On the porch of a weather worn house, sits a creak old rocking chair. It moves slightly when a good breeze blows and you can hear it speaking ever so slowly. It tells a tell of aged grand parents rocking a new born babe. It tells of many a night spent staring at the stars, while holding someone you love close. The chair is a silent witness to many a times that have gone by. For the good or the bad, it is a place still that brings me home and reminds me of what home is to me.

it is hard to love someone
while you're grieving
the loss of the person they used to be.

my brother hasn't spoken in weeks.
a headstone reads,
here lies the brother you once had,
and the flowers I placed there are barely living.
I've spent all of my time digging him out of one grave,
only to discover there's an entire cemetery left to unbury.

my mother hasn't smiled in days,
and exhaustion has become
the guest that has overstayed its welcome.
misery usually loves company,
but I am anxious for it leave.

I am homesick for a house
that I once lived in.
I am homesick for a place
where only love grows
from this family tree.

one day a giant stepped on a flower
it wasn't big flower
for it was still growing
a sprout not to long ago
but it had just began to bud
ready to say hello to the sun
and ***** you to the world
because it had beaten the odd's
many had tried to grow here
and all had failed
lang long before they even grew pods
but this flower was different
a beautiful color
peaked out of it's bulb
and it's fragrance
already lighted everybody's  day
but this flower did not know
in witch garden it did grow
for giants don't like flowers
no matter how pretty and sweet

Her heart was full of bookmarks
From those who had once loved her pages,
But not enough to finish what they had started.

Poets, like
madmen and prophets,
are banned from
the Kingdom of Reason,
as they are
the progeny of the sun
(the sun who illumines as he blinds)
and the siblings
of the rays
who never tire
of beating
the world into
magnificent new shapes
that fascinate us
all – including
Unwavering Moon whose
lonesome secret is to be
madly in love
with the rainbow.

© LazharBouazzi, May 26, 216

There are 2 exits.
3, if you count a 6 story drop.
She accepts it
i just want to stop.

There's a table, some chairs.
Decorated with some sort of dead or dying flower.
Her tracing fingers, my raising hairs.
Rats run in the shower.

i can't find the carpet
she found the bed
with my fate set
to that room i was led.

the seconds ran miles
my mind went too
she called these acts, trials
to lose your youth.

When it was over
your sweat turning stale
you called me your lover
i called you my jail.

You took yourself away from the crowd
to the dark sea's edge. Alone and silent
you stood watching the waves.
I could not know how big your thoughts were.
I only remember your eyes
and the night
and the sea.