I
a fireworks display in summer.
flashing light -
bursting sound -
nervous adrenaline pulsing through the air.
grabbing fingers -
frantic touch -
it's lightening,
grass under feet,
lingering glances -
a revolution,
a government overthrow,
with guns blazing.

II
a warm fireplace in winter.
fleece blankets -
steaming cups -
christmas carols floating in from the next room.
a warm body -
a sleepy smile -
it's pajamas,
thick wool socks,
a kiss on the forehead,
a moment of home.

There is you,
a marble statue
made to be seen
and not touched.
You,
a towering pillar
standing strong
when I cannot.
And then there is me,
a ball of clay
not yet hardened.
Me,
the flickering flame
caught in your winds.
We are different,
but when our
stars align
and shine just right,
we are beautiful.

Before you fall in love with me
You should know I won't love you back
You'll spend every hour of everyday loving me and I won't return it
I'll kiss deeply and roughly and even ******* like never before
But love will not be found
For I have been broken by men
My love has been stolen from me
Please know it will never be found

Lucky are those who have found love
and been loved.

Lucky are those who bear the gift of face.
   Easy is for them to find an easy case
            for their own taste
     - a goal for their own base.

Lucky are those who has an outstanding confidence.
For by it, they don’t live with a doubtful fence.
Freely as they get any wants in their existence.

I give away smiles, pieces of my lies,
        pretending not having rainy skies.
Hiding my Breathless sighs.

Sometimes I am like a rock
   too dull to feel, a surface too rough.
A sense I lost, an unreachable core,
I don’t know how to love anymore.



*© 2014 Pax

1634

Talk not to me of Summer Trees
The foliage of the mind
A Tabernacle is for Birds
Of no corporeal kind
And winds do go that way at noon
To their Ethereal Homes
Whose Bugles call the least of us
To undepicted Realms

to love you is to breathe, even when the weight of a thousand wars have moved their fight inside my chest.

I am not a poet
But when thoughts, like rain,
Drench me in my solitude,
Words, they flow like a stream.
I am not a poet
But how can I see
The simpler joys of life,
And not create a song to be sung.
I am not a poet,
Nor an artist.
I am myself,
And you are my masterpiece.
I am not a poet,
If you are not the dream.
If I am a poet,
*Then you are what sets these pages on fire.