A married couple built a home.
They filled it with sustenance, carried trouble from the mist
Shrugged their tired shoulders and said, "the heck with it."
A few months later, they worked diligently
to make ends meet and settled with three.

The first was science;
his eyes black to the depths of feelings
catered by human beings.
He had no ambitions;
Life carried for him, no mission
He settled with a distant universe
Lost to the world, cradled by the stars.

The second was art;
her eyes open to life's imagery,
Frivolous to reality,
Living in fantasy,
Outwardly misplaced in a world confined,
By laws and walls that vex her open mind.
She sees the universe in people;
The color they shine from souls, divine
While the world just comes and goes.

The third was physics;
Always in motion, unable to rest,
Fixed in her thinking, quick to protest
the world's catastrophes offsetting her inertia,
Grounded by gravity bound by rule,
Drugged by ambition avowed to a criteria,
Where everything needs fixing and she is the tool.

In the company of such diversity,
Option created the university.
Send your offspring there.
Tell them to learn what is worth knowing:
That change is infinite and life keeps going,
and love has no limits, it keeps on growing,
as long as there is air to breath and feelings worth showing.

In the end it comes down to chemistry,
But the result always varies;
Creating a creature of beauty
From acceptance and unity
That carries on the legacy,
Of subjective company.
Sometimes, the unexpected can be so lovely.

Young mothers with freshly sprung gardens
stuck in a field of weeds,
take their burdens
and ball them up into a life of needs.
Filling their wombs with tender heart beats,
our generation had a plan
that fell into the soil and planted seeds.

Flowers bloom in gardens again,
reflecting treacherous shame:
a mark misplaced in youth,
forever imprinting itself to one's name.
Reality is a saddened truth.

Let your grass grow high;
on your lawns free, beautiful, and green,
while the birds flee, spread their wings and take to the sky
breaking the ranks with empty bellies and faces unclean.

Eventually the garden will need tending
but the young can't raise the young
when their cuts were left without mending
and their songs were left unsung.

Open mouths prepare for their feast
but exhaustion steals the will
while the main course feeds the beast
and the famined become the ****.

When life is a garden in a desert
the roots imbed themselves deep,
until fertility is an act to convert
the rotten fruits that lay rejected, and weep.
Mothers go out and touch the petals
from the flowers of their wombs, untimely torn,
learning the delicacy of roots grounded and settled
in a garden of weeds where their burdens are born.

There is magic in these delicate little beginnings
where half the challenge is reaping the winnings.
Perhaps the choice is not half bad and the troubled waters ahead are nothing to fret about.
I've been thinking of a time when things were so simple; the lapses in time when your body and mine filled the empty space;
this is what carefree moments must resemble..

"What do you mean I'm using you?"
We are all users of something and living is never nothing.

Our conversations always so shallow,
the surface disturbed; everything underneath left hallow.
Your little gestures, gracious and fair.
left behind trailing whispers: "Don't worry. I'm here. I care."
My eyes took in every passing glance,
My feet frolicked through the shrouding wisp
Chasing seductive whistles, gone and past.
You..
I..
We didn't dare the distance over mountaintops caked in snow.
Then came Spring; she bested the seasons when she dressed the naked trees again
Nurtured fertile seeds
Singing mother's lullaby: "Grow, children, grow!"

I couldn't see the face of reason
just receding numbers,
counting down the steps we danced to.
The tune sickened me;
my breath grew short;
my hands did tremble.
The tears were warm but your eyes were not!
"These are not the moments we resemble!"
Was it wrong to tell you those words when things felt rehearsed?
My head to your chest, your heartbeat against my cheek..
The chorus of your voice, cordially versed..
The sight of the slight curve sculpted perfectly with tender lips,
creating a smirk that melted every part of me, from feet to fingertips.
These little junctures in time never come that simple.
We carry on living, but this is the moment I resemble!

"What time is the right one and why and when and how is it ever wrong?"

"In truth, and truth is the sad tune of a song, life always goes on."

I'm sick from misplaced words and those you chose to make your fist;
the impact I felt and the resentment that grew from this;
the regret we've both worn and exchanged through a kiss..

"Words aren't always everything but they can take so much!
They've withered my heart and defiled your touch!"

But those little moments were so simple
When we could bask in the company of each other
and time danced on without disturbing two happy lovers.

These delicate parts I remember them clear,
they've become the memories I hold dear,
Thinking of you now my heart does tremble;
Murmuring a secret for no one to hear:
"These are the moments we resemble."

Savvy from a day of prerequisite joy
Cranked up like a wind-up toy
Dead in bed sick with grief
Happiness stolen by a ruthless thief
All I can offer is a comforting presence
A warm and friendly essence
To uplift  the dreariness returned in an empty stare
Of half a person steadily fading into thin air
Placing the label doesn't change the facts
Or contain the feelings that seep through vulnerable cracks.
Late at night when sleep is suggested
She stays up through lonely darkness,
while her days are well rested.
Something lurks in every corner of her mind, waiting...
To provoke regrets left amiss, full of condemned hating.
Here I sit helpless, uncertain of what I should do,
In my haste, harsh words slip
"What is wrong with you?!"
Too late, I've riled a beast inside
Unleashing demons that left me terrified
Flames flicker flecks of light in sullen eyes
Burning all hopes in a pit of demise.
She's enraged with destructive intent
Loosing the battle to an ocean of chaos
where no hope is dreamt
In an instant, the fire recedes and her eyes die,
She lies down, back to bed
hoists the blanket over her head
Only three words to reply:
'why even try?'

The aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans
The crick-crack rhythm of lazy stumbling steps and tired unused joints
The cluttered kitchen layout of your dorm room, littered with ***** towels and stale, worn-out pants
Still the scene reminds me of a distant home that kindled warmth in my soul.
I can still feel the hurt burning holes through splotches of wasted time.
Actually, time is never wasted, just perpetual.
Maybe I am anxious because I’d rather Time went on without me.
I don’t care to skip this feeling over for the days to come
Like a pebble over the river, creating ripples that grow and fade.
I recall tangled limbs, messy sheets, sweaty hair,
annoying alarms, early sunrise, your sleepy face.
Your smell, so pleasantly sweet:
Cucumber melon and shower gel I cannot place.
I miss the way you breathe in my scent
Trace the outline of my skin,
refresh my lips with a teasing kiss
show me how a good morning is spent.
Seems like it's been a hundred years since then.