O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

there's a gap between your front teeth and between
your visions and plans and reality
holes in your personality, waiting to be filled up
and i wonder
what will become of you?

Something must make you happy;
something must make you sad.
Humans cannot simply be.
Events construct emotions.
Right?
Something must be wrong with her-
An extra something, making her disturbed.
Removing that will fix her, yes?
An extra foot of hair- watch it fall from silver sheers;
an extra twenty pounds- watch as each disappears;
an extra pint of blood- feel it evaporate with old fears.
With everything wrong now gone there is no sorrow.

Sadness is not replaced with joy,
it's not replaced at all.
The hollow void must be filled somehow.
Something must be wrong with her-
A missing something, making her incomplete.
Adding that will fix her up, yes?
One more earring- a small silver pin;
One more scar- a memory on her skin;
One more boy- feel him feel her in sin.

Addition and subtraction won't make a person whole,
but it's too late now for her to walk away.
She's started a complex equation
and will never see the solution defined.

If I was a mountain

That soared towards the sky,

With craggy snow caps

And stormy grey eyes-



Then you'd be the clouds

That swaddled my peak,

That silenced my thunder

When I tried to speak.



If I was the earth

The desert, in fact:

With arid dry soil

And mud, baked and cracked-



You'd be the rain

The downpour that soothed;

The balm to my bruises,

Relief to my wounds.



If I was the Moon

In the indigo night,

With stars as my blanket

And silver; my light-



Well you'd be the Sun

Just always behind

That lent me your glow

And caused me to shine.

I can't be without my imagination...
meditation is to surf
through the flow of thoughts
to get more into a positive state of mind
Sometimes in negative tone
Sometimes a nightmare alone
Sometimes I am drowning
deep...
suffocating.. barely breathing
Sometimes I submerge
struggling to breathe on the surface...
Sometimes on romantic moods
Sunbathing at a scenic beach
or dancing , kissing romantically in the rain
My adventurous thoughts
my secret rendezvous...
are all mine and mine alone...
Then I am back
on my computer.. typing words
The beauty of a poet's mind
is beyond explanation...