Scorched earth dripping from my fingers (you know how sometimes the smell of smoke can save lives?

and how sometimes I'd prefer I slept in)
glistening a while as the pieces crumble into invisibility.

I'm ever waiting

To become what I make, and

I don't mind if you let me think I'm winning the race until I've lost you
completely

If I don't speak please don't take it to heart, my best years are gone but you can have my ghost

If you wish to. I'll be here. Ever writhing, tied to my promise: no longer screaming. My silence

Is the best gift you could ever wish from me, if you knew me well-enough you'd know that to be true.

I've took on so many names and faces and manipulation tactics, at this point I'm a one-man-cult

Victimising shadows,

I'm kind to myself now but I still feel nothing mostly, but that doesn't have to be your problem
Any longer

Than you make it, I've grown up some with little option otherwise. I'm yours I'm yours I'm yours, for as long as I'm willing to be dragged around.

Fallen weak,

Ever-bleeding as long I can breathe without thinking.
Some memories are better left untouched and some regrets taken to the grave and some people left to crumble themselves to nothing again and again, undisturbed for as long as can be expected.

Don't wait up for me, you'll end up as good as a prayer for the dead to return.

I want to leave this boisterous town of sadness and hate,
And shift my body to where my soul resides.
A place where I can hear the cascading waterfall
and see the serene green view of the evergreen forest.
The place which makes my heart flutter with the sound of the silent seashore.
A place where the morning begins with the soothing call of a peacock, and ends with the resplendent reflection of the moon in the lake.
The lake, in which I can see fishes breathing and witness nature healing.
A place where I can find my solace and peace.
I want to leave this boisterous town of violence and rage,
where symphony of honks and shouts fill the air.
And shift my body to where my soul resides.

Talk of Tomorrow
As if it were a
Thing

A clay malleable,
Made to some Will o'
The Wish

No tomorrow is
Nor can be,

Tomorrow, Yesterday
Cannot exist.

Just This
Now
Synapse
Arm
Pen

the clock struck midnight
and the darkness stood still
in the hidden corner, a flicker loomed
casting pale drops of light
on creatures hibernating in dreams
as if to crack the doorway
illuminating a night path
through thin veils of waking
into the watery ebb of pink yellow
bleeding into the clouds
opening the eyes of the sky
to see us, nesting underneath
in the hollows and mountains of the earth

sweet bird of budding april's pretty wing,
sat in the willow where the catkins grow,

enchanting like the river's winding flow,
small chatterbox that always loves to sing,

the blossoms kiss the sky whose wandering
finds vast crusades where fleeting warriors go,

true to their loves e'en in the bleakest snow,
or some princess who finds a sapphire ring.

enchanted lands, the bird sings in the tree,
so long forgotten once found near and far,
where streams wind yonder where the bluebirds play,

on honey branches by the windswept sea,
as if they whispered underneath a star
of princely gold the beauty of the day.

A faulty start, I lost all my stars
Personally, I became a recluse
Truly afraid to be abuse.
Envious of some solemn luck,
            In love, I am an ugly duck.
I **** in many ways,
seems no one is able to stay.
                     Its okay.
Just pretend, as you did not hear
            Do not count me, as I am not here.
   Moreover, hide as if I did not know your there.
So do not love me as if you needed me
       Just love me sincerely
       Or else better don’t
       I am better alone - anyways….

Seeds planted in dark
Seeking light but cannot find
Know not their own self.

The gulls sweep in, squawking
sky spiraling upon clear sun bright
morning air, perhaps disputing
my unintended trespass into
their natural domain.

The comical Puffins have returned,
doing their Charlie Chaplin waddle
across the surf rippled sand, eating
whatever comes to beak or hand.

The ocean's salty wet scents embrace
me like an old friend. Flipping off
my croc clogs I roll up my pant legs,
to feel the comforting sand and shallow
surf between my toes, to be one with
this wonderful day and our mother the
sea. Reverting to being a child again
for an hour or two, mostly alone on
this beach, say for the birds, waves
and sun upon my face.

Baby Gray Dove was searching for food and gave up.
Spread her wings and flew way up high
How I wished I could have joined her
It's damp and about to shower for hours
The Oldies about the Rain fill my head as I continue walking
There will be a rainbow at some point with our Father saying Hi from way up above
Another Rain song

C#rainbowchaser2024