When that lady spoke
i found it hard to see her
as i was lost in my own mind
the softness of her skin
and her eyes that seamed to draw me in
like a black hole
not even letting light come from within.

Soon, she will
look at me and smile. The birds
sitting on the branches,
an alert column of soldiers,
will whir through the air,
hearing sounds of guns,
missiles making booming war cries,

being victors of all seasons,
we'll embrace her too-
with a smile.

The jasmine flowers on her dark hair,
will make one feel dazed,
and dive head on-
in to the depth of
blue timeless sleep.

In grade school
they told me
not to pursue music
because I was
so lousy at it,
so, just to show them,
I proceeded
to study music
for about
a thousand years,
and I came up
with a kind of music
which is so intentionally wrong
that it is perfect,
except not many people
seem to think so,
since I get
about three listens
to each song,
so I'm not exactly
a hit,
if you know
what I mean,
but, you know,
I think
I'm some kind
of genius Mozart
or something,
of course
maybe not.

Today I don't believe
in love at first sight.
It's been replaced by lust;
a look of stalking prey
without any real understanding of "who"
but rather "want."

I must have believed in it
when I met you
millions of years ago--
our eyes synced together,
and for only a passing moment
we must have grokked each other--
forging an early link in the chain
called our timeline
through the fire within our molten third eyes,
binding our spirits together in the metal with lightning
from our hearts
and a hammer of certainty
as we saw each new life
we were to live had us meeting
all over the world, from Denmark to ancient Mexico
to Egypt to The Light past the darkest parts of outer space.

That's the only explanation
that makes sense,
why I don't believe in it today,
because it's already happened ages ago.

She was eating fish, evidently relishing every bit,
         but with some haste.
  He sat with a bottle of wine
              so relaxed,
         seemed exploring
     something lost in mind.



                                             Now, her plate is full of bones,
                                                   artistically placed,
                                             his conversations with wine,
                                                     goes unabated,
                                                 *he is certainly marooned in an island.

Who can know
of all her thoughts
and of what she knows
did she come from a strange world
from some where within
or maybe the moon or the stars
she makes me feel like
i have the devil in my shoes
making me dance
to the ever glittering light
that shines in her hair
but here she is
that princess
of the sand
i look around and hope to find that princess behind
my princess of the sand.

The trees on the hills
say summer is gone
all i have is to say is a si

the trees on the hills this winter day
have nothing to say
all i can do gasp

the trees
look like grave stones
and i miss them so much

the trees
must bring back
there beauty to me

O the trees
bring me back
so i know my place.