Poetry has to rhyme
No it doesn’t
That lie is just a crime
It’s meant to fixate
To inflate
The curious mind
The literate kind
Words in a verse
The gold in the purse
Of a creative person

Poetry has to rhyme
No it doesn’t
Your wrong this time
Its meant to uplift
To drift
Into a person thoughts
A charm of sorts
Letters in a line
All beautiful and fine
To read everyday

a lit candle
sways in the evening breeze

soft jazz mellows the muse
as i sit and ponder...

the wonder of the indigo sky
lit with shimmering wonder

and framed in wood-smoke haze
tonight, i can  well, relate to vincent
as the shimmer,
whorls and blazes
in a late summer ****
of sensual delight...

i lay  quiescent to nature's glory
as day bleeds into night...

and on the wind of salted air
honeysuckle and jasmine mingle
i sip the crisp cold mango beer
and sink further into,
the quiet beauty.

My eyes deepened into the cool Grays and blues of you.
My body laid in sync with yours.
My thoughts hard to make out into words.
Words are useless, they don't function anymore.
You spoke with confidence.
A love that was not meant for just me, but yourself as well.
Selfishness had been constricted to the death.
Kept me close but pushed a little further away.
Mutuality had been finally rested in our hands.
Twirling my heart around your mind.
You escaped the vicious walls. Those who consumed you.
A free love.
An everlasting love.
It is true. It is love. It is pure.
Free.