Wondering how to imagine flowers
in a city covered with concrete towers.
There are so many signs that lack truth,
when heart is still and will never heal.

I walk the confines of my walls at night,
only sensing the world out of sight.
What am I searching for, I do wonder,
as confusing images blink on and off.

What does it matter if I never find
the answers to questions so unkind?
With poignant malice so pronounced
do the crawling lice stand so proud.

I sense that I shall always remain
filled with dread that fosters pain.
Internally the wheels will grind
as I try and cease their rolling.

I understand the midnight moon,
for it signifies my private womb.
There are so many signs that lack truth,
when heart is still and will never heal.

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

One day out of over three hundred sixty-five...
It is that way because on one day we leap
Over any inhibition that we had in mind,
Like the emotions suppressed and thoughts redacted.
We say and do things that make us think after,
“Wow, is that how I really acted?"
Do the words, “I love you," lose meaning
If they were never said explicitly before?
No, but once you do say the phrase,
Mean it, because love is a more
Than a two way street.
It should not be physical action
That makes a someone like a slab of meat
To be sought after, then devoured.
Think about it, as you share your heart with someone;
Think about it, this very hour.
Love is in the air they say,
But please do not let it be
For only one day.

Poetry shines with light and beauty,
True art woven by intricate words.
It can sing songs so stunning,
That it outshines the best of songbirds.

But that’s only half of the story...

Poetry also grows in cold dark places,
In the pits of immense pain.
Fed by air filled with suffering,
Nurtured by acid rain.

As it shines with such light and beauty,
Poetry embraces true darkness.
What a conundrum it is,
That we can have *beautiful madness.