Unfound

The horizon welcomes yet a new sun
But my heart remains unnoticed to you.
The deep hidden place I show to so few
Is so tightly bound to leave me undone.

Seems life has played a ridiculous pun
To leave me so bound, so helpless, so true
Tied to this one who sees nothing I do.
I will walk away, I’ve learned my lesson.

But I can’t!  I can’t! My heart is so held
To you by love’s misguided reasonings
Playing with my thoughts and unbiased mind

That you are the one, I’m forced, I’m compelled
To hope your love is close to sweetening
Until that I have found, you also find.

Windows rolled down to catch the hint
Of the first faintest salt-tinged taste
Of air as it rushes into our eyes and ears and noses.
It arrives long before the destination,
Expectations increasing as sandy patches
Begin to burst into view.

Never before witnessed by eyes of these occupants
The palm trees, seashell shops, and forever blue expanses
Plaster our faces and finger-pointing hands to windows.
A flying fish breaks the surface as we skim our own sea
Curving and turning the contures woven for us.

The stop is long-awaited, long-sought, long-debated
But soon, as in a dream awakened, our feet touch
Something other than carpeted floorboard.  Sand
Gives us one second's pause until shoes are discarded
Where they lie unguarded as toes touch the sandbox.

Hot sand guides us quickly to water where white waves
Rush on its newcomers, greeting with kisses the blue-white
Eyelashes of the ocean eye.  Splashing and crashing
Waves beat us down, then again pick us up, lifting
And twisting till our faces wear red-sun masks.

Collapsing in sleep, energy spent by ocean's leaching
Reconvening in silence as bed's teaching leads us
To dream and desire, the new advantages of energy
The ocean, with no ride to slow us, wakes us with calls
"Rush on! Rush on!" as every wave turns.

The one day of driving, seems so long compared
To the week of fun flying sooner than thought.
The best trip, this trip, had come unexpected,
And its end, abruptly so.
A trip discovered with the flip of a coin,
heads: east, tails: west.

Fling the Air

The door is opened
By temptations of clover,
Lavender, and roses
The swirl of air flinging
Escaping smells adrift.

A black piano bench
Worn so smooth I see
The wood grained from use
Incessantly yawns
Giving up its treasures
Sheet music, lyrical
Compositions, and not
many blank pages.

Deeper I tread into this world
Of music and harmony
Past the tightly strung bow
Leaning against the antigue stand
And the old books well read
Until my gaze is returned
By three lonely bottles
Full, in their places unheeded
Escape impossible.

And then I think,
Did the air fling their scent
Or did they fling the air?

I see them there now
Or are they only a dream
Is this even real.

I want to believe
That I will have that moment
If only that one.

The glance of their eyes
Fleeting through the stained glass sheet
But then they are gone.

I am all a fool
The impossibility
Of this, my belief.

That someone as they
Seemingly my common soul
Would look upon me.

To find in me they
As though myself reflected
Their eyes the mirror

So I continue
On and on and on and on
Without that someone

The search is ended
Except only in my mind
For they don't exist.

There are words no one knows,
In my heart, too deep to hold.
They trace themselves on ivory cords
Round and round my throat.
My tongue cannot find them though they are near their form
And they choke--
                           --their twisting fates arise through unknown doors.
Leading back down to the bitter depths with unspoken sorrows.
Their retreat bleeds deeply into the fount
Passions stream and fears rebound
Rousing troubled hearts awake
Only to fall again at the break.

At the end, the troubles silence
Untouched by trembles, untouched by rite
The dregs bind up the yearnings rise
And I walk on,
Undone by time.

The walls of my heart,
Guarded words, thoughts, and passions,
Protection from pain.

They are mine to hold
Against all other's actions,
But is this in vain?

For fear that the storm,
Tearing my world's foundations,
Will cause the cloud's rain.

Has left me too dry
In my deep hibernations
No other to gain.

The realness of life
Awakens my soul's sleeping
To an honest thought.

Protection from pain
And its hermited living
Can claim nothing brought.

But sorrowed loneness
And a heart unforgiving
To the one is wrought.

So I tear my walls,
And move my habitation,
To the land of chance.

My heart now able,
To be hurt, held, healed, or loved,
But for sure it's free.

You think they'd just be lying about.

Strewn away from society like the brave little toaster.
But alas...
They persist in existing in drawers and 'hind doors of cabinets aplenty.

If only a watch would give a moment of time in my hand,
I'd rip it to pieces and turn into feces watch pieces lying there dead.

I wonder the winder has thought this thought through that watches have turned from metal..
To tiny parts made of plastic and trinkets and trinklings of junk on which they've settled.