You are a creator.
A painter of lyrical ART.
A poet.
My Guru.

Tears roll down my cheeks to my lips and teach them. Teach them to speak, loud and clear of my soul's burdens. Teach THEM to teach the droughted minds that wander, of a Paradise Oasis in the bitter one's Hell. Teach my lips to scream and cry and yell and whisper, loud enough to be gentle, and soft enough to be stern. Tears roll down my cheeks to my lips and teach them to be free.

Scorch me.
Your skin igneous; armoured with flames of flight.
Contact.
Blue fires; mesmerizing colours of spiritual reactions fill the air.
Dancing shadows light the night.
Put out, light up and put out again
as midnight smoke rises into midnight sky. Honey bees fail to turn away.
Union of the cobras
As Egyptian kings and queens grin.
Southern suns blaze blissfully beside the moon.
Finish line content, racing at a gradual pace.
Together, together, Our Ritual Begins.

In the Moon's Morning, lay The December Skyline, that sang the songs of the Hollow Man's lullaby.
The Black Sun's Days showed a truth they all feared and so, like children, they hid under The Moon's Skirt.
And when they finally understood the honest face of morn, was when the sun shone no more.
Under The Moon's Skirt, they were forced to live. A glimmer they destroyed for it's beauty was the darkness they feared.

I breathe stones with my heavy heart.
Angry at the sun for leaving me in the dark.
Breaking twigs and pulling grass, to keep the mind, occupied.

Soles cold; bare feet on ice.

A naked infant on the streets in June.
Staring at the window, looking at nothing.
Empty and distant, yet filled with rage and nearing
death.

Split hairs and pulsating veins,
Trembling fingers; drowning pupil.
Lone pebble in the desert, chair with no legs.
A Plant dying in the corner of my blooded eye.
It's leaves wilting, like little green teardrops.

Content frames holding within them, memories of a joy that once was.
Thoughts like a dagger, the sharpest blade in your kitchen.
The knife that you hide from your teenage kin.

My busy world, my lonely place, my mind.

Are the trees free?

I see how they dance, lone in the forest, forced to sway by Nature's Magician;
A warrior tyrant known as Wind.

Do they move to the tidal breeze's rhythm, hypnotized and generalized?

Or do they move to their own indie music, spiritual and free?

The waterless storm tumbles violently inland, grumbling and growling and stepping on trees and sand.

The leaves silently rattle and slowly begin to speak, stories of gloom and whispers of deceit.

The roots pull and grip and handle the storm, much pain and withstanding until each one is broken and torn.

The bark, clinging to twigs like a heavy-set leash, a harmless dog shackled down like a vicious beast.

Through thunder and lightning strikes or the bright moonlight, the tall trees stand short, everyone of every sort.

Woken up and forced into sleeping by moody, indecisive seasons. Taken aback by the events of intangible attack. The trees are controlled by a lifeless form and forced to sit lifelessly in the land of the norm.

I had a dream last night
it was as vivid as you.
I was as I am
and my senses as they are.
I remember the dream
from top to toe
With every sensation
in limpid detail.
In the planet outside,
I rested my sole
on the ice-tiped blades.
I felt splendor through my spine as Its bones bent and curled alone.  
Abaft the noting of
a harshly kind earth,
I danced
to the sharp song of its night.
Spreading my arms
and lifting my chin,
I closed my eyes
to soak it all in.
The chills surrounding me,
raw and rimy, were
lustrous and simply plain. Through the journey of
sensual assault,
I heard shivering leaves
in the stinging gloom,
And creaking trees
with their torrid barks.
I saw the moon's humble grin,
as she invited me into obscurity.
She'd intrigued another empty soul.
At the sight of her gentle beam, I knew the moon would allow my admiration;
I knew she would embrace
the orchid in my eye.
And so the moon did.
I felt her breeze as it kissed my skin.
I felt the beat of my speeding heart, I was humbled by
thrill revealing itself in goose bumps.
Amidst the winter scent,
Were flowers waiting to blossom,
as if the ungrown buds
were longing for spring.
The glow of the stars,
hidden behind barren night sky,
was mesmerizing;
like consented hypnosis
by natural illusion.
I was drawn in to the eventide, I was lured into the outside.
Silvery captivation by the whispers of shadowy darkness.
A place I had never seen,
a world I had never known,
A place kept secret by the moon's sweetly glittered glow.
It felt like the road, like a journey of revelation,
And it reminded me of the consciousness you so chivalrously showed.
It restored your innocent touch,  it made me feel alive.
The taste of mid-eve,
so severe and true.
I had a dream last night,
and it was about you.