Give nife to bed people
they will ****.
Give it to good people
they will save people.

I love the rain
that comes in the morning
announcing a new day
has arrived,
it cleans my soul so deeply
that I feel my spirit so alive
the smell of the fresh trees
and the singing of the small birds
are so sweet to my ears
its smell is so good to my nose.

Dear beautiful,
There's something about
The way you write my name
And how you wrote to me
In such a way that
I could hear your voice
Through the paper.
There's something about
The way you describe how
You can't seem to get me off of your mind;
Trust me,
I know the feeling.
Sincerely,
Yours
P.S.,
I love you too.

The painter has her paintbrush.
She swipes and glides it across,
A picture of red moves and she smiles.

The sensation of this pretty picture,
Gives her pure bliss.
Pouring her heart and thoughts into this picture.
And smiling as she starts to see black.

Over a hundred glides from her sharp paintbrush,
But that isn't enough
Sadly she knows she needs to stop,
If she does not want anyone to suspect.

She cleans her weapon.
She smirks and wraps the art in white,
Enjoying the pain.
Then she lays down, closing her eyes, and falls into a dreamless sleep, hating herself.

Visions are made from memories
cast unbidden to consider
what will bubble from the depths
informing goals through history

echoes evoked in night’s dreams
behind the walls that none see
except for the witness asked to view
testament stated to relive

reminding the future of what may be
based of reveries of past days
what’s now lapsed will return
asking the dated to be reborn

the karmic asking for its due
chimera born of old and new
a destiny stated in fantasy
now the future will reminisce.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180908.