I was writing
In the park
Under a singing lark

I'll make it through the day
Without the crutches of breathless blue skies
Waking me up every morning
Another spiral of black ink goes down the drain
Washes away traces of the strain
Maybe it is strength
Holding me together
Or it's a thread
That has grown tired and thin
Frayed and worn at the edge
With thoughts, black and blue
Auburn leaves half-torn
The trees are calm and watchful
Some beauty
In the scenery
But what do you do?
When you can feel joy dissipate
And pain take its place
Like a friend walking away
I'm cold and pale
So I look outside
From my broken windows
Not everything can be poetic
When the fangs are in
There are no blue skies
No red flowers
No jet-black nights
Saving me tonight
From collapsing
From within

Celestial and spritely flower head
A cloud of white in a wheel
A spread of stars on a sunny bed
Enchanting - a vision ethereal
Blooming afar and clustering nigh
What bud, what blossom, what ****
Blowing away with just a sigh
In a breath, in the wind that breathes.
While the rose is crowned and daisies loved
How often are you brushed away
But magic lies in your snowy fluff
As wishes fly night and day
You greet the morning, a languid dawn
As the skies turn pink and bright
Then gather close with the moon's rising song
That plays with the coming of night
A fairy's flower you seem to me
A joy - a charm - a delight
Flying away over meadows and leas
In the wind with your wings of white.

In the mirror
I see a face
With a broken heart

Out of nowhere
a thought of you
will hit my mind,
like a poison dart.
I don't know what
triggers it.
Tonight, I think it's
the cold wind blowing
outside my window.
Or, it could be the
tangerine I just ate.
That sweet juice.
It doesn't last
though.
Gone in a flash.
Too small for a
lifetime together.
And I'm alone with
this bright orange pain,
vowing never to write
about you again.