Placid waters flow,
Lazily this summer's day,
But I hear the falls.

No one so shy
as moonlight on waterlilies
of a blue-black night



         Personne si timide
         au clair de lune sur les nénuphars
         Ce soir, bleu-noir

When we first basked
In the moonlight’s ever
Opposing gaze
Stating our soliloquies
Of admiration
Of love
You gave me a jacket
To warm the coldness of
My heart
Now you’re gone
And now I am left
With nothing more than
This cloth
To represent the love you had for me

That it was broken once,
Makes it precious to me now.
When the porcelain vase is shattered,
Embrace the pieces tenderly, and
Heal the cracks with gold.

This residence is haunted
By no one but myself.
My room; a silent kingdom;
Yet is prison, and is hell.
Still-life inside a chrysalis;
My own skin forms a crypt.
The struggle to break free
Entombs me further yet.
It’s not that I am scared
Of the worlds’ one thousand things -
I’m scared that I will free myself
To find I have no wings.

in waking life we are well fabricated lies,
personas perfectly tailored to the world's expectations.
it is when we sleep that we know our true selves;
our innermost fears and desires, the intricate complexities
of our daily lives woven into an elaborate metaphor
left for us to decipher. these cinematic masterpieces of the mind
often leave us with more questions than answers.
but every now and then, the subconscious realm leaves us a crystal clear message impossible to ignore.