The peach tree died today,
dried from inside,
there is no butterflies, no bees, no birds that feast.
lie to me & tell me its okay.
Invent a story or two,
tell me the tap broke, tell me you fell asleep.
Just don't speak the unspoken truth, that you were busy with them.
As I was away dreaming of our future white picket fence. . .

The poets dream
Is to gaze in wonderment at fields unseen
and to be inspired by what he has seen,
in every rain drop ,
and tear that departs ,
inspired by a falling heart.
In every rock that blocks our way,
to more happier and forfilling days
to become more jagged and rough then we were before ,
yet pure .

And as that field of green grows white with snow and with every starry night ,
that violates nature’s vibrant glow
that one day soon
It might. Become ripened by the rains and sun
blossom and become fruitful
again. as one.

in the same dream-like spell,
in the name  of now,
in stones
we bury the past alive,

for we shall dance with the birds,
swim with the fish,
walk like monkeys, kissing the earth,
kissing the earth as if
is the last lover,
below the last horizon

She sits with stars
more beautiful still;
outshining the Sun.

flames far away set light to the horizon
every year we dance around each solstice
and close by a star caresses your skin.

far from the place of departure
- a way to travel yet

on this journey of souls;
let us see the beauty;
see through the veil.