Barefoot,
Along the thorny path,
Across the splintered bridge,
Over the icy lake,
Onto the muddy banks,
Into the empty hall,
Feeling the velvet carpet,
Sticking to the messy kitchen floor,
Cut up by the broken glass,
Cleaned in boiling water,
Wrapped in a warm bed.

The world is your mirror.

Mountains of mystery grow and crumble.
Mountaineers conquer the peaks and some stumble.
Poets dream,
And the fearful hide.
Hero cries echo in the crags that crack the skies.
Burning volcanoes exploding with sulphur,
Tall shadows forever hiding within her.

Sweeping tsunamis destroying with rage,
Peace is the ocean that brings this age.
Sailor that loved her she buried below,
Lovers that saw her were lost in her glow.

The Terra Firma,
We walk and are buried.
Like a mother
She fed and has carried.

The blood of the martyrs and murderers she caught,
The food for the children and the dying she wrought.
Sometimes barren and bare,
Or green without care,
Her arid, her acid, her ice and her air.

So much mystery,
So much madness,
All her ecstasy hides her sadness.
So much history forged with newness.
So much truth, so many truths lost in transit.

Our touch,
Our taste,
Our mind,
Our breath-

So much to mention and much left out.
So much discovered and been found out.
Words can never amount or count,
The dim reflection,
The horror,
The magnificence.

The other side,
You.

Large red pillows on a warm blanket in front of the fire.
Candles all around
-Michael Buble to set mood.

And you,
my 1950s movie star smiling coyly,
expectation hidden behind you brown satin kimino.

Her Garden

Her world is an explosion of colour.
Flowers paint her pumpkin walls,
Fuschias dance in her back garden
and exotic roses watch over the plants that play to her music that breezes from her soul.

She is their sun
and their shade-
their very earth
and their rain.

Her children are loved
and her beauty adorned
with the essence of God.

Her Home

So warm.
Large wooden windows give light to the rooms.
To be there is to be in history:
faded photos, art, collectibles, aged mirrors,
take me on journeys to old souls and to myself.

The walls that hold them are boldly coloured and yet so comfortable. Every corner is a suprise placed with care.
The butch duck on the grandfather clock has laid an egg and curiously glares at the fireplace in the opposite corner.
I will always remember her fireplace.

Her bed is dressed with a red and gold silk oriental throw and large pillows resting on the headrest.
In the corner a tree laden with colourful handbags and hats for all occasions.
She has a mirror on an antique dresser for company
decorated with rings and makeup and jewelry
and many many interesting things.
The basket holds scarves and gloves and shoes,
and her sheets hold the moment i was born anew.

Her Art

She is her art.
Full of suprise,
eclectic,
eccentric,
bright.

Her home,
her garden,
her songs,
her interests,
her way.

She smiles poetry and wears classical movies.
She dances flowers and daggers
and speaks mystery and passion.

So soft and perplexed-
a roller coaster of colourful tastes
and memorable aromas.

To meet her is a pilgrimage,
to lose her is to lose an eye.

The voice once so full of promise has found a new favourite word:
generic.

Generic i love you,
generic i care.

Thoughtless and unimaginative.
Lacking soul,
lacking vision.
As exciting as watching paint dry.

I squeeze for a spark where once was a blaze,
and at close inspection i find:
generic, generic, generic.

Warm molten ice cream drips from her mouth as she drools on here generic branded t-shirt.

Id rather have her curse me than belittle me with thoughtless hollow words picked up in her cliche dictionary.

Hold a moment,
Suspend it,
Suspend yourself in it.
The exact moment when the dream is realised, the fight won,
Savour it,
Taste it,
Linger there a moment.
Because once it has peaked corruption sets in...
No...
Corruption set in before it began.

Im alive!

I dont care anymore why!

Brevity or eternity-
I will breathe my air
and love my sun.

Today i am here,
so today i will take all i can.

I will **** in the world and contain it in my veins like a million songs.

I will touch,
I will feel,
I will break,
I will heal,
I will crack,
crumble,
then get up when i stumble.

I welcome it all,
the pain and the ecstasy,
my lifelong companions.

My sorrow i will hold for those absorbed with the greyness of monotony and in my arrogance know how lucky i am.

I will burn with anger,
laugh with joy,
cry with sorrow.

I will cast off my fetters stealing my time and my life.

My intentions will rule me.
I will become the hidden signature written on my soul.

I am.