I slip into
a sweet change
in your room,
close the shades
so the light
barely comes in,
flickering
slightly
as the curtains
flow slowly
back and towards me.

I love the breeze
from your window.

I hold your hand
hoping this
is not just
some dream,

hoping
the coins
I tossed
in the fountain
made my
wish for you
finally come true.

But as your
soft hand
slowly slides
down the side
of my face
heading toward
my chest,
as I lose my breath
with excitement
and arousal,

You disappear.

My crusted eyes
flutter open
as I try to clear
reality.

Frustrated,
I try to fall
back asleep
so I can restart
that perfect dream scene,

but I am awake
and alone.
I look for compatriots
in this callous and cruel
world.

I seek allies who will help
me overcome
the horrors that were done
to everyone.

I long for
the warm storm
to wash away
the wicked muck
of too much
hateful stuff,
deeply paining
dark rhetoric
that wealthy men
generate,
to create
fear and hate.

I wait
subdued
by the desire
to inspire
in contrast
with a need
to find peace
from a
spiteful past,

but even among peers
I am alone.
The night
is a torn tapestry
where celestial bodies
burn beautifully
incinerating
the cosmic stitching
that bind us,

quantum energy
unraveling
all of reality,
as I stare
stupidly enthralled
by the awesome
complexity.

Silvers spheres
of gaseous spirals
spew atomic fury.

Other poets
and painters
have presented it better,
such a sweet
starry starry night
made to delight
all of us,

but this time
I return
my reflections
with the love
and devotion
born of
a dreamer’s
dark predilection
to romanticize
every aspect
of our lives.
The night
is a torn tapestry
where celestial bodies
burn beautifully
incinerating
the cosmic stitching
that bind us,

quantum energy
unraveling
all of reality,
as I stare
stupidly enthralled
by the awesome
complexity.

Silvers spheres
of gaseous spirals
spew atomic fury.

Other poets
and painters
have presented it better,
such a sweet
starry starry night
made to delight
all of us,

but this time
I return
my reflections
with the love
and devotion
born of
a dreamer’s
dark predilection
to romanticize
every aspect
of our lives.
Humanity
is a wisp of tail
that fools follow
tripping on the trail
of stupidity.
Time is
moments measured
by manmade devices.
Or is it?
What do we learn
when the knowledge
is turned
to scraps and ashes?

When the past is
less than prologue
cause everyone
was encouraged
to forget all
but the bright
moment,

pleasures pursued,
seconds wasted
being used
as a consumer,
as another tumor
so ingrown
that it can’t be removed.

Rush, play,
point, click,
sleep, eat,
work your life away,

and if you are unhappy
or to tired to do your job
if you feel
slightly unwell,
well we got a pill
to push all that
anxiety
away from humanity.

Until, the still pond
no longer reflects
the wonder and awe
of the artists
we once were.
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