As coffee moonwalks on my tongue
and consciousness breeds my mind,
energy accumulates my soul
to a spiritual dimension of peace.
I see the future
when my eyes are awakened
to the mystic power of moonlight energy
stargazing to the change of weather
an epitome of an indigo child.
Blue emotions and harmonic motions
reflect the sounds and images
of a creative asylum, the universe.

What I ink to my page is not poetry,
There is not rhythm or rhyme, nor reason.
The empire state is no structure to my art.


What stains my page is not creativity,
Squiggles and lines leave marks from my mind.
The blank canvas does not lead to my masterpiece.


Words are my patchwork quilt,
Adjectives and nouns thread together my memoirs.
There's no glamour in my prose.


What I ink to my page is not poetry,
nor is it my intellect or wisdom.
What I ink to my page is life.

Soul is immortal
Thick skin is embodied
Mind overblown with intuition
I am a spirit creature.
Ever so sunkissed by grace
illuminating rays carry my bones
through tribulations and wrath,
I’m conquered by warm winds
of pure divinity and
constant love of nothingness.

the wind wrapping
the water into grey ghosts,
the darkness twisting
like a flower.

You inspired me to write, not a muse but a thought
You remind me of a comfort that cannot be taught
A warmth and safety that only you can hold
Your protective embrace never gets old

But for once this warmth is all but forgotten
We may not speak, the bridge may be rotten
This doesn’t mean it’s not loved or burnt
It just means we lost what we learnt

Coming back to the bridge we see what once was
But cannot cross over only because
The bridge and protection has been lost so long
Neither one can see this was where they belonged.