Humans
in scales
are in
touch,
they
glide in
the waters
of the starry
skies, the dust
of nebulas
move and
dream
as clouds,
all is in
silence,
and the true
music of
love
begins.

People
seated in a cafe
are in ocean
tides of
conversation,
revealing
themselves
through
words
to one
another,
awakening
wings of
emotion
and thought,
if only humans
knew of their
light,
shining
eternal.

She is
entranced
in the little,
endless hums
of the night,
they are
soft spoken
mysteries,
gentle
whispers
in the
wind by the
poet’s pen
in stroke of
the fabric of
pages with
visions
written by
sonorous
hums of the
deep sea
arms of
the cosmos
in a flower
undying,
opening
in the eyes
of the one
who have
known
the dark
to cherish
the light,
unfading
in bloom,
she rises
from the
long,
waking
daydream,
drifted by
the seas of
the moon
to the
shore,
where
she rests,
gazing
upon
the tides
until the
sun is in
advent,
the earth
awakens,
deeper
than
stars, the
unsullied
sleep and
breathe,
they too, are
timeless.

I feel
how you
are always
there, as
ripples
in rivers,
clouds
moving in
dreams
by the
window
as the
flight of
stars,
I am
here, in
your eyes
of the
lanterns
of heaven,
I dream
as a flower
dreams
under your
gaze, it
brings me
to tears,
I wish
for you
to know of
how the
rain of the
heart’s ocean
is the beautiful
depth of the
pain of love, so
rest upon
my wings,
we shall fly in
the sky, let us
soar beyond
this earthly
realm, with
feathers
of my
words
in the little
poems
written
all for
you,
forever.

The writer is a painter
of words, the pen color runs
through the ink of a pen
and speaks of the earthen vessels
of the people who are in
wander on streets, their unspoken
voices are the shape of water
that is love itself.

I dream as a flower,
opening in waves
as the pages of a book,
I bloom between dreams
and reality while in
sips of tea, the people
who walk past, they too,
are beings of water in the oceans of
the mind and are visitors of the earth,
stars are in the words they speak
within the the ease of the midnight hour,
the propeller seeds lift for the moon in
the eyes they held for one another,
the depth in the quiet longing
and the secrets of love lead
I, the writer, in my wish to sing, “all the
unsung is, by the sight
of the heart, sung forever”,
so then, all the things
they behold become
as they are, wondrous.

I see
the roses
in you, the
delicate
petals of
of being
human,
the thorns
of us have
broken
the chains,
our feathers
glide when
darkness
once
wished
to down
the soar
of our
wings,
feathers
glide from
loud howls,
floating
up to the
place we
call truth.