I used a black sharpie to write a love poem on your arm
Hoping the ink would sink into depths causing little to no harm
That the rough words may permeate through your tough skin
And the permanence may prove that forever starts from within
That the black is dark enough to hide all your scars from being used
And that my words are evidence and proof of my love for you

So let that ink sink as deep as it might
My words peirce your soul without a fight
My sharpie art fill you with awe and an imaginative spark
Be inspired by my loving words and the permanent scar they leave on your heart
You may forget my face, you may forget my name but **never forget where my love made its mark

Dreams are imaginations that set you free
Dreams are the stuff that emancipate fettered hearts,
meandering absentmindedly

Dreams give hope and last till infinity
Dreams are a rope to cling on to sanity
For when the world hast been tarnished and depraved
dreams are but a cascadence and showers of grace
washing you gently ashore,
into another chimerical world
in which is only soon to fade

or did you mean mouth.


did you mean you do not like me,

like my garden, i do not understand.


i wrote moth, yet misunderstood,

maybe a typo, yu are good at those,

and miss spellings.


is it because fingers fly, that

we think of the content, not the making.

time is the essence, while

moths stay quiet.

sbm.

I once had
my sweet little girl ask me...

Daddy?
          Yes dear?
Is the little man in the snow-globe, is he happy?

She looked up at me with bright blue eyes,
eyes so deep they were bottomless oceans.
I could stare into them forever.
I took my rough, calloused hands that were sanded with age,
into the gentle palm of her own.
"How could I ever tell her?" he thought
with a gaze so lovingly at her.  
Clutching the snow-globe ever so tightly,
she shook it twice so that light, beautiful snow-flakes
gush in all directions, inundating the glass city..
I smiled, and told my darling:
                                
                                     Don't worry sweetheart,
                           it is only trapped in a perfect world.

                                She didn't seem to understand.

In my mind I can see the rain pouring everything it has into the ground,
I can see the sun shining with all its might onto the earth
and I can see the air breathing all its breath to help a single rose blossom and grow,
and I know that due to all these things,
bouquets of flowers are given to lovers to show their affection for one another
and each petal, no matter the color, represents all the feelings we may or may not feel
yet cannot express,
so we give each other flowers to show emotions that mean more than we can say,
just like all the things given to a seed growing in the ground every day
to prove that anything, no matter size, shape or color,
can become beautiful enough to express the one emotion that can never be explained by mere words,
yet easily expressed with a single rose.

smoothing the wrinkles i think

of another time. how reasonably

priced they are, such a usefull item,

to protect the bed.



those that sleep there can

rest in the knowledge that

all is well covered, there will be

no shame, no hardship.

remember the days of rolling

an

old one down the stairs, tying

with ineffective string to await

the council collection.



reorder the thing, much better

now to protect your assets.

i tuck in the corners, and remember

that this is monday.

sbm.

Stealing
       my
        words
    is
       the
            same
        as
            stealing
                  my
            heart.