Soft rains
falling
onto the quiet
unobstrusive
mornings
as seas lap
gently
against
the winter-weary
shores
of
hearts
and souls.

Buds
sprouting
and shooting
their green-rich
heads
towards
an inebriated
sun;
upwards
and outwards
in the delicate
art
of crowning
the bare bones
of skeletal
trees.

Wet grasses
slowly
changing hue
on desolate pastures
of brown
rot and decay.

Wood and soil,
flesh and blood
animated with an
optimism
going wild
with newborn
joy.

Mad in the furnace
of the mind;
mad in a hurricane
of despair;
mad in a meltingpot
of depressions -
time floods forth
in a total absence
far from reality
as cerebral fires
gust into one
panic attack
after the other -

there is no relenting,
there is no relenting,
there is no relenting......

It is your birthday,
not that you really care -
you  never were a man
for giving or taking presents;
only at heart
you appreciated being valued;
for you the wishing
or being wished
was sufficient.

It is not your will
that I am a self-chosen exile,
devoid of ambition
and with no
visible interest in anything
that you might hold dear.

Yet, like a Polonius,
in the wisdom of your years
you desire for me
what is best:
security, health and prosperity.

Maybe, the Creator,
whom you most devoutly trust in,
does, after all, move in strange ways
like your son
who has begun to pray again.

The spirit
of Erasmus
of Rotterdam
still does
and always
will
thrive
in me.

Music
flowing
in
and out,
around
and around,
weaving
and
transcending
into
eternal-like
circles of bliss
on a new
God-given
summer's
morning.

2 girls
full of joy,
linked
arm in arm
and dancing
down the road -
not knowing
yet
what the future
has in store
for them.

A pea
fell on the floor -
I picked it up
and ate it
because of all the hunger
on this 'green' globe.