Rain oozed down the windshield.
Like ants, people scampering about
their unexamined lives, dodging raindrops.
The sky and her liquid laugh.
Earth's in charge here,
although some ego's would beg to differ.
Rain is not selective,
it pours down on the lives of everyone,
regardless of your status.
Whenever and wherever it wants.
Leaving puddles of its existence.
So go get wet.
Get soaked.
Feel alive.
The inventor of the umbrella,
never felt free inside.

There is a splendid devastation in your departure,  
knowing your return will be a heart exploding euphoria.  
The annihilated ache feels quite glorious  
Beneath the dominion of your desire,  
all inhibition perishes in my heart's brilliant fires.  
You crossed the throbbing threshold  
from my body into my soul's dream.  
A ****** of deep peace drugs my bloodstream.  
Your vow of lust is redeemed.

Her skin was smooth like butter cream.  
Luscious entry to his dream.  
Begging, pleading to be tasted.  
To be pasted,
all over the walls of his thoughts.  
Her heart's city of inhibition crumbles and falls
Her black lined eyes, alive and iridescent with haunting desire.
With a slow ache and burn like torches of fire.  
His breath through the soft dark.
Was a gentle gale into her farthest parts.
His whispers ferociously and sweetly
swarm her heart.
Lips taste like destiny, remembering eternity.

I left my heart aching in awe.
In the care of the giant towering mountains,
that deafen even the crow's callous caw.
A collection of a million stolen breaths.
lay in a calm glory of silence upon the horizon.
To rival the most peaceful of deaths.
Stoic peaks salute to pierce
the cloud barren sky.
It is here that exists not a single why.
Maybe just an invitation to climb.
Or to stand varnished with astonishment
as the rising hunks of ecstasy
****** my humble eye.

I'm back.
But the stream already knew that.
My eyes feast on the clear sunlit bronze stream.
The bottom scattered with pebbles
possessing deep desires and last hope dreams.
Glossed white rushing rapids
are sliced in two by protruding stone.
Sometimes the meaning is
simply no meaning flowing over the stream's bones.
Free from the prison of my mind,
I meander barefoot
in the bubbling, sparkling water divine.
This hidden remarkable, the secret stream,
turns tranquil peace into creative steam.

The night was a twinkling glitter shower.
The moon's pale lemon light,
caressed the intoxicating sleepy flowers.  
A whisper from the universe,
assured me I was not alone.  
My silent primordial dreams,
were already known.  
Galaxies joyously remember me.  
They recognize my energy.  
It glistens, the celestial shine of night.  
Makes what lays beyond,
seem revelation bright.

Even with the departure of a defeated winter.
Spring's backstage feeling very conceited.
Bare branches still bend in their naked contortion.
With blatant desire for lush summer leaves fortune.
The trees whispered their longing
telepathically to the breeze.
The stream was a mysterious gold, green & brown.
Translucent was the elder boulder ground.
The drapes of hemlock need no announcing sound.
Below rock bottom, is a hardly reached equation.
A survival where peace is the eternal sum.
The secret stream will restore your inner gleam.

In the startling silence of black night.
The ancient stars sweetly whine
with the weight of countless wishes.
Secret desires succeed in shine,
burning with the chance for fruition.
Of those that longed with daily battle cries.
To end torments that the sun brightly denied.

And when the day arrives wearing heaven's blue.
Never forget, strength has a voice too.
Star beaming out of you.

Every forest harbors secrets.
The bark and branches are the keepers.
The abandoned house towered,
in a paralysis of time.
The only thing alive
was the strangling of the vines.
It stood in dilapidation
with a menacing expression.
Inside the air thick with voiceless confessions.
Heard somewhere in my shaking soul.
Hollow window eyes
possess the shatters of time.
Who were the inhabitants?
And are they alive?
It's time to go inside.

Infinitesimal,
we stand beneath the sun
of a gargantuan world.

Heart is born in a locked cage of bone.
Prisoner to it's rabid desire not to be alone.
Love is the crux in what feels like emotional infinities of searching.
Pure unconditional love annihilates doubt's obsessive lurking.

Grains we are, yet with heart's that extend so vast and far.
Reading sacred eternity in the shimmering language of the stars.
For every yearn, the epic answer is love.

The castle
said to be centuries old.
Was lodged between the bluff
and the motionless sea.
Where many have stood
clutching their need to flee.
The jetting black towers are severe
and stab the dense foggy sky.
The dark is watching with
her neon midnight blue eyes.
Something
Or someone who died
is half alive.
Haunting she will be the bride.

The Death of Desire

The arson of my dreams was set by me.
A brilliant blood orange glow.
Down an abandoned wreckage road.
Night and her dark velvet invitations.
Fuel my gasoline Lamentations.
A self inflicted burn, gives desire a final
blistering yearn.
Hope and wishes compose optimism's
lather.
But dreams are now dead blackened cadavers.

Time has been unforgiving
to my mortal wounds.
My soul lay exposed
beneath a bone white moon.
Contemplation at the day's end.
Is time a formidable opponent
or a faithful friend?
When will it be our time?
Will a ladder to eternity
be there to climb?
Who will read my final rhyme?
We waste our days,
in a grossly over thought maze.
You may cherish a memory
Were you even present or
did your attention flee?
We are told the now
is where happiness resides
The abysmal past
is our usual alibi.
In relentless pursuit
of the elusive why.
Be present before you erode
and die.

Ah, the perfect poem.
Does it occur when you are sufficiently ******?
Or when the agony begins to bloat?
Or when in cherry blood, joy floats?
Lies eloquently disguise truths.
Truth promenades as lies.
Poetic words speak to the roots that keep us alive.
Should it provoke intricate questions of the soul?
As landmines of resonance fill our holes.

Is the surface of the soul like moon stained craters....
Or aquamarine like magical glaciers....
Is the surface of the soul scarred with battle wounds.....
Or is it a sheet of ice you lie beneath with lips of frozen blue.....
Is it a field that stretches forever with happy wildflowers.....
Or sands of time with secret dunes that devour prescious hours.....
At the surface of the soul, no encounter is by chance.
No matter what the terrain of your inner land.
You must sink or dive below the surface,
to ever really know.....

As I open my eyes, the tide of the soul
pulls back my dream, slithering into oblivion.
I struggle to remember from deep within.
Half faces, fractured voices and shadowed symbols.
Further back the tide pulls.
The theatre of slumber has a distant thunder.
Memory of the dream is just a blunder.
Morning's reality is chasing me down.
As my thoughts plunge into that inner ocean.
Sleep clutches her secret potion.
Until black night returns,
To once again seize my soul.

Familiar was the squawk of dawn's happy choir.    
A cheerfulness so potently dire.    
When daily suffering is inescapable    
Anguish does not discriminate or label.    
A man's belly, barren of bread, aches in pain.
An ache the same,
As the obsession to be desired by the vain.    
To the blacksmith of thought, we are the tool.    
The mastery of thought is the saving rule.