The laughter of leaves
whisper testament
over cool caverns,
ancient moss
the absurdity of clocks
dashed upon rocks
while they dance,
backlit with sunglow,
at the true speed
of life
daring us to defy
the timeless tapestry
in which all are woven
Do stones large and small
not rustle
like leaves
in the eye of the mountain?
and is the leaf not as solid
as stone, to the aphid?
And what lives between
two lover-friends?
It is no brief candle
measured with ticks
on numbered dials
It moves not with the flash
of a single spark
Nor with the slow glow
of dawn
In gentle illumination
it is a soft gentle kiss
drifting on mist,
and it moves
at the speed of love,
with the rhythm of life

Copyright © 2016 K. Rush

A spotless white moon
was hiding the―
ink spilled on the apron.

*

The pretty nouns
scramble for hope―
if there was any.

*

You could not undo―
what a rose―
did, in broad daylight.

*

A town lives
under a tree, in shade.
The ants come and go.

Sundown, the masks
come out and a game of
perfidy begins.

Words disappear. A
long pause. You will **** two
birds with one stone.
You and ultimate.

No threats. Only the
heat and flames of summer.
In a dark cave, the icicles
form a white deity.

The religion of the body
and flesh, has no god,
no prayer.

The candle burns―
without a wick, melts
into a blue lake.

O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting

            fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked

thee
,has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy

      beauty       .how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and

buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
        (but
true

to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover

          thou answerest


them only with

                          spring)

When I enter through the gates of Pearl and walk upon streets of God, I will no more have any sorrow. I will see the wonders of Heaven and behold the angels band. I will see the ageless saints and Son of Man. Around the throne of eternity where the lamb shall reign, I will join the redeemed in singing his praises with no end. Despite all of the wonder and the streets made of Gold, it is their maker that I cannot wait to behold.

In the yellow,
cold light
of the wine-dark
night _
between the new mall
and the Roman Site _
he staggered
alone,
drunken
with "Magon"*
and memories.

Vast,
so vast is the night _
vast
as the memory
of an English
prairie,
and an emmer-haired
maiden
he had walked
to the ferry
on a summery day.

Vast,
so vast
is a night
masquerading
as a want of sight.


© LazharBouazzi

The sunrays
are coming out to play,
but I am stuck here
in this deserted place,
where the clouds never slumber,
it only rains,
keeping the light at bay.

I am a flower
in decay.
The concrete keeps
the sun away.
I have no nourishment
left to bloom.
A prisoner in every room,
every wall painted
the shade of gloom;
empty
with need to be filled
of hope.
But...
I am not void of will,
a seedling,
I will one day outgrow
this shield
and you will see me fly
into the glorious light.
So it is
with sullen bones,
a body depressed
and yearning
to be lifted,
I will press my palms
to the ground,
push myself up
to rise;
a butterfly
out of her dark cocoon.
I will free the light,
exhale my plights;
because I...
am stronger than that
which seeks to break me.
I am stronger
and I will conquer all
that seeks to defeat me,
paint every wall red,
the color of life;
survival.

The sun rays
are coming out to play;
me too.

Humans,
What odd creatures we are.
We fill our heads with
empty promises of forever,
when even the most precious things,
like time and life itself,
are temporary.

We hope to have forever,
But nothing is ever permanent.
The only thing we can keep
are the blissful memories.

This, my dear,
is all that's left for us.