Changes and grows and bores -
The seasons, as fall does spring,
Wishing for adventure and fun
When life is repetitive boring,
Wishing for dull and familiar
When life is fast unpredictable,
Discontent with the old taken
New is wished for, thus craving
This will be the human heart -
Always wanting, always depart
Of contentment, and always it
Finds change and changing, yet
Stills for a time enough to rest
Makes way for the new but does
Forget not the old and rusted,
It finds, it claims, it renews, and
It outgrows, rots, buries for new,
This will be its gifted curse living
Until its last very beat breathing
Fickle, want, and sentimental,
Human hearts as molten metal
As forever shifting unto death
Accursed gift of everlasting unrest.

A disaster, written in
old English script,
flourished with dreams
and colorful ink
when all that's needed
was pencil and paper to think,

"all that was wished for
was a lover, or maybe
just another drink."

Drowning in words,
senseless and pale pink
on a glass table of dust
and faculties on the brink
of breaking to shards
pieces - this disaster of a being
is me, needing more than sleep -

Vanilla lingering, scenting the bed,
fairy lights enchant dreary nights
dancing and still the dreamer sleepless,
restless - dream catcher by the door
guarding, keeping wily dreams in
little does the little dreamer know
resentment and nightmares are what
he is keeping, and demons
in the shadows, born of his mind
loud secretly living in his abode.

A demon who remembers
how white wings once felt,
how heavenly light caressed once,
how angelic song sounded,
in silent rebellion of
what this demon is now -
a war waged against himself
for a chance to find light,
and fly feathers once again.

A disaster,
A dreamer,
A demon,
all in one,
all from
one life -
Mine.

All I have,
All I can give,
is my time,
and my poetry,
I can give you
all my hours,
I can immortalize you
with my words,
and have you run
miles in my mind,
making you my world,
leaving me -
hopelessly hoping that
that would be enough.
It never is though,
is that really enough
to afford love?

Timeless joys -
Colors, occasions, fields,
Of grass and trees, rocks and creaks,
Sunlit mornings and early rain,
Moonlight and beaches,
All these things that no-
amount of gold and paper
can ever, by joy, duplicate.
Where have they gone?
Will they ever come back?
Timeless they may be but
I am, as of now, have a lack
of these - around me, by me
to feel, to have, to share,
And even when I notice these
I feel no sense of warmth,
no sense of happiness,
Is it truly timeless, or
am I just, inside, dead?

The Sun only knows how to shine
Furiously, intensely so and so
Why would that version of love
and loving be wrong?
The Earth only knows how to dance
to the tune of set and rise,
It revolves, all her life, around
her lover, spinning around him, her star
And, yet, to each other, that is
more than enough that they give
that they take from, to, one another
to them that is love, to them
that is living, that is life.

What did we do wrong?
I greet you good in the mornings
And wait for you to sleep by night
I ask if you've eaten, if drinking
And make sure your health's right
I kiss you when you want (need) it
And hug you even when you're sour
Sing you all these sugary nothings
Tell you you're all mine, and that
I'm all yours, even on busy noon times
You invade my mind by the second
All I think of is you, and I tell you
You tell me it's the same with you too
Make our hands touch whenever they can
Then again, all this is in a span of weeks
And by the month we were 'us'
I thought we were the happiest, I thought
And then I come again to ask -
What went wrong? What did we do wrong?
Or maybe I'm asking the wrong question
and maybe it's "What did we do right?

Compose with me here
Lyrics oozing honey
Enchanted sweetly words
All light and sunny, stars and moon;
Orchestrate with me here
Winds tinged harmony
Melody and tune, heard
All along the fields gold of noon;
Sing with me here
This love song we wrote
That we keep writing on
Come lows and highs the notes
Together - in duet.