I gaze outwards, hoping to eye
the secret source of my amazement...

Such a subtle notion to be keenly aware of
my concentration whispering soft to me
like wonder washing over the clear eyes of a child.

Standing in the midst of a wild garden,
lost in thoughts and knee-high daffodils
rising to the occasion,
pacing the breeze in celebration
of concentric release and liberation.

The tone of my attention flows outwards
drifting in the vortical tumble
of wisping moments and spiral smiles
only a kissing kind of nature could spin
so effortlessly across the dusky horizon’s curving finesse.

Propelled into the Painter’s portrait of stars swept canvas
sweeping over my vision with the image
of the wonder-washed child standing in a garden,
gazing outwards from the picture quietly searching
for the secret source of her amazement…
..and I wonder if she sees me gazing back at her?

I don't go outside often.
I avoid the sunlight,
And sleep in a coffin.

Your stereotypical vampire,
This is another sob story
For a ritual campfire.
Not an individual
To be admired,

But how I long to be
Blown into the nose
Of fame like *******
With no shame.

I'd be another meteorite
To crack under the spotlight,
Diagnosed with blocked sight

At a dead end
As inspiration deadens
And the debt of regret sets in.
Nothing would be more pleasant.

(c) 2015 Brandon Antonio Smith