At the falling rain petals of the field are drenched with the watering of the sky. Each flower adorned in glory fills with the moisture that it needs to live, but in a moment when there is more than enough, the water runs from the Iris down the petal to the ground. In that moment the flower is bent and pulled over, as if to weep for what tragedy we may never know. It is just enough to know that even the most beautiful adornments of the field can appear to feel sadness.

As the oily substance hits my bloodstream

my insides shudder

concrete setting into the stem of
my brain

Peter Pan taps my window, inviting me to

fly

but I can barely walk

atleast

I am free of unlaced shoes

of licking blood from the corner of my mouth

bitten lips and chewed fingernails

seventy five milligrams
of sanity

Beneath my vision it weeps to be released
but is a prisoner behind pearly gates, the
key never within reach. Teased in essence
of breath,but incoherent on the whimsical
yearnings that is evading it timely release.

Screams fall as gestures on inanimate thoughts,
but these wonderings are a façade of what
features imitate to release. But even palms on
an unforgiving throat, throttling the necessity  
to release upon unhearing perceptions.

Silence is a virtue of unconditional control,
It yearns just one outcast verbal uttering.
But all is withheld in the abysmal threshold
of suffocation. To gesture a word upon the
world is erratic in its oblivious wanting's.

But still it deflowers its being, as what resides
is rendered useless in the palms of its predecessor.
And silent screams venture in tears as they collide
with this appendage of its prison, flickering in
Movement as if tears were spoken then stillness.

What are screams of silence but fear not worthy
of expulsion, but a tether of a mind consummated
what is now writhing in over whelming ecstasy.
Trapped in utter oblivion never to be rendered in
Vocal liberation but to stay forever inhibited within.

"I am silence,
"I am what is unheard,
"But all will hear my deafening,
"Though not uttered my features will expel,
"And all will read my silence,
*"Even though no syllable  is uttered censorship are my words,

The beast swept down from mountains cold
Shimmering-red and brazenly bold
Belching out flame which was scarlet and gold,
When the dragon came down on the town.
No one knew what had awoken this ire
But they knew well enough from whence came the fire,
For soon all the world was a funeral pyre
Now ashes where once was a town.

To the sea I must go,
To the deep, deep blue
To the sea I must go

And when I get There,
Somewhere, somewhere
When I get There

I will return to the clouds
And dance in your storms
Soak your skin and your bones

Your little daughter
Will fall asleep
To my lullabies

Your son will play
Underneath my downpour
Pitter-patter little feet

So I must go
To the sea, to the sea
I must go sometime very soon

Where the mermaids
Wait for me.