Sometimes he let his eyes rest on hers, it needn't have been painful,
but it strangely was.
He broke a lifetime of avoiding eye contact to show her.
She was worth overcoming obstacles for.

Flowers die off so soon
They are beautiful at the
moment they were born
but when they
wither away into the ground
no one cares, no one cries
because flowers are so easily
replaced by another bouquet of plants
the petals will fall and that is their demise
I am a flower

I am the dust in your bedroom
the kind that falls from the sky and
tumbles through the light
streaming through your windows
I am only visible to you with the
light of the Earth
I will stay on your floor and
you will walk all over me and
never know anything of it
You will kick me up and
I will leave you

I am not the blanket that covers
you up at night and keeps you warm
I do not deserve such a title
I am not the roof that keeps you safe
from the ongoing snow and rain
that happens in this town
I am not your lover, your friend
I am nothing

I am a ghost, an apparition
a wisp of non-existence

The answers we find
Shall never be as grand
As the answers we seek.

Little boy lost,
Among the valleys
And the fens.
Took shelter under cloak,
The elements to defend.

"Mother!"
"Father!"
He yelled into the air.
"Brother"
"Friends"
But there was nobody there.

The boy marched on into the torrent of the gale,
As tears entwined with rain
Drops.
Whispering forgotten tales.

Alone.

Kind of,

But the wind has a way of bringing the world to life.
As little boy lost shivers in the pale moonlight,
He comes upon a brook from the corner of his sight.
Just enough to make him stop.

Inquire,

"Where just is this stream among the mire?"

No matter where he looked, whether,
Left
                                          or       ­         
                                                                ­                       Right.
The stream remained unbidden,
Forever out of sight...






Forever is never as long as it seems,
When we are but young with youthful dreams.
The little boy no longer as lost as we.
Finds a guide in the sight of that once brook,
Now Stream
Meandering into that river to the sea,
Flowing tidal
Through waves of possibility.

Just because you break
Lines in odd and obscure
Places.
Does not mean you are writing a poem.
No rhythm,
No rhyme,
No structure
Nor Metaphor.
Just a stream of consciousness
With an occasional literary flourish.
Now I am not one to adhere too close to the rules
But shouldn't this all be in one paragraph?