Any velvet or satin morning
When Alexa is quiet and the alarm doesn't blare
Finding myself in your arms is a delight
For every love poem about you
Just know looking into those blue eyes
In your arms
Morning hugs you call them
Is sheer delight
I love You

C@rainbowchaser2025

Awkward and lanky,

not a boy and not yet a man.

Youth, litheness; potential

and yet, still teachable.

~
I felt a funeral
between the timid breaths
of ruination, we plucked
to death the melancholic florals
called time flowers,
translucent growths
with crystal hearts,
gifted them to someone else's children,
placed them around the waist
of everyone else's wives.

When plucked,
that crystal core dissolves,
emitting the light trapped within.
perpetual splendor or
the endless cycles of death?
do the normal rules
of chronology apply?

Look now! here comes
the great unwashed riot,
we live in an age of visual saturation,
where tragedy and beautiful
distractions crowd in on all sides,
clamoring for our attention.

Perhaps the dystopian premise
is part of a fiendish plan,
becoming the backdrop
to a fluttering cornucopia
of florals, each outfit paraded
in the beginning of May,
a blooming display of finery
hiding a complex
network of roots –
sponsorship deals,
brand calculations,
dedicated craftsmanship,
exposure opportunities
– beneath its pretty skirts.
~

In the wee hours remembering yesterday and you
Even though you rejected me and my loving you was a one-way street
Remembering what was and what might have been if you let me in
The Love of my life came when I wasn't looking
It took two years to let you out of my heart
Remembering yesterday and hoping you found the love of your life too
I hope you are happy and healthy
Remembering yesterday and nineteen-year-old me
He knows what love is and I hope you found that too despite the pain you caused me.

Guardian Angel watches through nights
knowing each day dawning
brings all to new times

Guardian Angel knows by supplication
you know that they watch
and you are their special charge

Guardian Angels, bringers of love
even more so the more you fall
will never let you be alone.

This light was not only beautiful.  
It was what you call heaven I believe.
The onslaught radiance sang across the cosmos.
A song about a forbidden divinity that should never occur.

No darkness there could stop it.
All shadows died and became light.  
The light crunch had taken over.
And I was the last darkness.

The balance was gone.
No darkness for the stars to roll on.
No darkness to sleep in.
Just eternal dawn and forgotten dusk.

It is in the smudge of mascara,
the red lip bleeding into the cracks
of a bitten mouth.
A quiet rebellion lives there.

Middle fingers do not shout;
they whisper—
a language only the tired
and the brave understand.

Running is not escape,
but a declaration.
A line of white powder,
a streak of neon—
these are maps
to the edge of something
sharp enough to cut.

They told us
fairy tales are for children.
But we grew up and learned
that happy marriages
are the most dangerous lies.

We sit behind screens,
armed with fake smiles,
perfect angles,
warriors of a war we don’t
believe in anymore.

The raves are loud,
but it’s the silence
of disappointment,
of insecure mornings,
of mirrors we cannot meet,
that tells the truth.

This is the war.
This is the smudge,
the smear,
the running.
And still,
we rise from the wreckage
like sparks in the dark,
too tired to shout,
too alive to stop.