Each day is a face with two sides
      Do or die
Failure is an ointment
      Swarmed by flies
Lies birthed from larva
      Contempt bred from pride
The caterpillar cocooned is consumed
      Blind to the future
Either monarch or moth
      Led astray by the flame

He picks at the fray of her gaze
‘til she frowns. Sews shut her mouth

with too many questions.

We grow roots.

Sun shines hot through a tall window, and
she curls to me like vine.

We wind together, sway ‘til her small hands
whisper at the nape of my neck -

Finished, done.

The little things a loved one did
That irritated when they were near
Would no longer cause frustration
If today they were here

Some small thing they used to do
Some word they used to say
No longer would cause us anger
Now that they are gone away

Some small annoying habit
That would cause us to dispair
We now would gladly endure
If only they were here

So many unimportant habits that troubled us
That didn’t really mean that much
O how gladly we would take them back
To once more feel their touch

RLB

DRIPPED
out the
spout
of a lonely
faucet,
onto a warm
puddle of friends

Art is the music of colours which dazzle so vividly before our eyes that we take it as even more real than life itself--
being intoxicated by its beauty, we want to gladly die unto it as this dying is a gift unto us and we ,being part of it, are made immortal.

Faraway from home

I'm never alienated

it stays in my heart

Rest, oh rest so sublime

as night drifts into the unknown

forgotten is weary time

this, the sojourn alone--



light, oh light so calm

all darkness on swift wings has flown

ah, sleep so welcome--  the sweetest balm

what the living have never ever  known