Flurries of notes performing in the
musical winds , operatic showers of love ,
pain and trivial little things , score sheets of marigold
in the key of imagination , trees brushing the blue felt
o'er golden strings playing hymns of life , earth and star conjugation
The waters and the moon in tonal blend ,
the biological song that never ends* ...

You, my love, are the fleur-de-lis.

                 The offspring of innocence

                  The embodiment of purity

 


                           Silk are your eyes

       For they look on with such suppleness

      The lustre of your soul is reflected through those windows

 

                         Fair is your heart

            For it reverberates much passion

               Much tenderness; much hope

                         It loves profound

         With the suave movements of your heartbeat

               Another tender petal falls

 

 

    A touch softer than a summer's evening breeze

    Warmer than early morning's first rays

    More comforting than a new-born's first   motherly embrace

     A touch more hauntingly beautiful than nature's grace

 

 

     Une petite fleur, merveilleuse et vraie

                      Fragrance of divinity

                          Simplistic beauty

     Constantly blooming; forever beguiling

         You, my darling, are the fleur-de-lis.

Poets were born to suffer here on the earth.
Its brings out better poems when we do hurt.
It can bring the pain, and suffering out of us.
Christ can use our sufferings in our poems.
To help heal others , through our sufferings.
We as Poets have an great gift, that we should use.
To help others, whom are hurting now here.
We can be the Light, in the dark places here.
For there is so much much darkness here on the earth.
We all, should allow Christ to use us to help others.
Whom are in the very midst of dark sufferings here.

Stuck somewhere between Sunday and infinity
In purple tabloids that make life seem bland
I harden my carapace to a sick world
I conjure a future, hopeless
When the hand of God is still tied behind his throne

Cast iron April skies **** my insides
And this town's scars have never looked worse
These thoughts are too expensive
At the bottom of a bottle, and the ashes I flick
I hope to be born again a Phoenix
But the coping is just a trick
Distractions are a fix, nothing ever gets fixed

And I was having this conversation with myself last week
And next
But it's hard to talk yourself down, when yourself gets the best of you and perpetuates this mess
I am sticks and stones, no use for bones, when your words mean nothing, and you find yourself alone

Where's the light in dark waters
Found my place there in between
But my telescope didn't reflect what I thought
And here we are in the midst
Makes me question the infinite

Your watering can is full of pesticides
And the birds only come in the morning
And when they leave you're left empty
The glass is left on the table with a fading imprint
And you never notice it till the next night
When you're paying with your emotions

I tried to cry, but couldn't
I knew you'd be there, but not like I wanted you to
Where 4 AM feels like forever
And the birds try and start a new day
But that day wasn't sung for you

Movies play on the TV screen
Projecting realities
Movies play on the TV screen
But it isn't your reality

It's dusty and abstract,
the outside to the eyes.
The people, the places,
the styles, the minds;
the world isn't plaid,
it's ringed and it's crystal
made of a path that goes fireside
where there is light and there is color;
where the sounds blend together
and a binaural beat
brings a shoulder to a cheek
and kisses to knees;
they find freckles in the peace
"look, it's you and it's me."