When was the last time you let the grass tickle your toes or let the fragrance of a rose twirl softly up your nose?
When was the last time you stopped the "I know's" and truly surrendered to the mystery that grows, 
lusciously flows 
and goes 
trinkling back to home?
Do you dare to release your
hair to the bare 
winds that breeze on by? 
Do you dare, with quivered lips, 
scream out to that aching sky?
Do you dare to fill your heart to the brim with love so good it shakes,
as you unfold your lips 
and unfetter to the deepest most secret quips 
of being, 
left hidden in moments before the 
earth quakes?

Do you dare to care 
So much
So so so much
That all you can do is surrender?

Do you dare to point 
your fingers to that sky
and whisper just 
why why why
You do care
As the moon listens and
galaxies watch on 
by by by.

In the bluest truest stare
You whisper
I do dare
I do care
I do do Do
Dare
To touch the Sky to the Earth
The Earth to Sky
To rebirth
And shed
To awake the sleeping dead
To be a soul fulfiller
To be a long standing pillar
To be genuine, wise, and humbled in my knowing
To let myself be, breathe, feel, feed
The grass that is growing
To be blossomed like the fig that simply shares
Or the trumpet that expands outwards with its blares~~
I release from affairs of empty cares
I stand before the sky
Naked in my silence
I stand before the wind
And whisper....
Do you hear me mother?
Soft whispers of I do
I do I do I do
Its true...
....I do dare...

Who is the person that you call an artist? A man who is momentarily creative? To me he is not an artist. The man who merely at rare moments has this creative impulse and expresses that creativeness through perfection of technique, surely you would not call him an artist. To me, the true artist is one who lives completely, harmoniously, who does not divide his art from living, whose very life is that expression, whether it be a picture, music, or his behaviour; who has not divorced his expression on a canvas or in music or in stone from his daily conduct, daily living. That demands the highest intelligence, highest harmony. To me the true artist is the man who has that harmony. He may express it on canvas, or he may talk, or he may paint; or he may not express it at all, he may feel it. But all this demands that exquisite poise, that intensity of awareness, and therefore his expression is not divorced from the daily continuity of living.

we are the wizards of this fairytale
contrived of stardust
With lunar pieces
woven into
our anatomical configurations in such a way
that it makes no other sense
than to dance
in the rain
to dance
with love
To Dance
for all its worth
until we feel father sun
kiss rainbows into our souls

Excuse my ignorance
or pardon me for my damns
for when I wrote that letter
your breath was still in my lungs
your kiss wound into my tongue
etched into my forefingers
your presence twirling around me like smoke
emasculating freedom of thought
taking over like a low swooping cloud
casting shadows upon thy back
And so when I said I love you
I was misguided
I mistook it for infatuation
like chocolate
pure bliss within the moment
love is not the paper
burning fast and bright for but a second
love is the one that lingers
love is like the hot coals
where a fire has burned
love makes people run
it made you run
for some reason it comes as a burden
to the heart
a heavy sinking anchor.
but to me love is not anything of that sort
it is light and free
it is a songbird
in the early hours

what you felt was fear,
that is the anchor,
now...
release...

I've always liked the quiet woman
although I may be loud and expressive
in my heart I am one with those silent woman
I like the dark mystery woven into the fibres of soul
that outstretch in a quick glimpse
when we make eye contact
I respect the quiet woman
for it seems she needs no company
she knows the world
and rides it like an oyster on a ship
she rides it like a night queen in a long black cape
trotting over stormy moon mountains

When you get up and want to make the bed
when the voice from his head
is still humming in your ears
when your lulling
and dreaming
and being pulled softly by his touch
when your moaning and groaning
because you love him
much too much
And all these long winding echoes
of laughter so close
and so far
repeat in unison
over the spot in your heart
where he left that god awful scar.
And your speeding away
a million miles a minute,
your running
until you escape all the voices and noises
and you stop to catch your breath
and then the voices come back
you scream
you attack
you fall to your knees
beg them please
How did I get in this mess?
It's this empty chaos
this stupid game...
until you decide...
why refrain?
and so you sleep
and dream
and let it ALL stream
there's no denying the love
it just doesn't have to be
the way you make it seem
so you let yourself go,
you let him know,
you let it all flow
Attachment gone
Just love,
its simple enough
And now your jumping on pink skylines
and flying
a million miles
a minute
<3

I am just a bleeding heart
a red fist left fence less in your outpost
I am a secret fire
that hoarsely rages on

I am a farmer
a worker
heading home at dusk
down dusty dirt roads
blindly walking forward
with hazed eyes
sweated brows
soiled hands

I am not a coward

but my will is weak

I am a wounded heart
that wails underneath the heavy iron gates
left deeply locked
in the echo-less chamber of my soul.

And you are just a vein less key
with the magic dialling
that tauntingly turns my iron gates
but never full opens me

You are a cage keeper
and I'm just a bird in love
waiting to be free

my ****** heart
and how it pleads in chirps
to show you it's worth
but time is needed for rebirth
and right now I am just a shell of what I once was
and have yet to become

Freedom exists within

they now say

(perhaps to keep revolutionary thoughts at bay)

Anyway,

I'll close my eyes harder
endure what I can

and try

with all my might

to make these
skyline pleasant dreams

of you

wither away.