Today I dreamt of last June,
But was awoken into December,
Despite my attempts to impugn,
The memory of you I still remember.

When I look to you I see an opalescence,
A kaleidoscopic display of luminescence,
There are just two accounts that capture this very essence,
Your beauty and the peacock's feathering iridescence.

All my life I’ve never been quite sure,
Rused by the perpetually eclipsing penumbral blur,
Until I met a chouette with a heart so pure,
Wherein winter’s eve could emulate a Summery Demure.

I would rearrange the stars in the sky if it gave me a wishful chance,
Reignite the fire in your eyes that once illuminated what I had lost,
If I dove backwards into the clepsydra of time I’d weather whatever cost,
Changes the melody of our song & prolong this Ephemeral Dance.

Someday,
Someway,
It’ll all be,
Okay.

As the crimson sun sets upon her cyanic eyes,
I'm lost to the reverberations of entropy they incite,
Were if not for these amalgamations of indigo illuming its disguise,
Forevermore would this ethereal dalliance imbue into the night.

Amidst the ship that sinks,
Swells engorge in azure,
Heretofore me thinks,
"Be you captain or a passer?"

They say he's a king,
With a virtuous command,
But there's greed in his heart,
Where once lived love for his land,

Yet I see through his lies,
Concealed behind the crown,
They've led me to despise,
The man on the throne,

Still I long to see,
The rapport once shared with me,
For what must it cost,
To regain the brother I've lost.

Birds of a feather,
birds of prey,
equal or lesser,
today is your day.

“My passion comes from pain,
  My confidence hides insecurities,
  My strength is an illusion,
  My calm hides a storm.”

  My passion keeps me sane,
  My confidence filters impurities,
  My strength aids in confusion,
  My calm becomes a norm.

I saw her from a distance,
Our eyes stayed locked in a seductive stare,
There could be no resistance,
From her beautiful brown eyes and matching hair,

My eyes stood no chance,
Against her captivating smile,
But she was worth more than a glance,
She was someone who was worthwhile,

But does such beauty have a name,
Or is she just an angel with an enchanting face,
That no mortal could ever tame,
As she glides towards me with elegance and grace,

I tell her how much my heart has missed her,
As I follow through and kiss her.

Here the blooming hibiscus acquiesces,
Held captive and confined to the cynosural garden,
There still a Karmic Murmur professes,
A faint reminder of the grand design we all must play our part in.

These days are not immune to the cycle of seasons,
As if I needed a reminder that everything changes undeterred,
The passage to Spring blooms hope for many reasons,
Forevermore reuniting me and the cerulean songbird.

Today may be a waste,
But surely I see no haste,
For tomorrow always waits,
So that today may be a waste.

It’s a fallacy to believe that the summit is reached solely through persistent ascension. Life’s truest form is an enigmatic ruse. Struggle is a vertical nor horizontal bearing, ‘tis not dynamic or stagnant, it can be in one place or many, within or without, inside and out. Existing in everything and everyone, sharing an equal indifference to either one. Unconcerned. Unrelenting. Unindulgent. Yet, we who perceive continue to be deceived. What trick was ever so foul that could mortally wound a species founded upon its innate curiosity? Brash is the writer who lives vicarious through the sight betwixt his own. “Who am I?” He writes not to question why nothing is ever ours for very long; time is far too intelligible to entrust a dying breed with such revelations. Our sight is a gift that’s far too often squandered on such a patient foe. Instead the question is if time is really even our own to begin with. You are here because you feel as though you are, but where exactly is here and who exactly are you? We mustn’t waste the brief life we’re given on recounting the passing moments that we’re allowed to see. We’re given a telescope to view into the vastly infinite abyss that was forged for us, yet seemingly forget that it was not forged by us. As far as the eye can see, is not far enough to see the eye in the sky that watches us squiggling about beneath a microscope. This is the struggle we face. Not who we are, why we’re here, what is life; time will make sure we fixate ourselves on these trivial matters and never truly utilize our gift. Instead we must use our sight to write. Eloquently. Passionately. Imprudently. Who is out there to take offense, when life has been designed to offend us. This dalliance is not personal to the constructs that were designed to keep us here. yet we are so easily slighted by every inconvenience we encounter along the way. Do not go directly towards the summit. The questions you face and struggles you embrace are not solely your own. They’ve been conceived and pursued by the generations that have come and gone before you. Those who failed found a place to rest their burdened minds, and those who succeeded have yet to reach the summit. If it were an obtainable destination and one did make it there, surely they would come to share its glory with us, if not for their own vainglory. Despite it all you must live in spite of it all, for those who take on the toughest plights will soar. Not for wanting, but want for something, I’m sure there is no greater height to implore. Although I’m filled with a sense of doubt, I’ve found the strength to scribble this out. Telling you who’s so concerned with the summit of what this life is all about, that you may forget to appreciate the meaningful certainties along the route.

I’ve found a resting spot for this forget-me-not,
Someplace to remind me that it’s all okay and you’ll be just fine,
Left on a Hallowed Grave was engraved the thought,
“Although it didn’t last a lifetime, you’ll always be the love of mine.”

Reminiscences of you brings on a maddening clarity,
How my reverence of love was changed solely from a kiss,
You my lithely lilting lotus are a rarity,
To know you for a moment was purely Serendipitous Bliss.