How much poetry live within me

Or am I merely a vessel

That has to be loaded and unloaded

To not waste away under the calm wind

And sink to a weighted depth of silent

And unfulfilled dreams


Yet what is the use

Carrying a soul from an unwritten land

To an unread land

Both dotted with footprints of past voyageurs

But no path or end in sight


Perhaps I am destined to be an unnamed pilgrim

That treads upon and whose marks will be tread upon

The wasteland of hapless ambitions

Transforming it into a garden of everlasting

Love, freedom, and hope


There,

You may find me one day

Though you will not know it

Nor will I

Within a petal of the rose


A dust in the dew

The wings of a honeybee


And if you look closely,

Listen closely

Within the laughing wind

As the gale brings all of us

Across the sea

Carrying vessels after vessels

From dream to dream

Somewhere between night and day,
she wiggled from side to side
then pushed and stretched
until each petal was opened wide.

Painted in beauty
she's a symbol of grace
gently swaying in the breeze
planted firmly in one place.

Waiting....
              waiting
to be plucked
               and caressed
full filling
               her passions need
                         waiting…  
                                     waiting
                      in beauty's pose
with ancient secrets of old
       blinded by her sight

she is....

The Fire and Ice, Wild Rose
~

Flash of enlightenment
When, pained and struggling,
You at last reach the
Subterranean chamber
And find the Psyche juggling
Christmas cookies and
Chainsaws.






- fr

I hadn't expected someone there
already before me.

Only lonely men come here
I heard him through my heavy breath
lonely with nothing and everything.

Down there was the sea rumbling faintly
with the froths painting themselves on the shore
like a sketch in a child's drawing book.

Height does amazing tricks, the man continued,
makes you feel invincible
stimulates you to be ****** into gravity
to fall as light as the feather.

The dusk was wrapping up the light
when I remembered having promised her
not to be late to descend.

There's a man up there, I told the gateman,
Nope, he said,
you were the only guest this evening.

Is it the wave kissing the sand
          or is it the ocean
                   deep from her heart
sometimes gently,
                                  often hard,
but always with passion?

Is it the sand kissing back
        or is it the land
            happily losing ground
with every kiss
             to his eternal mistress,
the occupant of his soul?

So, yeah,
I'm not like the rest of the heard.
I'm Different.
Thank you for spreading the word.