Hate’s RedTide upon the beach
From the sea her casualties
The dead are algae red  
Hate’s Red Tides upon the beach.
Claustrophobic Animals:
The ones near you
Next to you on the bus

Behaving in the box
Silences of hateful thought
Sucking all the air
Keeping a grip

I see there behind them eyes
The lick of canines slick smile
Hollow of empathy

Behaving in these boxes we’ve made
Into stage and cage for rage
To notice you
And I suffer the same

Strangers school

Us, we mortal

The claustrophobic animal.
The aging blind man at the florist's
Recalls his vision, his statue'd youth.

Here, the sensation of scent
Is a meadow of heartache
When days were alive as fresh bouquets,
Nostalgic now to go see his love.

Alas when sight was fragrant...

He carries her lilies out the door,
Old and blind,
A man holding on to all memories
Of bright before’s.

Alas when life was fragrant…
Revised repost.
A wave of a hand
a wand
a wink
             a nod   or  blink

a winged kiss...

You wriggling your nose
spurns me to rub your lamp

I dream of you
as I often can,
           magically and yearningly
I divine your eyes…

What curse or bliss
(Too much of this)
to be abused by your smile
from the muse of your wiles,
all the while
in our Utopian isolation
no other image of what must
or emulation of their love or
such none-such nonplussed

"you'll die, oh you just must"
dumb struck crush

while we paint ourselves tender
in writhing naked laughter
our own canvas
signed by us...

and only just
ourselves to Van Gogh
"Water Lillies"  and  
"Starry Nights"
       in your blush...

there I can see the future
of your worth
a masterpiece of our colorful theatre
inspiration's lovely birth

in the museums of my lungs
in my life
the art we shape with time
with touch...

what curse or bliss
this wish
come true

a wave of a hand
a wand

                        Our winged kiss.
Retitled from Inspiration is Divination
“Free Will is easier said than done. Why ask sky?”
There is no Hell but the one we create,
and should intelligent beings be made
to contradict itself and become less than ape?

What gardens there be, of all that is discovered
not created by evil or a hand that plows a lover
to the ground, with an alien heart that plunders

and with all thoughts so weak to give in
masticate an opposite of love called Sin,
that we should forget what life has been

what All is seen and some mistakes have made
the blind cannot and will never wake
to know what a breath so small has shaped

this is life, not yours or mind to rape,
but be witness and appreciate --what evil could never
nor hate should endeavor to replicate

the garden you plant will not flourish without light
in a hell (there's no Hell) nor without the rainy heights
you do not need to acknowledge  the Might

but inhale a breath and open your eyes, mind
the heartless beasts are all in the wild
if so inclined go sleep with them a while...
(I doubt you'll ever praise evil again,
but then again, stupid is born everyday)
*Smile, have a good day...
In response to a poem I read, praising evil... If there is one thing I could hate, it is Evil. (And I do try not to hate, but evil, should not Be. and I will rage against...)
Lively out of tune,
Songstress with liquid courage
Croons, frogs in her throat.

Sake’s bad English,
Raw mispronunciations,
Glad songs of drowning.
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