Sorry no poetry today!
We’ll try again.

Weeks pass. Nothing to say-
is it not yet thought of-
sprouting, not yet budded.

We treat the sprout
the radicle deepens
budding begins
we have a seedling
on the rise.

This is the poem-
You sit there and wonder
what a wonderful change.
From ignorance of beginnings
to glorious realization:

The menthol Newport n our hands,
Orion overhead, dull street lights,
smoke from our lungs distorting the lake.
I wonder what it is like-
Like what?
how the world looks,
through your eyes.

I see playfulness
my imagination runs rampant,
merging realties to become-
surreal. I disrupt the compliant
by paving the roads with
trees of broccoli-

So that is your world-
we share the desire,
to glorify our imaginations
surrealism you say-
romanticism I suggest.

I have to tell you.
I do hate broccoli.

As the pen strokes fade away
I find myself flustered-
as the cinder block wall collapses,
freeing the plains- the single tree
full of dying leaves begins to shake-
the dead boughs and pages.

Brimming with hope-
but alas the pen stroke is gone,
all was as it should be-

I see some strange sights,
a world within the chasm-
slowly filling up,
flooding the fields of imagination.

There is a desert left,
a blip here and there-
finally joined the herd.

So this is what its like-
seeing the allurement,
yet doing nothing more.

Seeing the world fall
the people failing one another
I find solace in knowing
that even through life
we are more than chemical reactions.

Screaming through 3/8 inches
of the human skull,
longing for the rains-
over the empty manor,
Followed only by a sickening tapping.

How cursed is thought...

Seemingly lucid yet never seen,
A giant within humanity -
Dotted between initials.

The blandishment of all-
Without visualizing fragments.

Never staying for long,
Falling into bluest firmament-
Flying towards the abyss.

Left to wonder among crowds,
From a simple blueberry waffle
Comes the labyrinth of thought
Yet not trapped finally living.

Closing my eyes as I attend dreams,
I come across an iceberg.
I understand all-
I comprehend the unimaginable,
and just as suddenly I wake.

My eyes are accustomed-
there is darkness-
brightened by halogen lights-
an empty veil spied upon,
spoiled by the idea of....
something more.

There is a sea of I's
then there is just I.
Yet no one really notices.

Welcome to the day,
a boring drag of thought.
Longing for breath,
as the brilliant Balius battles-
the remaining refugees, of the mind.

Welcome to the night,
the manor opens, the garden-
a parfum arises, the sepulcher looms
begging to be joined.
The grave of heroes
the sepulcher engraved-

Imagination.