Humans
brush past
one another
in the shifting
colors of the
city lights,
the droplets
fall from the clouds
of time
as though
touched by
starlight, and
even love arrives
by fate for the
people who
are not it's
seekers.

He sails in his day dreams as the foaming crest crashes stars on the shore of his mind, whilst resting his gaze upon the lanterns of the night sky that are brightly akin to the songs untold by his lips, the quivering murmurs in the cosmos are in motion with poetry, thoughts, jazz and coffee, in the place of his solace, darkness is only the prelude to the arrival of the rising sun on the roses softer than velvet and the voyager.

The old man
looks upon
his grandchild
and thinks to
himself, "How
wondrous was
the fleeting days
of innocence",
the child looks
to her elder with
a passing thought
as well, "even when I
am old, my youth
shall stay forever", she
holds his hand while
they walk together
under a rising sun
as the waking in a
dream, the pages
of time are in tide,
opening in light
and dark for
forever and a
day.

I have dreamt
of falling stars,
although the
beauty of
your heart's
tears grow
farther in
light than
the reaches
of the heavens,
will you soar
forever in the
the secret skies
of my embrace?
In this moment,
let us heal
our wounds,
for we will
behold time
in this endless
love song

Be as the leaves
of one tree dappled
by shades of light
that are never
in the same
pattern, floating
as stardust or
leaves, dream
as a poet
and hear the
words of
small things
in existence,
they are ways
of home for
the lost one,
an elusive
dancer of
the infinite.

The little
flower was
content,
safe from
the winds
of the world,
then, the days
sprouted her
body upwards
to the sky,
she found
it tiresome
to grow while
the poet
of the world
painted the
leaves
golden
to green,
finally, she
can gently
sing for the
clouds as
life became
greater in
color and
beauty,
until the
white blanket
of heaven
takes her,
and, she
is reborn
in some
other time
and place.

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 little
poems
written
all for
you,
forever.

The writer
is a painter
of words,
colors run
through the
ink of a pen,
within the
earthen
vessel
is the
unspoken
within,
it is as
the people
who are
in wander
on streets,
voices in
the shape
of water,
love
itself.

I dream
as a flower,
opening
in waves
as I open
the pages
of a book,
I bloom
between
dreams
and reality
while in
sips of tea,
the people
I walk past,
they too,
are beings
of water
in the  
oceans of
the mind,
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,
it is in
presence,
the depth
in the
quiet
longing
to only
read
of the
secrets
of love
I, the
writer,
wish to
sing to
them,
“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 as
truth.

A girl
had seen
the once
hidden
stars before
her eyes,
as small
as they
were,
they saw
a refuge
in the place
she called
tears,
soaring
in the
night, she
gently
lands in
the garden
of the moon,
she had seen
every petal
as a word of
poetry, a
cinematic
scene,
the flowers of
her becomes
a guest within
the heart,
they asked,
“how did
you know
of our
secrets?”
to which
she says,
“I am
love and
so are
you”.

If only
I was
able to
open
your
skin,
healing
the wounds
you hold
deep in
you with
the touch
of my
hands,
for now,
I only
possess
these
words,
but, do
you not
see?
even
they are
not enough,
only you
are.

Walk in
the garden
of the moon
as a lover,
the flowers of
you becomes
a guest within
the heart,
it does
not ask
of how
you bloom,
but, of how
you became
the home.

We look
upon the
the flowers,
thinking,
“I was once
you, before
my eyes
were known
to your
bloom”
the wind is
lifting the
petals
gently as
wanderers
of the sea,
the night
falls,
us and
them
are as
blinking
stars,
floating
almost
endlessly,
unaware
of the
lights
we give,
and yet,
unwavering.

Do not
pity the
flower
that has
died, it
will bloom
once more,  
as an
ephemeral
moment
in life you
held dearly,
unaware of
how it
always
returned.

While
drinking
tea by
the sea,
I travel
forever
when
I close my
eyes, and
become
the soft
waves of
memory,
whiteness
becomes
the pearls
of reverie,  
I will
return
as I have
always
done,
I forget
the dew
falling from
this heart
of mine,
and heal.

I had
wished
to write
for the one
I cherished,
If only
I had
known
of how  
expression
of oneself
was not
as simple,
to paint the
complex
nature  
of human
feeling and
thoughts in
written form
could not
possibly
be only
held,
for they
are the
clouds
of my
esse
in flight,
even if
the words
were
written,
they remain
unwritten
as the
pages are
endless,
as the  
eyes of
the one
I see
as mine,
I sat
by the
ocean,
the
lantern
of the
sky
rises,
the one
I loved
now
sings,
I ask not
when he
gives,
tears
fall
for the
one
who
was
there
before
my lips
spoke
his name,
always.

A fairy
who
only
flew
under
the fall
of night
met her
lover
under
the songs
of stars
in choirs
of light,
they rest
under
the petals
of a white
rose, her
lover asks,
“how can
I find words
to paint
beauty
with my
lips?”
to which
the fairy
says to
him,
“why do
you feel
the will
to open
your
lips?
all that
slumbers
awaken
when
the eyes
alone find
beauty”
they
gaze
upon the
white
lanterns
of the
dark
in a
ripple
of tides
in the
leaves,
the wings
of a bird
drifting
as a
dream in
awakening,
the fairy
rises with
her lover,  
amongst the
moonflowers
and violets
above,
they flew
by lunar
guidance
towards
a field
of indigo
shades,
they descend
and softly
rest upon
the yellow
hearts,
the fairy
turns to
her lover,
and says,
“the
leaves
sing as
our own
tale, in
symphony
with the
delicate
branches
of our veins,
we lie
here and
hear the
music we
once had
sought to
hide, we
wished to
write about
it, rather,
we closed
our eyes,
for the ones,
as us, who
tightly
caged
their  
words are
the ones
with the
deepest
wells of
feeling,
we are
living,
breathing
oceans,
clothed
in skin,
living tiny
moments
of poetry
every
hour,
don’t
you
see
this?”
to which
he says,
“I do,
and here
it comes,
the
golden
light”
it arrives,
in touch
of all that
it sees,
and the
fairy
whispers,
“let us
sleep,
and
return
as specks
of time”
they close
their eyes,
the bird
rests upon
a lone
tree,
the peace
of the
Idyll, in its
picturesque
eternity,
prevails.

Little
flowers
opened
as you
kissed me
lightly,
the petals
under the
moonlight
dance,
we wore
the robes
of the stars,
and gazed
upon the
tides, we
wondered
how they
beheld
a dream,
always
there
as the
sea of
our
arms,
gilded
in silver
scales,
returning
to a
home
where
you keep
these
hands of
mine
close, be
delicate,
for you
hold my
heart
and
yours.

The poet
of the night
closed her
eyes, and
dreamed of
little stars
as details
in the small
moment of
beauty she
beheld, as a
painting
once hidden,
now coming
alive before
her eyes, as
wondrous
as when
she had
first
met the
pages
of a book,
and held
them
more
dearest
than the
petals of
a flower
held close
to her
heart,
forever in
bloom.

Dunes
fall on
the shore
of skin,
a poet
closes
her eyes,
in a place
beyond
our own,
the sands
felt soft
upon her
hands, her
thoughts
as water,
in wonder
if they
are
here,
or in
dream,
the grains
of time
under
lights
of the
moon
are her
tides
upon the
sand
hills
of the
stars,
the
guides
above
hold the
hidden
songs,
heard only
in silence,
clouds
emerge, the
monsoon
of spirit
chants
the words
of the
writer
painted
in rain
upon
pages,
dew falls
upon the
palms,
the poet
gazes
upon the
skies, her
hymn is
heard,
“are you
near,
or the
breath
of mine?”,
the winds
rise, the
desert
calls,
“are
you I?”

When you see
something truly
beautiful, time
becomes
one infinite
moment,
infracted
Is a million
particles
of light
within
your
eyes,
In the
beauty
of silence,
you feel and
hear everything
come alive, when
you see the smallest
details come alive as
delicate, blooming
flowers opening for
the awakened
heart opening
itself for the once
unseen, tonight, a
little miracle happened,
I looked up and i asked
within my mind, "oh night,
why is it i cannot see a light
in your dark sea?" then,
suddenly a star appeared
before my eyes, the
soul...
the soul within
the windows open, so the
light could shine through.

A sensitive
little white
flower,
opens
her
petals
by the
opening
of lunar
light,
seeking
to heal
others
as they
lie in their
dreams, she
whispers
to them
within
their
hearts,
“hear 
these
words, 
and 
allow 
me 
to take 
care 
of you, 
allow my 
petals to 
heal your 
wounds, 
I will gently 
touch your 
tears and 
dissolve 
them 
within 
my own
heart”
the soft
wind
tousles
her, the
painted
one
touched
upon the
flowers
heart,
“tell
me the
secret
to flight”
the fragile
one asked,
it flew
again
into the
nightly
hour,
she felt
a dew,
she
looked
up, it
was the
florist,
who
sung
to her,
“the
secret
is love,
where
it is,
there
is flight”

The
flowers
meet
as the  
words of
thought,
the
leaves
touch
in the
wind,
here,
you
share
the little
poems
of the
earth
with
me,
I hold
you
close
under
the
sun,
in each
other
arms
as a
blanket,
a place
where
we will
both feel
safe,
untorn
in the
warm
amber
glow,
healing
our
sore
souls
in our
gentle
sleep,
I will
say to
you, in
silence,
“the
answer
of your
existence
is my
home”.

Allow
me to
fly
far in
your
arms
as the  
leaves
in the
wind,
I soar
in the
tides
of the
sky,
I am
lost in
the
skies
above,
my soles
touch the
clouds,
the gaze
of my soul
has seen
and known
each thing
as you,
deep is
its song
in colors
of stars,
indigo
and
art,
I touch
the white
fields,  
and,
there
you are,
the breath
of your
embrace
opens,
I am lost,
the roses
in your
eyes hold
me close,
be delicate,
for you
hold my
heart
as your  
silent
whisper,
it calls,
“stargirl,
awaken
in the
chests
of those
who had
never
known
of their
light”
I ask,
“how
can they
not know
of it”, to
which you
answered,
“the
broken
souls,
they seek,
knowing
not how
it was
always
there”
your
words
became
my wings
opening,
to the
darkness,
I cry,
“surrender!”
and all
became
love,
the only
home.

Am I
here,
or am
I in
your
tidal
stars
of my
eyes,
seeing
your
light
in the
little
skies
joining
leaves,
they are
not far,
rather,
they
shine
near
as my
own,
the cells
of one
cosmic
glow,
a drop
of rain
falls from
the heavens
and I catch
upon it
my delicate
finger,
the dew
cascades,
I close
my eyes
and feel
the ocean in
my hands,
in silver
scales, I
dive,
in colors
of blue,
golden
and
green,
I will
forever
dream.

Under
the night,
I now
hold you
deeply, as
the sun
of your
existence,
healing
hearts
through
only your
peace
alone,
your
painted
light in
your
touch
of lips
on my
skin
lightly
as the
petals of
the sky
around
us, in our
float,
I ask
for the
delicate
in the
midnight
hours,
where
dark
is light
and
sings,
“love is
in the
unseen”,
for we
see each
other as
we are,
in all of
atoms,
love,
space,
and
time in
the touch
of your
hands
on mine,
you are I,
from the
deep
blue
rush
in skin,
to the
sacred,
we return.

A song lasts
forever once
it is held
as a secret
found, when
it tells you,
“seek me
not when
you wish
to find me,
you will
adrift to me
unknowingly,  
whether
in leaves
as pages,
stars as
eyes,
flowers
as hearts,
floating
petals as
the lover’s
touch,
the words
we share
as the
moon
drifting
waves,
I seek to
be the
one that
touches
you, as
the stars
in their
tides,
the
soft
as the
lavender
dancing,
the wind
carrying
the aroma
through
your hair,
nature
allows
you to see
the light
silently
glowing
in others,
the steps
of people
are as the
fields
soaring
under a
zephyr,
your
hands
reach
for the
skies,
I return
to you,
as your
origin, the
fragile and
deep bud
waiting to
be opened
as the
others,
whom,
as you,
await the
sunlight
awakening,
seeker of
truth, look
no farther
than the
bird upon
your palm,
singing a
prayer of
home
you will
create
wherever
you may
roam
in the
fields of
flowers and
beyond,
to the
eternity of
you and I.

They had
once been here
before, beyond
the light years still
in the calm silence
of the dreamscape
of indigo and blue,
where came the
oceans of hearts
fracturing the
fabric of the
universe,
to create
and see none
other than
each other,
in the hour
of the midnight
realm, others
passing by
are silhouettes
in time and
ghosts painted
in their dream
of tidal eyes
upon each
other, wave  
on wave,
skin on skin,  
the breath
of one
vanishing
into the
voice of
a blue
butterfly
in soft
bloom,
tears
from the
stars
cascade
on the
lovers,
their
hands
in gentle
embrace,
rising to
the night
sky as
light
as the
dandelions
are returning
to the night,
as starseeds
of many,
twinkling
amidst the
the lovers,
whom are
adrift in
everything,
everything.

A human
has many
petals of
faces,
when
in love,
there is
only one
face, in
the center
of the flower,
once it is accepted
by another,  
love is found

The blossoms are calm,
and yet still, she sings for
the heavens within, the white
heron bows to the sea water,
it sees the clouds of night
touched by lunar wind, the
lucid paintings of seagrass
contemplate the presence of the
poet floating upon the waters,
and say to her, “you too,have wings”,  
the lights beneath her
as dewdrops, bright as cricket
melody, the lone lantern glows
in the silent hour of all, where
the artist’s senses awaken
as ripples of butterflies
opening, the petals in far  
flight ask her, “are you
I?” , her starry form is light
upon the mirror of the moon,
a ghost of time and being,
she held a secret, the
beauty of imperfection
decorated her as the
stars, the heron asked her, “your
nature is delicate as my feathers, why did you wish to hide?”
she sung back “I hid because
I was afraid, I loved in a world
of no love, I realize now,
to reveal the amygdala
that lives in color is to be
brave in a world of grey,
to be delicate is a strength,
to have tears is to have power,
to paint your emotions
through eyes and lips is grace,
being is the greatest gift”
she perceived a divine
revelation, “I am human,
light and dark, I release the
suffering”, her hands floated
upon the water, the sounds
of the ocean echo the  
endless journey, she becomes
the milky amber dream, night
has turned to day, the flower of
the sea has found her home
in the embrace of the one whom
loved her before existence, she spoke not, for
all the songs have already been sung,
the eons have spoken, softly, she closes
her eyes in the heavenly warmth,
there is only the whisper, “I have
returned to you when I was never lost”

Amongst
tresses
of velvet
night upon
the moon
river, she
felt the
echoes
of her
tracing
her fingers
upon the
silvery
water, the
fairy with dark
eyes as bright
as stars
and a heart
purer than
the first
snowfall,
the voice
of her song
glides through
the clear
waters,
and high
into the
wind, letting
the leaves
dance to
her melody,
ethereal is
her barefoot
step through
the mist
shrouded
forest, her
companions
the fawn
and the
birds,
in peace
they lived,
until, a
traveler
arrived,
enchanted
by the soft,
honey breath
of her symphony,
in harmony
they were,
the strums
of his lute
shared with
her voice,
until time
had passed
for the mortal
traveler, and
he left the
forest, the
animals were
saddened
by his leaving,
the fairy flew
to the branch
they sat upon
neighboring
the celestials,
and found a
strand of
silver blonde
hair, it a memory
of her lover,
she returned
to the animals
and had hidden
it within the
earth, which
slept until
the golden
light came
upon there,
and, with
the sun
and the
fairy’s
tears from
her heart, it
was born,
the flower of
Galanthus.

The porcelain
wind of the
moon lifts
it’s wings
of mine
to see
the clouds,
deserts and
dreams of
reality as
one, the
endless
stories of
the green
and golden
fields of
painted
starlight,
the breath
of unspoken
songs in the
conversation
of eyes, too
aerial to be
held, as the
rising, gentle
wind through
the leaves,
and the hair
of lovers in
discovery
of forests
touched
with mist,
rising above
the mountains,
falling as the
song of rain,
they are
rain dancers
who see poetry
as all, and all
is water

I am the traveler
holding the
glow close,
the heart
is a lantern,
the light
through the
crevices
of my soul,  
it’s home
was once the
constellations,
and through
the white
petals, I
became
it, and
journey
to seek
the ones
to hold it
with me.

All is still
amongst
my little
waves
of ebb and
flow, I am
still, and
yet I float,
with those
swaying
daisies,
music
moving
through
the ether
that is
far yet
near, the
snowflakes
gentle on
my skin,
in the state
of being
nothing,
& therefore,
everything.

The gentle
creature was
lost in her
thoughts,
like clouds
on a starry
night, where
all the galaxies
shined for her,
the special
one who’s
light was
the brightest,
when she
cried, the
songs of
angels
healed her,
whenever
she felt
so alone,
their white
wings dress
her short
hair in
flowers of
carnations
and roses,
even though,
her beauty
was created
to be greater
than those
petals, for
they came
from her,
unaware
of how
radiant
she was,
In tears
she stayed,
until one
day, a bird
came by her
windowsill,
and sang
to her,
“you, the
fairest and
most delicate
one, came
to world
with your
wings of
white,
with the
purest
symphony
wrapped
safely in
the locket
of your
heart,
with time,
the darkness
of man haunted
your existence,
fear not, your
song will live
on forever
and more,
healing the
ones who
seek refuge
in love,
I shall fly
above,
though I
will never
be far, for
you are with
me everywhere
I soar, you are
the waves
of deeper
rising clouds,
where your
song returns
to your
embrace”,
she asks
the bird,
“will the song
heal their
suffering?”
the bird
replies,
“they shall
hear you
once they
awaken,
when the
time will
come,
when your
radiance
will be
revealed,
the flower
of you
will bloom
gardens
in their
chests”,
she then
replies
to the bird,
“as love
would
do”, the
room
fell in
silence
as the
trees,
in gentle
music, had
danced
with the
night wind,
the bird
then took
flight,
and she
heard these
words being
sung “you
have spoken
the truth, and
wisdom
shall light
your path
wherever
you may
sojourn,
my flower,
rise, and
guide the
dreamers!

She
wished
to write
the diary
of a flower,  
unknowing
of how the
pages were
endless,
as the
song
of her
beautiful
mind the
garden
came
forth
from,
her
soft
angel
eyes
opened
for the
eyes of
a book
within
her private
perusal,
where her
being had
came to the
embrace,
and so
followed
her heart,
the rest
came
In waves
as her
hands
stroked her
gentle
features,
her skin
was the
winter
moon,
though
not fairer
than her
deeper
thoughts
as a blue
sea with
the softer
whispers
of clouds,
her home
lyed within
the deepest
part of the
library,
seldom
wandering
to the cafe,
her heart
wished to
sees beauty
In others
veiled to
the eyes,
wondrously,
she meditated
upon the light
waiting to be
sought, the
butterfly
to touch
her palms,
eventide
fell as
she walked
through the
garden by
the moon,
hidden
with the
roses
forever,
the poet
of love who
gazed upon
a symphony
of dew-beads
as stars,
appearing
as shrines
of memory,
as the night
lights of a
universe
for only
her,
as she
gazed
upon them,
with her
gentle
voice,
she sang,
“can I call
this love,
or the words
of falling rain?”
as she watched,
with the leaves,
and the gentle
dew, opening for
love letters
untold,
her lips
touched
the petals,
and tears
fell from
her eyes,
and upon
the white
petals,
the night
sleeps
forever,
the tears
became
the far
tides
of an
ocean,
love is
the rose
of suffering
and beauty,
and the one
whom has
known it
lives forever
as a home
for others,
the nightingale
sings as her
ink flowed as
waves
upon her
papers,
where she
wandered, with
meditations upon
Monet arose
as lullabies
of a secret
world,
songs of
honeysuckle
and wisteria
brighter
than the
wings
of fairies,
the small gifts of
precious wonders
she held with all
the curiosity
in her hands,
as she
thought
to herself,
were these
lights, or
the few
thousands
teaching
her to
dance
from
within?
she reaches
the waters,
and the
delicate,
fair form
touched
the moonlit
mirrors,
where she
witnessed
the truth
beyond
words,
amongst
the tear
painted
petals, the
moon sings
the symphony
for her, “are you
the one I have
been seeking?”
as it’s light
touches her
wandering
steps, she
returns to
her home,
and in her
blankets,
she writes,
“to my lover,
I will remember
how we met
each other
as waves,
from the
lost, far
away
parts
of the
ocean,
we found
the shores
becoming
eyes, they had
sought themselves
to be lost in legions
of constellations
in the galaxies
of hearts,
with the stars
that waited
to be born,
the flecked
specks of light in
divinations of the
midnight hours,
and reminisced
the dappled
dreams of
colors and
witnessed
beauteous
musing, in
the cafe,
where our
conversations
poured
the seas
into cups
of tea, and
explored
the question
of metamorphosis
through words,
shifting time
through the
touching of
marble cups
and the colloquy
of our eyes, the
artistry in the
miracle of the
gentle, I walked
In flight with you,
as we shared the
unspoken stories
of our hearts
woven through
the rain,
under the
umbrellas
leading
to your
home,
where we
watched
the paintings
of the night
skies as the
memories
of us, the
lights
touched
by the
secret
garden,
where I
wandered”.
her hands
then closed
the pages,
and her eyes
rested upon
the pillow,
and the
moon
chants,
“O fair
maiden,
you are
the one
whose
existence
Is loved, the
nightingale
has sung to
you upon
It’s branch
near your
window,
though
fairer is
your
voice,
you are
the gentle
one who
turns all
of what
you have
seen to
artistry,
when
you love,
all is in
bloom,
la fleur
de lune.

You


A leaf
sings
it’s own
tale for
you, in
symphony
with the
delicate
branches
of your veins,
as you lie
there and
hear the
music you
once had
sought to
hide, you
wished to
write about
it, rather,
you closed
your eyes,
for the ones,
as you, who
struggled to
reveal their
words are
the ones
with the
deepest
wells of
feeling,
you, who
was once
amongst
those in the
sea of nothing,
sung your
song and
found a drop
akin to their
own, and so,
you and them
were no longer
a blur.

Water, as
moving
silk upon
my mind,
is the
endless
river I float
upon in
my small
wooden
boat, I
remember
the flowers
dancing
to the
song
of mine
alone,
I only
wish
to soar
amongst
them
with my
bare feet,
and forget
how I was
once the
one who
fell to
tears
alone,
I sought
to dream,
and still,
I shall,
I row my
boat, & the
milky waves
of the dark,
in their
serenity,
return the
memory
of being
under wool
blankets,
being under
the music of
the moonlit
rain outside,
still warm from
chamomile
tea, as the
gentler
summer
wind
allowing  
my hair to
roam in the
wheatgrass
fields of
memories,
as slivers of
light in the
stream of
consciousness,
painted thoughts
shifting as clouds,
I yearn to hold
those embraces
of solace, I roam
forever in the night
sea, I rested my eyes,
when I was once
in your arms,
seeking to
return
home.

A composer
of the stars,
& astronaut
of dreams,
the unsung
swan of the
night, who
draws the
paintings
of her
thoughts,
the clouds
of dandelions
fields forever
in reverie,
her sigh settles
the seas of
lilac dreams,
as music
plays, she
enjoys the
indigo hues
of a bohemian
way of life,
and every
person
on this
earth is,
in their own
way, an
eccentric
of their
own hue,
upon the
painting of
life in the
microcosmos
to the lights
beyond, one
possesses
the traveler
in the chest,
a seeker of
the secret,
unrevealed
revelations,
a hidden
lover of
truth,
a flower
always
in perpetual
rebirth,  
the secret
dancer
of the
night,
musing
upon the
wisdom
of how
every
human
holds the
aubade
within the
intricacy
of their
silver
scales,
in the
deeper
tides
of eyes
meeting
to become
one in the
balladry
of being
within each
other’s gaze,
for eyes reveal
the drifters,
who sail in
the ocean
of words
and catch
her star-dew,
where she
hears the
hidden,
secluded
symphonies,
they reveal
the lights
of their
own as
time, the
mysterious
one, flows
her fabric
and they
grow closer
to one, she
watches
upon them
unfolding,
as she
opens
her wings,
they close
their eyes,
when two
had once
seeked
to be other
than the
truth of self,
from their
chests are
opening
butterflies,
they awaken
in their
cocoon,
awaiting
the voyage
to the
moon,
the poet
sits by his
window,
and softly
sung “all of
what the
eyes see
in bloom
is poetry”

Her voice
is softer
than the
moon, her
countenance
is that of a
fragile
symphony,
soaring
in her violin
song,
she is the
paralian
who lies
upon the
shore
and lets
the emerald
become her
dress and hair,
In the night
ocean, she
hears the
vague
waves of
memories
moving as
light in the
revolving
lanterns of
her mind,
the rose of
time opens,
she recollects
of how she was
the hidden petals
of the library,
delicate in the
secrecy of her,
beyond the old
books, within
her eyes, where
he saw the layers
of her rose
unfold before
the pages
she turned,
it was magical,
he thought,
of how the
small things,
the sea flower
of her secret
garden,
was once
revealed
to none,  
realized
only by
the one
who saw
with the
heart,
the clouds
became
words
unsung
in the gentle
glass silk
caressing
her fair hands,
she mused
upon where
to begin and
end, as she,
the wanderer,
returned from
her dreams,
she closed
her eyes,
through
time,
jazz,
space
and
healing,
the loner
awakens
in the shore
and sails,
holding
the stars
In her coffee
& a vintage
camera,
and it
echoed
to her,
what she
once said
to her lover,
the gentle of
how they
floated as
petals
above the
lotus
ponds,
in the
touching
of hands
and the
secret
she held
in the rose,
I will invite
you to hear
it’s whisper,
“to love is to be
as the water,
to the silver
song, you
will return.”

I once met
a man
who was
reading
a book
before we
parted ways
and I said to
him before I left,
“I understand
what’s it like
to be immersed
in a book”, and
he said, “yes,
you more anyone
else” and so, I left
with a content heart,
forever in the memory
of the conversation,
where we were in
the deep ocean
of words, before
the wind came,
and we returned
to the shore, as
humans
once more.

Amongst my
coffee & wander,
inner monologues
and soliloquy’s,
I have seen
endless words
unspoken
found in the
meeting of
of a man and
I, whom I say
to, come,
and let us
give our
tides,
I seek to
reveal
the hidden
wonders
of your
heart,
unsaid
in your
glory,
reveal the
severed
layers
of your
rose, the
tender
and gentle
grace of
your gaze,
with stories
of the sea
I shall be
one with,
If only,
you are
willing
to show
your song,
tell me,
of how you
bloom.

We walk
through
the night,
and spoke
of infinite
realities
and myself,
I thought of
how one
may speak
as the beholder
of their own sight,
and yet, what
can be may
also be what
it is not, how
I perceive the
coffee I hold
as differing
from the
view of my
companion
within our
conversation
in this metaphysical
moment of time,
we reached the shore,
and so together,
we stayed
by the ocean,
“how do you
see the blue
of the sea
as a way
of knowing
your heart?”
he asks,
the shore
becomes
the tides,
and I say,
“I see the
strokes of
white as
my own
thoughts
immortalized
through papers,
as waves,
they will
crash,
and I will
love and
live through
others,
as a rose
opening
it’s petals,
I will bloom
infinitely
through
the hearts
of those
I love, I will
sing for the
voiceless,
and create
a symphony
for the grieving,
so they shall
grow, reaching
to the beyond
as the flower
beyond the
barbed wires,
I am the
one who
dreams
forever
and soars
beyond the
clouds, to
the rainbow
skies, far
from the
cruelty
of the
world
coming
with their
swords
at my
white
wings,
I am
the one
who has
already
flown
to the
place
I call
home.”

The waves
crash on
the shore
of the eyes,
I wished
to create
worlds with
my mind
that the
lips fail
to convey,
I observe
the drifting
journey,
as the mind
wanders to
the paintings
of metaphysic
nature, where
everlasting
stories are
found, as
I am lost
perpetually
in wonder,
on and on,
I will live
through
another,
as the dew
caressing
the endless
being of now,
the world I
had known
once cursed
me for being
a dreamer,
though I
feared not,
for the heart
of mine,
possessor
of truth,
was never
vulnerable,
tears created
the clouds
I held within
my chest,
where I
float
as the
wings of
thousand
white doves,
the cage has
fallen, I have
risen as the
one who
saw the
light in
others
when they
failed to
have seen
it within
their own
chests,
I am the
bringer
in the
garden
of words,
I am aware of
the unavowed
lost ways of
conversation,
where the
cherry
blossoms
seek the
surrender
of the leaves
within the
deepest parts
of the beautiful
mind, elusive
as the reflection,
wavering as a
chameleon,
even though,
the heaven in
my breath
will never
fade, as the
grace of the
delicate ones,
hidden to them
was the nature
of the imperfections,
forming something
so untouchably
incandescent,
I had seen
the truth,
and soon,
they shall
see it too,
I and them
shall walk
the earth,
soaring
from our
fingertips,
I will hope
they look to
the skies,
and find this
reminiscence,
where the
clouds
ripple,
angels
are near,
I will wish
for them
to see how
these words
I have written
are sacred,
for beauty
lies in
secrecy,
waiting
for you.

He observed
her closely,
long enough
to see the
emotion
and raw
human in
her eyes,
he was the
one to hold
her hand when
the heart fell
apart, as the
moon went into the
bed of the sea,
he held her closer
In his blanket,
as she wept
close to his
chest, he told
her these
words,
“close your
eyes and sleep,
the sun will
rise, and the
world will
change
for you
tomorrow,
as the
petals
opening
every
season
to meet
the love
of the sun.”
In silence,
the lovers
then slept,
as the night
sang it’s
clandestine
symphony,
the heavens
whispered
her voice,
“would you
write on
your palms
the words
of how much
I love you?
If only you
knew of the
butterflies
coming
alive in
these eyes
when you
speak of
my name
with your
smile of
dimpled
stars,
In dreams,
you will
dance
with me
tonight,
as we
come
and go,
with the
lights
swimming
In our eyes,
more lucid
than our
musing,
the lines
and faults
of who I
was fade
Into the
warmth
of your
arms
as the
wings
of a
angel,
I, the
flower
of the
desert
who
waited
for the
gardener,
found
the soft
of your
breath,
I asked
for a drop
when you
gave me
the ocean,
I am forever
grateful to
you, the salvation
whom has shown
how I will love
once more.

Have you
ever noticed
how beautiful
the clouds are?
they are the
ethereal
breathe of
dreams,
I wish, I was
not the only
one who saw
their once
hidden strokes
revealed only
to the eyes
opening for
the white
ocean,
holding
one sliver
from their
day to see
the beauty
of what they
are a part
of and
becoming
the idyll,
what they
had been
seeking
was found
in one
moment
in time,
reader,
I will tell
you now
how the
clouds
are as
the simplest
touch you
treasure,
the holding
of hands
you wish
to keep
forever,
the first
kiss you
share as
the petals
of roses
caress the
wind of the
moon, and
you will say
to your loved
one, as you
would whisper
to the clouds,
“the existence
of you is my gift”