symmetry is slothful beauty.
lazy in its leveled mirrors.
repetition is aesthetic fallacy.
untruthful in its attempted replication.
show me your truths and flawless imperfections.
over and over, again and again.
over and again, remind me of the fool i am.

wake, my love
fear not for it is I
to be with mine entwined passion
on earth in heaven
let us pose
in this brief instant
on the pedestal
of Eden's gate and peer
into creation
forever and ever
the pearlescence
the shimmering future
a hand held a gaze
a passion unlike any
ever made
for such a day
I fight the clouds  the skies black
away
I mount the steed white chase all evil
from our bounty
our pure love
like crystals flowing from the tallest mount
our destiny our creed
I cry
out loud!

I was never a rose,
But green
Not a chrysanthemum,
Nor an orchid
Something cut,
Walked upon
And yet,
You were the dew
And kissed me,
With a thousand moist kisses
Everynight,
Making me sparkle
In the sunrise

Like fireworks that lit the sky one December night,they were two people that touched for only a brief moment and they burned and burned until there was nothing but cinders in their eyes.
Both were fires that burned to light the way for one another.
Maybe they just burned too bright and time  moved too fast,
Maybe she was his anchor, she kept him tethered, kept him there,steady and unable to move forward.
The world may never know, except for this:
"They" were as fleeting as time and their ephemeral words made it evident that both of them couldn't stay forever because even the brightest of lights die out—sometimes,far more early than others.
They weren't just fireworks—I know that now— each of them were forest fires and they burn for the other to provide warmth and light,oblivious to the destruction that they make.
They were forest fires.
And now all they are is rain and tears, drowning in an ocean of memories.
And as I write this,I can't help but think that in some ways this wasn't just the story of them,it was our story too: the story of us that never was and never will be.
-W.L.A.C

Once there was vernal sunshine all around
With plants and blooms in color and scent abound
Butterflies here n’ there and from all corners unseen
Flitted back and forth in iridescent sheen

Birds sang tuneful songs of contentment
Squirrels and bunnies hopped in spirits buoyant
But all along now I see trees, leafless and bare
Nakedly shivering in winter’s chilly air
      
Even when the Earth adorns in full glory
Here I bide alone, so dull and dreary
Oh! Dear! Why have you so hurriedly left me?
Was it to make me drift aimless in this turbulent sea?

We were once a happy pair of doves
Seeking warmth under each other’s wings
By sundown, we flew to our evening nest
Under temple spires, we sought easeful rest

We walked the meadows, gathering spring flowers
We roamed aimless through ocean strands
We watched life’s ceaseless ebb and flow
We waited eager to grab life’s evanescent glow

We knew sorrow’s depth and worth
Each morn, for us, was love’s rebirth
We walked close to paths supernal
And lived ever in love eternal

Now I have lost the rhyme n’ rhythm of life
I see the world around with sorrows rife
I am a broken reed far beyond repair
With no songs to be played now or ever

Once we danced to the rising and lilting measure
Each synchronized step, we took with such pleasure
Oh! I hear from far, your anklets rhyme and chime
They ring in my ears through the time

Each wayside flower to me recalls your lovelorn face
The wind swayed lilacs reflect your grace
Deep in silent night the odor of your flowing hair
Comes wafting, and for a while, I feel you near

A boundless emptiness often fills my space
The question –‘What next’ stares at my face
Yet never shall I yield, but shall bravely sail
Hoping, we together shall meet at the Golden Dale

hand reaching over
the phantom scars on her leg,
eyes profoundly broken as
flickering christmas lights,
a child weeping inside
the grown woman.
she smiles, she sighs.
there is grey where there
used to be sunshine,
there are desolate trees,
where the birds used to sing,
and crane their necks
like curious strangers,
at women who sit on lone benches
cradling palms,
stirring up memories of
touch so gentle it hurt.
until people float in and out
like a lifebuoy at sea,
until a wolfish man in scruffs
whistles and waves slowly,
as though time itself has broken.
she sinks deeper into herself,
into the womb of mothers;
into all the love
and all the heartache.