From time to time
I feel blue
and cook my own stew.
Its bland and
taste good enough
for my stomach.

I knew from the start
that my cooking
isn't really that great
nor it's appetising.
Atleast
my milk is
sweet.
I'm not fond of sodas
dislike the fact that
it boils my
stomach.

Food, for now
they're within
reach, though
must someday
will come -
starvation is
inevitable

I live in my head
I have my own room there
My own bed
Where I do my best thinking
Where I am most comfortable
It keeps me up most nights
Making to do lists and analyzing
conversations from days before
Daydreaming about everything
Some of the thoughts I have
are down right crazy
So crazy that it must not be me
there must be other people up there
and hell not just a room but a whole house
with several rooms and several conversations
I can envision it clearly
Sometimes I stay there for days
The lights are on
My shades are open
But no ones home
I do return to the real world and have
real conversations but seems like I
Always return to my head
Where I live
In my own room and my own bed

Spring clothes the Earth in silk of green
And parades her in a rare sheen
Summer gifts the plants with bloom
And causes the bees to hum and zoom
Autumn makes the leaves yellow
And blesses the season with fruits mellow
Winter brings hail and snow
With icy winds that blow and blow

A certain song the sea wind knows
it sends thru puckered lips,

like kisses blown, across the bows
of drowsing sailing ships;

and stirs their sleepy sails
from their slumber with it's tune,

unfurls their folded petals
and brings them back in bloom.