When the yellow day coppers to dusk
I paint my weary eyes dreams.

They nudely wade the crabhole muds
for marks of the great marksman
climb up the chunks going into tides
tiptoe through the needle roots
sniff a wind that smells of stripes
thrilled
death if comes
would be a momentary stir
a dangling cloth
resting on the trail of blood, marking,
someone ventured.

One day in 2299,
They will tell
This story,
The one of
Dying books on
Dusty shelves,
In a time when
There was
Still room
To dig graves
In the ground.

Tear stained pages
Tear stained pillows
The legacy of my love for you.
                    ljm

Static chill
Shines submerged
Making love
To dying galaxies
We all die eventually
If it were the last day
If it were only yesterday
Would you still hold back
Would all remain the same

You have a beautiful soul
It's been beaten
Tortured and tamed
Don’t hide it
You have a beautiful soul
Living inside
Let it out
Let it shout
Don’t
Let it hide
Let your inner beauty
Shine out