world with numerous machines but no fuel to run.
A world with no shred of humanity.

A long time when I was ago when others knew what I knew not but now I know when the sun was just a burning place that stars itched in the night and the sketches made with lemonade which somehow came out right, where the sandwiches were filled with sand and the ***** did not have sticks and the tide marched up in two and threes and the deckchairs tricked our hands. that was the time when I was ago and the time I did not know.
Age rolled in on the twelve thirty-four, the puffed out billy knocking on my door, I wish I'd worn myself real slow
a long time when I was ago.

So speaking of the future
is speaking pure fiction
and speaking of the future is fun

but speaking of the future can be horribly misleading and speaking of the present can't be done

So speak love not worry 'cause it'll go down in history

'cause we're here to turn fiction into fact and fantasy into reality

and we're here to write our own story so read love write love not worry

and we're here to spin thought to action so think love know love don't hurry

and the speed of love is as slow as how photons perceive us to be moving...

a lady lights a cigarette
glowing red cherry
lips, puffing without
regret
a cigarette, burning
smoking, grey breathing
choking and
tap tap the
falling ashes

it is over with
a definitive flick —
a lady lights a cigarette
she can see her spirit
dancing in the smoke