Intertwined,
kissing,
in the relentless surf,
she accepted
every angle
of her
wonderful predicament
& he
on the other hand,
was willing and able
to dish out his very best,
glistening,
stoking coals,
in and out
under the moonlight
casting a pale light
on their romance,
they wished on falling stars,
listening to the shoreline
lap continuous-waves
& soft whispers.

He spoke in French tongue
A king of the romantics
Like any other lover

Everything beautiful I
Didn't lose
I broke.

Now all that's left
Is real.
I'm too old

For things
That
Aren't. And so

I embrace the
Ashes and dust
I am.

My words are my armour, my blade, my security.
I use their definitive purpose to strike, to wound, to ****.
I have no need to use an actual knife, my rapier bladed tongue
cuts with an accuracy of a surgeons scalpel.
If you have no parry, or riposte, I'll Épée a thrusting word like the sword.
Your entire being is a valid target, I cannot fight with fists, I cannot crush
you physically, but mentally I will make you my target for words.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones! but words will never hurt me"

Oh, but they will hurt. Long after a scar has healed, a cut has scabbed,
words will linger, haunt and remind your every waking moment of the day you picked a fight, a dalliance if you will with a lexicographer.

Be friendly with the fire
Light a bonfire for warmth
Pain and agony burning away
Leaving you with ashes of past
Blow them away with winds
They will carry your pain away
Be a torchbearer and show the way

Like fairy dust caught in dappled sunlight they dance.
Swirling gracefully like a ballerina pirouetting
on a child's music box.
Graceful specks of fine dirt engrossed in cloaking
surfaces smooth and coarse.
Like petticoats caught in a summer breeze
rippling, and dipping, causing a sneeze.
Dust motes like a kilt swirling,
whirling in the kaleidoscope of daylight,
engross you in devoting a poem to their dance.
Those molecules, atoms of time passed.

When they stopped talking to me,
I knew I shouldn't have been surprised,
but I was,
and more importantly,
I was hurt.
Friends for years, and when I leave, I guess they leave too.

(By Brook Ilges and
Sverre G. Holter)


There's fire in it. Chestburn. Lungs
And lava, heart in heat; blood
Boiling. When I move,
Steam escapes from between
My ribs.
They cage a dragon's mouth.

Our edges cauterize
Unable to stabilize this searing
Electric firestorm
We coalesce into colors
Streaming through our nerve
Endings
Pulsing the rhythm of ages
Into the space between our gazes
Your scalding hide sets us apart
A rough reminder of the scars that
Stitch beneath

Sometimes.
Sometimes I find myself.
Sometimes I find myself
Biting down on
Whatever is left of myself
After the vulcano sighs and
Withdraws its black; its
Ashes; its pieces of planet's
Core, just to hold onto
Something with
Something.
Sometimes I wonder if
The memories of surgical
Sutures are all that keep me
From falling apart.
Take my mouth; I'm saving
My hands for
My heart.

Darkness falls, low light lingers
I trace the confines of your cage
The lock rusted and still
A key exists, the heart resists
Too damaged to offer naught but numb
Cutting through pumice walls
Fiery thorns thick, penetrate with ease
Such paltry designs of recovery
I'm fading fast
While you still burn.

And while one of us fades burning,
The other burns fading, and all is as
It all should be, as two stars
Decide not to form a solar system, but
Instead to brush themselves into a painting
Of a dream that a child that has yet to
Become just dreamed; awoke from
And whispered: "I want them to
Be my mother and
Father..."

if death should knock today;
am I ready enough
to leave all things behind
to welcome death
I have been expecting you

Come we'll attach a string onto your memories
And put them as lanterns , onto the emerald trees

Inflammable spark like magic is to thrive
Watch then , how the mind's luminosity comes alive

From shade lit afternoons laying blankets beneath the oak
Until ,the moon sprinkles ethereal stardust for us to soak

Let's pen down soul's poetry , to bring back lost hope
While the fireflies make light within the lantern's envelope

There's a calling in those verses ,to rekindle the broken bond
Sharing their poetry on paper boats ,two friends across the pond .

Arising to leave , unkept promises they vow to keep
To meet again , when the sun embraces the other side with a leap.