Whenever my peripheral vision
catches sight of that familiar flash of color,
I know the special visitor has arrived. 
I run to my window and never greet him. 
Just watch him, silently, in awe of his perfection,
inconspicuously. 
You see, 
Sometimes a glorious peacock graces 
my verbena and rose garden with its presence. 
It struts around proudly, with its trail of feathers,
judging the terrain, with those inky goblets. 
Sometimes it pecks its beak on earth
to wriggle out worms for lunch. 
Sometimes it has company. 
The cobalt blue and the earth-hued mingle,
gliding over glass blades, each movement so elegant
Their coarse voices produce a  delicious cacophony.
Other times, it stands still on the wall. 
And when a light breeze gives its feathers a gentle shudder. 
It flies away.
But remembers to come back again.

Music
is my dementor's kiss in reverse.
Puts the soul right back in.
And makes the neurons giddy with love.

I found love, I lost my way.
I lost love, I sought my way.
This path, not an easy one they say
riddled with roadblocks and potholes galore
I stumble, fall, cry, bleed
I wipe out my tears and jump in the puddles
Splash muddy water on the bystanders who stare
Determined to make
this non-linear  hackneyed path,
beautiful and a work of art.

I fill my pores with tender poetry
because words touch me in ways any lover could not.

I'll take to my grave the overcast sky,
The pallid moon adorning the black velvet,
The string of iridescent lights on that balcony,
The pea sized solitary pink flower that floats in the pool away from its family in the bushes and gently brushes against my skin bringing my attention to its fragility and life in death,
The mustard streetlights shimmering in the puddles,
The many shades of blue and rose during sunset,
The cold gentle wind that kisses my nose like a puppy's bite,
The crumbled yellow dead leaves falling from the branches that shake,
The candlelight flickering and casting genteel shadows of its loved subjects for a brevity of time,
The black and white keys of the piano pouring delicate music in the air,
The warmth of a mother's love, the father's hug and a lover's embrace.

People will do anything to escape reality. 
Some find homage in strangers' words, some in books, some get lost in music, some in some sort of impending destruction.
One may flee reality for a few moments, hours or days.
But that doesn't drive away the problem.
It keeps on staring at you, like a fluffy puppy craving for love and attention, waiting to be understood and attended to. 
How long can be ignorance a bliss?

We are intersecting lines.
Not even parallel lines.
Even though singularity exists out of this world.
Parallel lines at least meet at singularity.