A bird sits alone,
In the forest of Vive
Its delicate whisper,
Another does heed
They flutter through trees,
In a tango of attraction
Intricate flight heats;
And ignites their passion
But one does leave;
And one gives heartfelt chase
A true hopeless romantic,
Lost in the forest's wake.

Two orchid petals glisten gingerly,
In the ripples of the moving pond

Two stars blaze passionately,
In the sky's veiled moonlight

Two butterflies flutter an auburn dream,
On the lilypad's emerald contrast

And two eyes radiate life and love,
As her cheekbones flush deep scarlet, and her smile steals my breathe.

The scholar sits,
To ponder his cursive.
Words are intangible;
Yet, so intricately immersing.

Flee the scene;
Mind, take cover - No!
We must abandon ship.

The battle is lost,
Cover will not save you now;
You must let go.

As the depths rust the ship,
Its living moments reorder and recast;
Transmute and alter.

Its iron-cast reality dissolves away;
It is no longer your ship,
It is no longer your memory.

Now you may float once more,
Undburdended, unhindered - unknowing,
Until the next screaming vessel

Meanders by...

She was the epoch of beauty;
As her silken hair cascaded,
Over the slender form of her shoulders

She was the epitome of purity;
As her gentle whispers dispersed,
The darkness from within his soul

She was the personification of heaven;
As her endless love entwined both,
Drawing them blissfully ever-skyward

She was the relief of weightlessness;
As her soul helped bear his grief,
The burden of sorrowed life extinguished

She was the extremity of destruction;
As she drifted from his presence,
The truancy leaving his soul condemned

She was the essence of life;
As he felt it drift from reach,
Her auburn eyes, fading from memory.

She was.

We are,
Intangible
And,
Isolate.

He spoke with such eloquence;
As he piqued her interest
He spoke with such intelligence;
As her cheeks did blush
He spoke with such confidence;
As she succumbed to his charm

He spoke with soft promises;
As the romance drew her
He spoke with burning passion;
As she fell into his arms
He spoke with sweet poems;
As she fell hopelessly in love

He spoke of their future;
As she was lost in their present
He spoke of his soul-mate;
As she was lost in his soul
He spoke of forever;
As forever took hold

He spoke of hopeless romance;
As she uncovered his disguise
He spoke of fate and destiny;
As she saw through his facade
And, he spoke of true love;

                    As she realized,
                             He had only,
                                              Ever,
                                                Loved,
                                                  Himself.

I've learnt that I crave acceptance
So is this poem an epiphany;
Or simply, a cry for attention?

Burning blazes,
Warm hearts
Stars embrace,
Their counterparts

They stood within,
The garden of old
Forgotten to time;
Left to unfold
The lily-bush bidden,
To grow wayward free
Birds of paradise dance,
With no eyes to see.

Our lives lead down solitary roads;
Yet, these roads lie so close
How so often then must we just miss
A soul who could share our woes?

He stands by the pond,
And marvels her Auburn eyes;
The sun cannot comprehend,
The beauty with which they shine.

The cosmos cannot wonder,
For the beauty of her soul

Alas, this day is dark;
And he stands by the pond, alone.

If only his hatred
Was as transient
As her love
His rage burns with passion
Yet all her love
Is lost.

He lied so casually;
Such little meaning in such big statements.
When he said “I love you”, did he ever truly mean it?
Has he ever meant anything? Was his whole being merely a facade?

Chasing the answers;
Does he ever truly wish to find them?
He finds depressive thoughts comforting;
So lost in self-pity, he loves to feel sadness.

Something to hold deep within.

He bleeds words onto paper, too afraid to bleed in the open;
An ever-spiraling cycle.

He knows his demons are many;
He knows his demons are self-made.
Depression grips him, as depression is relief.

Is the world even real when his thoughts are so inward and selfish?

Lost. Lost. Lost.

Do I want to be found?
Do I want to find myself?

I think not; I fear I am not the person I would like to be.

When did he turn into me?

How did this happen?

A loss of orbit,
Her gravitational forfeit;
She no longer greets the moon

The galaxies have strayed,
From her intravenous decay;
A mind no longer in this celestial room

She cries tears of river floods,
And cascading molten blood;
That ravage at her innermost core

Now wildstorms of polluted rain,
Course destruction within sorrowed veins;

                                          
                                          Without
              ­                                    Her Sun,
                                                        My ******

Cannot Endure.

He awakes to her form;
Sleeping so gently
Alas, it is not her;
Her eyes are blue
Not the Auburn,
He knows so well.

Once my soul takes leave,
I implore no mourning.  
I float free and liberated,
In the empty expanse of eternity.

The quill welcomes,
His sorrowed soul
Upon weathered parchment,
His lost mind scrawls
The words are merely ink,
Yet scribed in blood
He asks her forgiveness,
But he asks too much

Candle flames flicker

As life does so burn

Those lost to the abyss

Do rarely find return

The world has cascaded;
Skies,
Have dispersed.
The wind has ferried
Our souls,
Wide
And distant,
But,
Fear not,
My dear;
For you are
Infinite.

The candle sits awaiting its charge;
Alas, I remain in darkness.

We are lonely trees in distant fields
All I can hope
Is that our roots reach out endlessly
Until they touch again
And we can grow together once more

All I want is to watch us blossom

I don't want quick fixes or easy outs,
I want struggle and decision

The end of the line, the start of a new direction

I want to love so deeply that we change trajectory to aim for the same crash

I want the chaos of space

I want to feel the weight of the world and the weightlessness of the universe

I want us to traverse the himalayas and drown in the mariana trench

Just to be reborn as a new us
A new perspective
A new life

A flower dropping petals to the compost to grow again, with all the memory of what could go wrong and how to blossom correctly this time

I want to be so enthralled in the blanket of you that I suffocate under its weight

But I am not suffocating
I am screaming, in silence

I looked at my hands the other day.
Really looked.
I saw the flesh, and the sinew, and the odd curves as the tendons snake their way back into their home

I saw my right ring finger;
Remembered there was a scar
And I looked,
For a while.
And I saw it

Faded but there,
Clear and standing.
Brazen roughness against the smooth porcelain.

I remember an event,
I'm not quite sure.
A fall.
A scrape.
A tumble.
Some sort of momentary tragedy.

I don't remember how it happened now.
And I found comfort in that thought.