I once saw a rose amongst xanthic flowers, even the thorns were nothing short of perfection before these eyes. time passes by as we fail to realise that it is forever an unassailable overflowing river.
Now I find myself in a garden of neanirmophics, where eyes are deceived by the beauty of decaying roses.

I'm the fruit from the tree of the northern desert.
Where the grounds are dehydrated with  cracks  that run deep in their skins.
Bleeding the veins of plants to the last drop.
Draining the essence of all living things and yet still a victim of The unquechable thirst.
The heat forever calescent. The tree pleading to the sky for a drop of hope, for angels to cry and bless us with tears of joy.

With dead dreams
Can you ever sleep?

Struggled, befriended effort
Only to return to  blankets
Of disheartenment where despondency
Warms your heart as it tears you apart.

Do your dreams die
When sleep departs?

Shattered limbs and blisters reposed in your mind.
The blood moon residing in your eyes.
Your resolves never diverging as you hobble.
Paving the path with skin, flesh and blood.

Sleeping beyond the grave
Do dreams live on?

Eyes roped by gardens of thorns and fleeting petals. Dreams whistle wonders, kindling hope, in hearts of those still asleep, wandering in dreams.

The beauty of the beast is
the beast within the beauty.
To this I was blind, until my eyes were open by rib-breaking-swords aiming straight
for my only weakness.

The mirror of your image is a broken glass.
Reflecting the scars you embedded in this heart.

Do I drown myself in a river of poison or do I close my eyes and hope that tommorow will shed sorrows and mend my heart.

We used to paint oceans of sorio lillies, across the sky pouring tears of life.
Merging memories of sore pasts and saw paths that revamped lost plants.
Without a seed, groomed roses and blossomed fields of dying daisies daily decaying dim.

Her kiss embellished wrathful storms,with red feathers of white birds drifting to the shore, of fine sand born from light zones in dark ends.

Now she's a ghost, a spirit of a wild mild mind in an abyss of enraged beasts. She's alive and breaths still,but her breath passes by the trees as though another leaf carried by the wind.
Is she in a coffin inside a casket buried beneath the garden of joy but only ripping despair, gloriously singing by herself?

The heart grows warm as the fog is lifted. While the warm light rises above the sun, enlightening the blinded but gifted.

Amated by The smell of roses, swaying with the wind while it caresses the skin, enchanting the soul as you gently breath.
The mind calm as the breeze, teeming with serene thoughts and bliss. Elation being the kiss from nature at peace.

As the day retired the moon provided a sit and we gazed at the sunset while the roses went to sleep.

Malignant Mindless Maternal, Maliciously Moulding murderous Motives.

The Peternal parted prior the proof of pregnancy, the tears of heaven gave
birth to emergencies.

On the highway way of pain lonely and melancholy on coming traffic was a thunder stream.
tradegy waiting impatiently like an honest thieve.

Her feet heavy, a womb of twins is what she carried.
The clouds washing sins from the tarmac her screams unheard,
she gave birth in silence.

Two healthy beautiful boys, baptised by the rain.
The pain she borne was no more, propelling the boys over the bridge.
The umbilical cords around their vocal cords.
Death was born and LIFE was lost

The silk of nature the gentle hands of  
   a loving mother placidly rubbing
                      swollen feet

The crystal of murmaids shimmering
   ashore mirroring the rainbows as
     though a priceless gold infused
             with diamonds of God

I'm lost in bliss gazing at the beauty
        of this magnificent field of
                     transparency

Cold and without words,thoughts
  or freewill. They stuff me to satify
         they voracious appateties.

     Cold and without a say, a plan
    to break away from these bonds
       I stand still and be led astray
          To places which they stay.

Cold and without complain eletricity
     runs wild in my veins they say
         it's to keep me alive but it's
                To distort my mind.

Cold and without care if I ever dared
       myself to leave, to death they
              Would Starve indeed.

I
am just letters, alphabets. But is that all I am? Is it really all that
I am?

I've been used to blossom flowers and array them with colours, to
admire beauty,as a  river to wash away sorrows as hope for a brighter tomorrow.

I'm in a web of scandals used  as a weapon for the bottom feeders, changing the views of mankind, giving birth to leaders.

I've felt the gentle hand of a lover, the pain of a broken heart,the tears of despaired minds, the fears of victimized villians burdened with pride.

The path to freedom is my illusion
As the light at the end of one tunnel is a light to another tunnel.

I've witness horrors in places that were hollow
I'm forever in an abyss of blissful sorrows .

Centuries after centuries I've been a mirror for reflecting notions and emotions,I confess
I am a donkey exhausted but allowed no rest.

I await the day when the last man  lays down his pen and
welcomes the grim reaper as an old friend, I too would be able to finally rest

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

Empty,
vacant notions
evicted, the land lord
dismissed them. The tenant is left standing still as though the world has been pludged into voids of deep mists.

In an abyss of shadows no glimpse in sight for thoughts which might rescue the notionless mind

As the rope begins
to look friendly wishing
in the ground he may be burried..
a voice breaks
bonds and ideas are wildfire, a disease
corrupting the mind with tranquility erupting the heart with serenity

The well of inspiration, the whisperer of words of wisdom washing away woes and wounds of wallowing men and women.

She imbues lost and broken hearts, with bliss not a drop of ink is waisted as her skill is demonstrated.

Passionate and proud, we ponder after she writes. She's the master of imagery and the Queen of Poetry.

Our wealth an unfaithful wife, she's sooner gone when perils knock.
A bridegroom to poverty you may find yourself. A glutton, not a meal will she spare.

Our vessels, dust that longs for dust, in daily decay.
Our habitats, pedestrians in paths of typhoons and waves.
Our families, cups of bliss, a well of dismay.

We dull the mind in sewers, with each sip an illusion of joy resumes, as sorrows sleep.

A well of eternal bliss longed for having rejected The Owner. The springs of life freely flows but sewers we have preferred.
The spring of life flows freely the invitation has been shared.

At the shore of the ocean I saw
a penguine flapping it's wings climbing the wind,
left the sky shattered
Into pieces I couldn't breath.

Feathers fell from the sky and
lifted what was left behind.
I closed my eyes and continued living blind.

Down a path where arteries will meet the scythe.
Deceased silhouettes suffocating in defeat.

A spark struggles to illuminate the way before the feet.
cloaked in disbelief, conversing with grief.

Climbing an empty ladder,
dreams clustered beyond reach.
With worn bones aiming to reach beyond the known peak.

Standing still
Crushed rampaged
  metals collide the face
  splashed with guts of the
      masses Massacras being
            routines in all routes the
                   scenes are blinding
                        as light flashes
                     before the eyes
                  like angry skies
                in  darker nights

           The day is reborn
      the face wiped with
  cloths of sorrow black
bags already gone but
  not forgotten, pardoned
     only when the bones have
           cracked and the body
           can no longer stand the
             pain, with holes deep
             enough to be filled
                    by the rain.

Sometimes I wonder where I should truly be
No X on the spot, no key to set me free
The past clouding me I wish it would leave me be
Nothing guaranteed, my soul held in captivity
Every corner reminds me of my past activity
My loss of personality seemingly lasting an eternity

Lost and confuse hope mizzles
destiny becomes kind
faith extends a helping hand
Ink sinks in my mind
words become alive
imagination spreads wings and suddenly I can climb the sky
my destination is home
made of potent imagery
the only greeting I know
being Hello poetry

Abandoned murals across the boarder, the walls still painted by war. The scrap yard a pile of torn limbs, needles embedded in phalanges divorcing finger from nail the soil still grieves .

Infants don't see the sun.
Autumn leaves with fleeting lives.
a thousands hills with wooden crosses rooted in, What is beneath?

An old man sighs before the last breath departs
Chasing a wind of memories escaping dark pasts. Hands mirror fire remnants, scatter across the vast lands with red tears immersing the white grass .

Even if you neglect me, hate me, thrown knives that impale me
I LOVE YOU

Even if you no longer want to see me as you indulge in all sorts of debaucheries
I LOVE YOU

Even if you point a gun in my face, telling me to go to hell and suffocate in fumes of flames of furious demons,
I LOVE YOU

Even if you give me tears everyday, crying without a voice at night as my heart slowly breaks,
I LOVE YOU

Even if love is truly  Treacherous and I had a way to escape, I wouldn't. I'll rather be smothered by the pain, because  in my heart I know that
I LOVE YOU

Deep wounds on my back, I'm a gallery of scars. Take a gander feast your eyes, a tarnished heart is my signature.

Vistiges of my soul dangling on toothpicks, dinner well relished by friends foes glimmer with empathy. Malice pleased, who is my enemy?

The excrement of animals drowning in the sewers, is that the existence the best of self I can only persue huh?

A warrior's last breath asking for help. Will I sleep quietly without a helping hand,
Will I sleep quietly without a helping hand?