Fall away into sweeter dreams, where tears are but the morning dew escaping the sun.

Sleep in fields of abundant ecsasty, where cupids need no arrows as love
is melody.

Dream of memories mirroring     mesmorising scenes. Where plants      dance to the rhythm of the wind.
Elation being the theme.

Silence breaths violence ominous sounds at night loud owls being quite

Knifes dine with guns mate with thugs and breed sons who spill guts

The old bath in young sins of love while caved by deeds of pride

At the edge of horrors the Sun rises, darkness is incinerated and peccancy is evaporated

Who knows if it’s easier to breathe through your mouth or through your nose
Through the nose I smell your sweet scent
I can memorize the sweet, trace my fingers through the depths of your collar bones
Follow your heartbeat with the tapping of my fingers on your chest
Through the mouth I can breathe you in
Your kiss is more intoxicating than any liquor I've ever remembered tasting
I find myself craving you in moments where I know you won't be there
Who knows if it's easier to breathe through your mouth or through your nose
With you, it does not matter
Not that it ever really did

.....I will smother you with love.    
hang you with pride riddle your life
           with with bullets of art.

   I will drown you in bliss. Burry
you in everlasting kisses and throw  
         you into the well of your
                          wishes.

              At the end I will reap
    you with hope and **** you with
                 joy as you rejoice.

Perpetually perplexed
Painted poignant
Pictures praising
Potent preachers

The brush is rough and
sore from years of labour
even time has aged but the
paint remains favoured

Piously positioned
Proudly portrayed
Poets patiently
Perfecting parody

The spark of passion ignites the heart, until it is engulfed in a conflagration of notions, as curiosity triumphs over caution.

The seed of wisdom, planted in fields of knowledge, is cultivated and refined in kingdoms of intellect to innovate speeches of freedom.

Blisters in sweaty palms, rubbing against the pen, as it drifts between the paths of future and past, where hope is met and joy is felt.

Consumed by epiphanies, the heart-beat is felt by trembling hands, squeezing the pen for inspiration, to bewilder imaginations, giving birth to new perceptions.