Over wine,
Life is absorbed a different way.

Passion was potent.
A taunting aura of sweet spells.

The forgiven rivers,
Showed they're lenity.
Soaking in the promises from sunlight.
& continuing, retracing it's steps.

Gifted is I,
Who reads life,
& in a single word,
Fearsome.
Yet I write as if the earth wasn't really spinning in space.
And Remembered is I,
Who had to be honest,
In fear of living a lie.

We can't find out what God wanted,
Unless we learn the definition of Good,
& being just that.

I could give you a million reasons to write a poem,
But I couldn't tell you how to do it.

What actions you have seen,
Displays why we are, a certain way.
How we accept and choose our consequences,
Defines how we live our lives.

I could give you a thousand words to write a poem with.
But I can't tell you what to write.

The dream,
Inside a dream becomes a set course.
A destination to achieve true happiness,
Something real & rare.

How we perceive values & morals.
Is how we view our choices & blend with time.

I could give you a hundred pictures to write a poem about.
But I cant tell you how you view the world.

We can find out what God wanted,
By teaching Good,
& being nothing but that.

Art, is my freedom.

Riddling a million words into a fantasy.

A chant of treasures, and golden eyes,
      It was easy to fall in love.

The sway of destiny and her cunning, charm

The grape, blue sky at night, on sunset,
       A rare feeling in the stare.
                   A voice.
Sometimes I throw a wish, in an old well,
            For signs.. A coincidence even..

Hoping one day to live an art,
          Dreaming in the rivers,
              ......  that salsa to a cliff.

An aura of existence, noticeable complexion

Redemptive healing, Pure water, of life.

Art, was each step after each breath.

The deaf soldier who slept,

             through the windy storm.

Acceptance is the only way to build a bridge,
The strokes across the waterless crops,
& modern day life.
Incoming, a storm, on an adventure,
Like a child, senseless & free.
I hear the midnight bells aching,
Across the rooftops.
The maroon fire from ink spreading like cancer.
The choice we make, when we reach that certain point.
Is to never do it again.
This is how the bible was written.
A parade in the aftermath, salvation.
& we become ourselves without even knowing it.
This spared dark water planet,
Eats away at time.
The was no sun, no moon,
Just abandoned rays of darkness,
Stumbling from star to star.
I saw myself,
Building a bridge.

Brilliance is an achievable recognition.
Quad cores, of the brain processing,
Relevant understandings,

Breathing with good intentions,
And at the same time,
Being the person, of who you are.

Sometimes we find ourselves,
Down a road, with additional baggage,
And hours of not wanting to feel hurt again.

We realize why we fell.
And how to avoid that type of fall again.
That is, until all falls are counted for.

Greatness,
Is when,
In a given moment,
Your crafts alter time & destiny.

Leaving some type of brilliance,
In it's, clearing, edgy smoke.
Who we become emerges through sight,
& the next journey, was the answer.

In Society, we blend with motions.
This distance we travel, the face we see.
Some the same, Some Unusual,
Some unaware of anything, but the time, of day.

Careful observations became my critiquing.
Noticeable explanations,
For why someone was a certain way,
That certain way.

We sway and bump, In this
Co-existing crash course.
Soul's with the youngest simple minds.
Learning steps, voice & names.

Reality is the kodak.
The peacefully chaotic dimensions,
   That we eat, sleep & dream in.
Our perceptions, are virtuality.
The act,
   We laminate in the houses & schools we lived in.

Admissible contrasts,
        Becomes the shell of ourselves.
The soul soup & brain food.
The evolutions.

Must we ask questions of our desires?
When it's pleasure is given,
Only to the hands of paitent endeavors.

Our Human form is transportation,
Flipping through these mirrors,
Realm to realm,
Mind to voice,
Voice to earth,
& that's when finally
Earth exists.

Down a spiraling, dark hallway.
Riddling became an entrepreneurship.
A business for those who simply,
Exchange what they came,
And nothing changes.

Epiphanies of cushioning vibes & cold drinks,
To remedy forgiveness,
Life was seen a different way,
And constantly revisited under cleaner light,
& reflectively needled into natures weathered materials.

There was a blitz of fire in the incoming storm.
A candle, without a plate, or a plan.

A transition of emphasis,
To unifying actions.
Like being tossed a faith,
from the origins of man.
And being told, who not to be.

It was a dream,
To explore the wines.
The Cabernet Sauvignon.
With a bold fearless taste.
Aged only a few decades.
And in a glass,
The smell of charred cedar,
  Baked currants & Satin pulled sage.
Which was the dripping spirit
of the grape vines.
The passion would be the Saxifrage.
Snowy herbs,
Caught from the coldest flakes,
Of an Artic storm.
The aromas of violets & sweet basal,
Made a home in the burgundy tint.
The dark density spiraled from
The acid in edible fruits.
The golden gooseberry's were a surprise,
A leather flavor,
Which kept you sleep longer in the morning.
The Diamond Creek is a dream.
For dinner, a medium rare, prime rib,
Topped with plum skins
Thick smoke,
& mushrooms from a forest.

I didn't want to leave.
But I woke up anyway.

There's a weight limit on the world,
For the rain.
These duplicate ocean pebbles of water.
Salted for earth's dinner.

Each day gives us a reason,
To be ourselves.
If not a few hours,
Some special minutes in the moon's light.

The orchestration of Destiny & Fate
Entwine the meridians.
With nothing left but this primer of mist.
In our palms.

There's a fortune buried within us.
A catalogue, of identities to become.
Sometimes, Wishful thinking,
Boils our conscience.
When that,
Is all we have,
On this earthly scale.

Who am I to say what I know,
When what we see, and are taught to believe,
Is who we are.
Complex, yet somehow it is Simpleness that we learn.
The screech, and yell, our fates, broken,
Unchained.

So many I have seen,

Some walking free, arrow in the heart,

Some forget others even exist.

Carefree, Rebellious.

But we accept guilt all the same.

A daring blood winked rose,

Shattered in dark pieces of night.

Who am I to speak my mind and be open,
Because what we can't see,
and won't believe,
Is who we become.

I grabbed a passing breeze,
Like a word,
       in a thought.

There was a weathered salt,
An old storm,
       in it's taste.

Our Souls are the finest wine,

Exquisite caliber.

The color coded gravity,
After ignition.

It is the brainwaves,
Sending us in search,
Of what we already have.

Gold to the cleanest degree,
An ancient myth,
Symbols of life,
The beginning.

Flawless musical keys merge,
The initiations,
Were only for dreamwalkers.
Eyes of Pharaohs,
Hands of Saints.

Our souls are the closest thing,
To God.

The most exquisite caliber,
Of needle & thread.

The concept is an Illustration. That defining moment, when you
realize, you can do no more. Nor allow the heart to ever again
take a walk without our mind. My perception co exists with the
fearless barbarians, sent to make amends with the monsters.

The night, is a lonely bandit, stealing away our precious meddling.
Yet here I am. Taking this stroll upon a floor of stars & at free moments,
I skip, and whistle. For I have learned where to go when the rain pours
like milk. When the higher ground is below water. When love descends.

To the mountains for nourishment, by carriage, along the way
cutting trees, to give to the whitest of lights. I desire nothing more then
simpleness. A way of life forgotten, because of unfairness & injustice.
I desire this condemned future, a contaminated element, that our

souls, refuse to show us. I can no longer tell good or bad apart. My
weary eyes, sleepless, toss & turn like cars on the moon.

Eventually time will tell us,
What life is.

Like the foreign affairs between,
Riddled solar winds & art's intimate reality.

Futhermore,
A flare, tossed in an ocean.
To reveal it's passionate blues.

That Jazz,
That once had roads to the soul.
A fresh, harmless flame,
Courted with florescent illuminations.

I accepted reform,
From love's secret venom.
To understand, how to find,
What I'm looking for.

Sooner or later,
This mystery becomes a simple answer.
A sleep-walking ritual to develop a meaning.
For why God, created evil too.

Eventually,
Life will show us,
What time it is.

Some things, told me, I shouldn't feel this way.
Not a voice..... Just small things.

The instruments,
Her heart speaks, revealed a smile,
That brought the sun
Slowly
Above us.

The decades of stone & brick.
It took awhile to shadow the hurt.
Days,
To build this empire of air around me.
To get the confidence,
To not care anymore.

The guy I am.
Usually sits on the darkest rock,
Under a bridge, by a stream.
Just thinking.

& She,
The woman she was, wasn't there.
I remember the moon & a dream.
Building a secure SELF
For accepting, but isolated.

The furthest things were so close,
She couldn't understand.
I'm really no-one.
Not anything more then human.

On this bench, I sat.
It was worn from all the years.
The silent disappointments from rejection.
Peeled the paint.
At my feet, the concrete, discolored.

I thought I had the power to heal,
REBUILD
But the guy I am,
Was left without a hammer,
Or even the smallest axe,
Or a plug,
For the furniture,
In the plasmic gleam,
Under the sunrise.

"Who am I?"
I whispered to a breeze.
It carried it with it.
"Your You."
Was the musically fading answer.
I turned back to the moon in a daze.
" I Am WHO I Am "

I haven' t felt this way before,
Opened.... Without a touch.
Just that faint melody of her words, rolling, until a smile.
Something about this was tricky.
I prepared years for an ambush from love.
Yet, I had no clue it would come.
I built brick walls miles high.
The guy I am,
Nowhere to be found on most nights.
By a lake, alone, maybe.
But she the woman she is,
Came in.
Undetected.
No skip of heartbeat, No bricks removed.
She found me.
Under the moon, building a dream.
Snowglobe eyes.
Soap stained skin.
Lips softer then light.
She stood there.
Curious of what I was doing.
Thunder, spun me around.
Her Innocence,
Swindles the wind to calm.
I couldn't understand.
So many decade it took,
To mold the electric barrier & buff it, invisible.
But she stood there,
Inside.
Admiring the furniture in the stars.
Grabbing a handful of the golden waterfall,
And blowing it into the breeze.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"I'm .....No-one." I replied confused.
"Really? If your no-one, then why am I here?" She asked kindly.
I turned back to the moon in a daze.
"The only way to get here, is haven taken the wrong road first."
I said humbly.

Life could've been different.
Those muddy shoes,
Down that dirt road,
Winding into a gully.

Sometimes the rain makes it,
a river.
The townhouses always had symphonies,
Fogging the cold windows, at night.
The lyrics were concealed,
In the drooping wintergreens.
The vines stretched the brick for ages.

Life could've just been this way.
With this black bean dirt.
Beneath years of reformed concrete.

So I,
Could see it the way that I do.
This yellow moonlight, lynching the air,
In the earliest hours of morning.
And this pair of muddy shoes,
That I washed & put away.
Those days, were still in them,

The quake of oblivious control,
aimlessly sends me spiraling.
I feel a break in the tumble,
Realizing the forged signatures from
Those who seek calculated risks.
I am only a human,
With this life thrown at me in a hurry.
Stars march & chant.
Revisiting the nights shallow freedom.
Displaying cuts of bleeding light,
A treasure to those who see its dance.
I have come far for a drink,
Of essence.
The book, we share on the darkest gravel,
Having featherweight ambitions.
The mornings betray my dreaming.
My flaws accept the rituals.
Whatever will, I have left,
Becomes a map.
A velvet initiation, to wonder again.
To seek the ways of life,
That many call disappointing,
& Pointless.
For it is I, who sees a ribbon on true beauty.
Each day following a thread to a lake.
Following the sequenced whispers,
Telling me, I am Moonchild,
Giver; of redemption.

I remembered an old train ride.
That, long wait of being myself,
Moving in motion, No control.
I was lost but finding a way. Some road.

I remembered the extra attention
from the sunlight. Causal springs,
with the egotistical fan , wallowing,
in the windows.

Relief, was the lake, fireflies,
An enchanting song from birds, shifting the air.
Thick moss on the biggest rocks.
Fish, living silently alive, below.

I remembered sleeping on a current.
A cloud was out, worried, calling my name.
I was a drifter. Usually alone.
Hidden somewhere, reading a book.

Thinking of a different life.
A tale,    shared amongst the kings ,
and their scrumptious wine.

Thinking I was magical, or could make magic.
The softest touch, a warming burn.
The seeing our entire life together,
In just a hug. A real one.

I remembered who I wanted to be.
The talented, honest man.
The conductor of Love's choir,
With an audience of only one, just her.

A fountain of flaws, but a christmas smile.... Diamond.
Not the one for the world to see.
But the one to show the world & evolve.

I can't understand the "why's"
Our perceptions give us whatever it believes,
And with that, we stumble & fall,
Continuing the roads.

I understood what passion was,
That rare value, of human context,
And heart's racing.

A trapped amount of time,
Pieced together,
with warm blessedness.

I can't understand the "for what's"
Learning some wisdom is what gives us this art,
That we go to war with.

I understood what being noble becomes.
A guardian of sky & moon,
And the only way,
To see,
In this ultimate darkness.

I was looking for a home,
Those footprints, I left,
Weaving up the road,
Going here, to this platform,
With a sign,
"Wait"

Patience,
Is my essential way of life.
A quiet pulse, melting.
Like candlelight.
I was a reflection of diamonds,
In a fire.
Breathing some magical, kind of way.

I was looking for a life,
Some cabin,
In some forest,
By a crystal clear stream.
     Where at night,
           The moon , buries starlight.

Or a Hut,
Through some Jungle.
Near a desert.
      Where in the mornings,
            Rain showered, for hours.

I was looking for a dream.
A conversation,
With the oracle.
A thread,
Going through some ocean,
On the backs of sharks.

I'm looking for a home,
For some place,
In the mountains,
By a tunnel,
That sunk into a city,
Leading to a door,
That was expecting me.

Its much like the ember,
          From a soul's flame.
          When dreams slither beneath your feet,
          & that book of water,
          Slips from your firm grasp.

We become as smoke,
          Emotionless, but furthered,
          To form fires real SELF
          Embracing each breath,
          Spreading into the new blue.

Its much like soul flares,
            When love, escapes your fingertips,
            & that iced cauldron,
             Swishes down your throat.
            Like definitions, of FEAR

We become loose, like gas.
             Lingering above a purple flame,
             Ready for rebirth,
             As a match, begins his nightly routine.
             & ignites destiny, for exploration.

Gifted is I,
Who Challenges Love,
And In A Whisper,
Fearful,
Yet, I Write As If It Were Only My Heart,
..And A Tree.

But Unforgiven, is I
Who Listened To Death's Piano,
And After Each Tune,
Relaxed,
Yet, She Sings As If Pain,
..Is Her Happiness

Life comes and goes, they say.
A boy,
      whistling everyone to buy a newspaper...
       ... just enough for dinner, on the campfire.
..... becomes a man, with a house, a wife...& cold feelings.

The animals have heard god,
             ..... its why they do not speak.
Just eerie sounds, like musical voices. Mystic drums.

Who I was, had a heart for the new world.
A vision that one day, I'll live nature's dream.
Wash in the spiritless waterfall, on the warmest days.
Catch the sunlight with my hat, become heaven's puppet.

Who I am, has found an edge,
      ....& beneath,
         ..... was a civilization of nights and days alone
     strung together on a thread.

The sky sometimes calls my name,
A playful whisper, but serious. I travel
with the wind as a guide, on top of these
frustrated rocks who can never stand up

and stretch. My escape now belongs to
October. The broken saint he is. The
golden, oranges running the clouds,
on sunset. I saw what it meant to be good.

This lake surrounds every thought, from
this mindless night. Abstract reflections,
glowing far off. I give in to this kind of
beauty. My guard cant bare to coward.

And even, if it is love, I must pretend I
am of no soul. To avoid the heart break
of the beautiful, cold mornings alone.

As a quiet exposer of poetry,
I fantasize an enigma of colors.
A transition of calculated emotions,
From memories woven to the brain,
As a quilt, would be.

I have written on stones & brick.
Hoping somebody knew,
That I was there, once upon a time.

We were bred to defend & protect,
A kindness,
Crafted so rare,
To shield the good,
From Evil & it's hidden agenda.

It is I,
Who knows how we fix ourselves.
How we get justice,
For failed attempts to try.

How to restore faith,
In the lighthouses & buoys, out on the ocean,
With only a constant dance with the currents.

How to,
Enable ourselves,
To look another in the eye,
& see them for who they are.

And simply die & live
As the purest blue-blood.

Somehow, I couldn't speak. Her smile opened the door every morning.
But this morning, it was her heart. That beating temple she sealed way
in a steel envelope, unready for adjustments, unwilling. But it was I,
who opened the mailbox with gentleness, simpleness. She gave in.

It was a swing, by the riverbank, where the lost creatures roamed.
We sat, and talked as if there was no world around us. Just hope,
crisp, in the wind, like dandelion hair. The racing water, running senseless,
up the shore. I saw a moment in her nourishing grin. A heaven without

clouds. A shoeless retreat, where her hand and mine were magnets.
This was love, unexplained. A portrait of fire, framed with white roses,
and the smell of aged wine. The minutes silently added more
to us. An uncharted evolution, of how things begin and where they go

when they end. It was reality that pulled her hand within a reachable
reach. It was her freedom that she as willing to pay for, that bought
these miles between us. It was a sudden **** that brought me back
into this quiet life, this tainted demise of a broken light. It was funny,

seeing her,     again.

The wind here is foreign,
An accent of thick whispers & voodoo.

There was a bark of ember,

A source of grace & her inevitable karma.

The burning coals leave levering zingers,
In the visible mist.

Destiny,
The charming embellisher.
Begins painting prosperity on the walls.
After all these long years of downs.
& with a whistle,
The silence is crystallized.
Detaching from the transparent water wings.
& preparing for the longest swim.

Just a sliver of ember,
Could embezzle, a country.

It came with a passing breeze.
A snap, crackle- & sensual buzz.
The old man upstairs thought it as God,
Yelling to the sky, from his balcony.

The power's out now,
And everyone in the neighborhood was outside.
It was cold,
But warm enough to know that this could happen.

Life could one day be without an electrical spark,
Or just reserved, for the wealthy.

The minutes envelope into hours.
The end of the world wouldn't be so bad if people,
Actually sat down and listened to mother nature,
Hum her gifted tunes.

Maybe its just me.

Or maybe that old man was right.

Either way, the power's out.

You were born with needle & thread
in your hands. Your family was choosen.
You were a star birthed from the dark
life. With feet designed for a treasure hunt.

The more you pretend to be something
you are not. The more you"ll dream
thousands of dreams, that mean nothing.
Your lifetime looking for answers,

Became a long while of regret. Must a
tree live his whole life focused on growing
tall. His ego may cause him to forget to
give shade & he will die incomplete.

When you have said, "I am lost". The
shadows whom birthed you will whisper this,
on the most silent of nights. " If the thread
has led you to be lost, then maybe you

are not lost, maybe you are not listening".
This is that story.

I heard from our elders,

                             " To be a GRAND soul,
                                        We are, even without all pieces,
                                 The sum of Ourselves "

The initiation of purpose and fate,
Entangle us,
All poets, to the deepest roots.
A Question that God asked,
Yet, had to seek the answer himself,

You are on a sacred journey,
Ambitious choices.
A fearless entity.
A purified energy, rekindled to teach.

Life,
Is the red morning glaze, in the sky.
A cue,
Buried in the psyche of mankind.
& Death,
Only a beautiful sunset, the deepest.

I heard stories of Egypt
The Afro-Asiatic language they spoke.
Was a type of SOUL THREAD
The people who were left,
Only knew,
what was left of a god.
A life not meant for him,
He serves a bigger fate.
& he knew the troubles.
The war. That was arising.

Praise to understand,
Was a principal.
A devoted remedy,
Civilization.

Who we think we are applys
To who we become.
An untested theory,
A spark,
      in the engine created,
          in the early years of A.D
                before man understood what God lived.

     A Quote from Micheal Meade's "The Water Of Life"
                                 A book on  Mythology.

                                            " When drawn together,
                                Two halves symbolize who a person must be,
                                          Being & becoming who we already are,
                                                      Means accepting certain incurable things
                                           & finding certain indelible Qualities within. "

I dreamed an ocean one day,
Soft like silk, pouring through your fingers.
Satin, woven from the promised land.
In the thread, joyful echos, stained.

I dreamed of days under the topaz sunset.
I chirped to a toucan.
A beautifully colored bird.
Smart. Mute.
She chirped back.
I was in the Neverlands.

I dreamed of royal parades.
A mirage of Chiefs & they're daughters.
Horses for manpower.
Monthly packages of flour & sugar.
Life was equally labored.

I dreamed of being an Author of Poetry.
Sitting in some tower.
Seeing the world beneath my shoeless feet.
Writing,
A future.

The dwellings of the cold rain, feast on this town.
I cater to this October morning.
This difference between you and I, is miles.
A distinctive nature that makes us,
        compatible or not with loneliness.
I see a fire at every glance in the tiger's eyes.
Spooky red mist, traveling between realms.
The avenger of recklessness.
The hero, without a name.
I go as this storm goes.
Wilting justice, dripping from our fingertips.
        &  sold for extensive freedom.
Yesterday's coward, hiding from the dark bringer;
        .... known as Tomorrow.
I would sell my soul to have only a voice
        that guides troubled minds.
Hands that knit back in place,
        fragile heart pieces.
That sings warmth into the cold nights.
Then I will know,
What God drinks..