Isn’t it funny,
The happiness we pretend to have
Is the very thing
Holding us back from living.

You would stand in front of the window, naked and raw,
Black tears still stained down your face.
The moon's light doesn't quite frame you the same as it used to.

You think of the days of being illuminated and bright.
Of sunlight dripping off of you as your hands touched
Someone new, someone deserving, someone else.

Nothing since has ever felt as real, as true.
This light has traveled from a quarter-million miles away
To accuse you, cold and pale, cloying to your skin.

Liquid mind
hands of
power
time
devours not

Heart of peace unleashed

life seeks
to free you

He used to
park his rusty red
mobile
near the riverside where you
tend to walk
chat talk
to the world
He used to serve the most
passionate Latte
One day you recognised
a delicate
bird on the foam
He used to park near the riverside
and still does

A thought completely
free of any
heavy logic
flies through you right
into your fingertips to hover
just a semi second
before leaking
like a delicious liquid
into the black and white
of your instrument

You sit by the forest and weep
a deep
deep
feeling
of loss

a world
turning inside out
for the first time
in your life


                                                              ­          You sit by the river and cry
                                    untying all knots with shaking, coop'rative hands
                                                           ­                                  a dance of your
                                                                ­                             true molecules

                                                     ­     

                                                             🌊

You sit by the window
watching the trees shake their last orange-brown leaves in the wind and think
absentmindedly
what to wish for

A breeze
gentle
brings
this realisation

You're not
in need
of anything

...