You once told me
That we're bound to
Be star-crossed lovers
Ill-fated by the Norns
Doomed to fail from
The very start

And so we remain
Perfectly unfinished
A bittersweet loose end
Beautifully haunting the
Back of my mind to
The end of my days

my loss,
maybe, one day
will pass me by

and
your name won't pop
into my head
when I see a certain arrangement of letters

and my heart won't skip a beat when I see a friendly face
and then fall when I realize it is not you
and my smile won't crack
automatically
from that laugh I used to know

maybe, one night
my dreams
will be
void of your embrace
and, I will not
feel alone

or,
maybe,
you will still greet me,
but I won't snooze my alarm
from fear of never seeing you again

or
maybe,
my loss, will be
no more.

maybe,
my love, will be
with me

I played with words
much like I fed the birds

    one morsel here
       another there

then suddenly became aware

they pulled together
     and made sense

have been a player ever since

he said he would bring me flowers;
i didn't know the kind he was talking about

he said they're the most beautiful i'll ever see
and he was right
these flowers don't grow from water though

for some reason they only sprout when my friend is around

he gives me the seeds, they fall from my eyes and caress my cheeks
sometimes, I catch them in my hands
usually I just let them go

but he is a generous friend,
always waiting around the corner

i like bouquets but he hates picking his flowers
so he flirts with my mind to capture my heart
and the garden blossoms

i used to hate him and his gifts

not any more,
i think they're graceful and they speak to my soul

betwixt ivy-clad cinder walls
seamless, infinite darkness
leaves aligning,
tendrils twirling unbeknownst
whilst syphid wisps shadowed
tangled wilderness
nightly haze conformed
as sombre forms arose

Once upon, what "is"
Has no "never be's"
Pictures, now, are strange to me

A snapshot back to a certain future
Laughter shared; tears, too
It precedes my doubtful memory
Pictures, now, are strange to me

Once upon, what "is"
Lives indefinitely
Unaware of what will never be
Pictures, now, are strange to me

Printed pieces of boundless time
Whose citizens are full of life,
Safe from looming trajedies
Pictures, now, are strange to me

Once upon, who "is"
Are now all ghosts
Free, from framed captivity
Pictures, now, are strange to me