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Cyan*
has such a brackish mark
upon your passive visage-
it transfigures boldly, tempestuously
any average glance flung facetiously in my direction.

Dearest Rogue Element,
You invigorate all other
salient features.
Like the slip of a blunt knife,
you surge open your soul, compelling
any audacious personality to bleed through the wound of your
gaping irises.
You betroth yourself to
the Fascinating, the Creative,
and like the cascade of clearest french horn lamentation-
you stir my
emotions with a mournful compassionate caress.

And that’s the difference.
The mellow mahogany of my eyes
provides the most loving background for Light to
reflect her dancing valiance with reverent adoration.

But-
your Blue
will
forever
stride as the
arrogant foreground.
Commanding and eternally vexing, (captivating) me
with your gaudy juxtaposition
of angry intensity
and poignant serenity.
The alabaster beauty
Covered in dark ink
Around the white sky
Two beautiful brown spheres
Decorated with two streams
Of a blushed river
That spoke about life, knowledge, and the unknown
Curiosity for adventure
The path of duality
    Of a reality
That seems to bring peace to the mind,
But an ocean of emotions
Hard to find clarity within the heart
It’s that graceful stare
The has me falsely asleep
From the lovely music of the harp
To every pain that felt so sharp
My days were discarded
Every creature passed by me
I refused to give attention
Because I was taken
Into another word that lingered me to stay longer
As I was inebriated by blue drinks
And that gorgeous smell of hypnotic fragrances
That heavily seduced me for my loyalty
And my devotion to make sure you felt like royalty
It was worth every
Born child that rose
Young from the early sky
And died an old man to say goodbye
From the ashes
To return as another child to repeat the cycle  
Watched from the heavens
By the arch angel Michael  
  At first sight
Your grimly desire for destruction
Worried me, but somehow interest me
It was during a time of transitioning
That I needed another soul to not feel alone
I guess you can say certain things come in certain disguises
Never misinterpret a gift from divine
Always ask wisely
Always be kind and never take things for granted
Truly a gift
Of love and pain
Truly a privilege to have known and cared for
Truly worth feeling pain
With someone worth being lost in the rain of the final days of life
This crimson stone is rooted from the dirt of a sorrow mind
That needs to be free
To enjoy passion with one who is not a soul
To have hand by hand
To feel love and pain again
To serenade during the lovely full moon
To be side by side during the hour of the sun
I wish things could have gone differently
Actually have a night with you
To explore the cosmos of our mind
And find the true Eden that lies through our eyes
Life feels like a decaying painting
That’s slowly fading away every century
Waiting to be discovered again
To have color and meaning again
You were truly the first, but never the last
To my final words of this chapter,
Blossom for love be a day
As the passion sails away
Thus a story of forbidden love
Exotic colors turned gray…
Beloved, truly a life gift
Sadly, our eyes will soon shift
What was it that drawn us together?
Was it the dreams?
Truly had me floating away like feathers
The portrait that played the lovely cello
Across the forest
Mislead for a land that is sorrow
I will love you again
In a different land of dreams
To have you day & night
Until I die tomorrow
For now, I must forget your name…
It will never be the same
I hope you reads this one day. I wonder if you're thinking of me during the night as I think of you
Fire: A Commissioned Poem

Deceptive appearance,
Countless predecessors,
Poems built on towers of strength,
Of and on
Fire..

Who am I,
A beleaguered working poet
Dared and daring,
To add to what Dante
Already has writ,
Has fire, his, not ennobled
All man's fears and lives.

What new can this temporal man add, on something so holy as
Fire?

On the altar in the Temple,
My ancestors brought sacrifices,
Guilt offerings for sins committed,
Asking for real forgiveness from a deity unseen,
They set themselves on fire,
Through animal sacrifices.

Let us not critique them by standards of today.
Let me celebrate their faith, their truth that
Asking for forgiveness required sacrifice,
Not just tithing, not just check writing,
But by acknowledging that they understood,
That nothing is for truly real until
It has been crucibled of, in,
Fire.
Next word, please.
Sunday's newspapers
come on Saturday,

coupons spill out
torrentially.

weekend manna
from
publisher's hell.

makes my breathing heavy,
from studious inspection,
so many needs unmet.

I fall to pieces
every weekend,
securely knowing,
I'm lacking in
so many things,
feeling my
insecure neediness
keenly.

my Target is
feverishly simple,
solution oriented.

no can find any discounts for
new rhythms,
new rhymes,
life high fivers
to satisfy,
adhere,
and revere,
that would be my
Best Buy.

but I'm clipped,
the coupons, not.
See     A Living Finish (Sunday's newspapers come on Saturday - Part II)
The best advice I was
given about writing was:
write appropriately, suit the reader,
don't make the assumption that they're careless enough not to notice sentence after sentence of redundancies. Most of all, avoid confusion.


And even though I'm young, I try to write for
a younger generation, my generation, one that produced the notion that it is feasible to aspire to write without having the will or desire to read. Welcome this juxtaposed generation with delight. They were born to dream, and there isn't a need for articulation when you keep your eyes closed.

What words will make a bigger impact?
Because what is wit to a man that only
finds enjoyment from himself. The outsider
at this point would rather listen to a person's
complete hatred of napkins. Because they're
just a paper towel folded twice.

Kids want money and fame and respect.
And who doesn't to some degree.
So maybe I must act accordingly.
I smacked a ***** to know
what it feels like. And I keep a gun in my glove
compartment. Don't even ask about the trunk,
because you already know it's locked.
I do drugs because they make me feel good,
and when I feel bad everyone else will, too.
When I crack open a beer I pour some out.
That's for my friends that have passed.
When I pop champagne I pour it on ****.
Because a two-thousand dollar shower
doesn't require clothes.


If that's not what's normal, I don't know what is.
But it's almost as if this generation is
too ignorant to care. Being underprivileged
isn't ironic when talked about wearing
thrift shop clothes, but that changes when you
hop on private airplanes to deliver the message.
And I'm not trying to say I'm different,
I have twenty dollars in my pocket, like most,
although I'm only looking for a come-up.
my ghost, my ghost
my darling ghost
tonight, like most
leaves only sorrow in the sepulchral depths
of these quiet sheets
my heart, my heart
my foolish heart
will stop, then start
no matter how much I despise the sound
of those steady beats
my one, my one
my only one
like winter's sun
slides deeper behind the clouds above
-i must release
my hope, my hope
my endless hope
cannot fade, though forced away
for your peace
my ache, my ache
my lovely ache
i cling to with a child's fearful grip
unable to let go
my ghost of hope, my aching heart
my only one
you have shown me who i must become
and for you it will be so.
It was a rainy, cold night,
In a room full of despair and hate
when darkness devoured
what was left in my humanity.

As I was blinded and lost
I succumb in fear.
My mind goes blank,
my heart stops beating,
my tears started to fall.

It was not just a bad dream,
it was the most horrifying nightmare after all.
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