Sometimes, we all need to escape.
To free ourselves from the burdens of those around us.
To distance ourselves..
To fly away...
Disappear...
So we hide ourselves in playing sight.
Lose ourselves in sepia clouds of unspoken lust,
Floating..


Weightless above the world below.
Not to be "better" than the ones beneath,
but to forget they ever existed.
Glancing over your shoulder just in time,
Watching them wither away,
Suffocate in the dust you left behind,
Like moths wreathed in flame.

And you do forget,
You soar to that special place,
Your haven, surrounded by two way mirrors,
Walls where all can see
But none can watch.
And everything is perfect.
Until you come down,
And the mirrors shatter into red hot shards
That tear into your flesh
in a way only reality can.
The rush is gone.
your haven, diminished.
Remnants of your egotistical ****** lie strewn about,
In the form of smoldering wings
On a dust caked floor.....


Somewhere in the rubble


The ones you escaped...




Are still gasping for air.

Scarlet lips done in roses. She kisses
the sun goodnight, leaving crimson
smears on the horizon.

She ties black orchids to her ebony
curls; copper-colored hands weaving
redolence into midnight gold.

The night holds her close. She caresses
the leaves and play in
shadows that move like smoke.

Her amber eyes catch moonlight like
glowing drops of honey. The tears from her
eyes always the sweetest.

Operatic tones held in drifting  
petals; zephyr notes from her
soothing voice played by trees.

The sun lights a bonfire on the horizon;
she gently kisses the embers
and recedes like the tides.

Fire drains into blue light.
Orange seeds dot the sky. They look
on and see him kiss her in the morning.

Let's pretend this
fleck of glitter isn't

simply a garish
pink freckle on a

blank canvas,
but an endless sea

bedazzled by a
playful, young mind.

Can you feel it?
This rolling wave of
Movement.

Can you feel it?
The calm before the storm
Precarious.

Dreaming of a fall.
Faster and faster.
Slam into the ground

And walk away.
Untouched.
A crater in nothingness.

Rasping echoes of
Emotions
Crawling through a briar patch of silence.

Vibrations follow
Feelings
Flying through a thunder storm.

Contort you mind.
Square hole for a ****** up
Sphere.

Mental constraints shattered.
Reborn in a
Sacrificial circle of the corpses of

Conscious thought.
True memory.
Dies.

Live with the fear
That
Everything you see is a lie.

Contortionist nightmare
As everything becomes fixed.
No more pretzel circles of thought.

Eat your heart out
One ventricle at a time.
As you're brought back from the edge.

Echo the torment in silence
The earth tremors.
Can you feel it?

Echo the silence in torment.
The skies warp
Can you taste it?

Wind blown dreams
        just fade away
                One feeling at a time

Small comfort
       Your world collapses.
                And all that's left is dust


While your memories cry out.
        Thunderclap. Blindness.
                Everything fades away.

                                                       One
                                Thing
        At
                                                                  A
                                                    Time.

Can you feel it?

The thunderstorm comes.

White pages
stained and blemished
Once ******
now yellowed with age

Passionate words
blurred and faded
by tears
long since dried

Thin lines
holding memories
of kisses, soft touches
and pleading eyes

Paper treasures
Printed gems
Buried
by a sea of years

No one knows
why they are kept
locked away
in a cherished nook

Until they are held
by trembling hands
on lonely nights
when old hearts ache

She speaks to me in riddled rhyme,
Melodic verse, and metered line.
Voice so pure, as if not spoken
Only thought, timing unbroken.

I hold her dear, a mystery
As I love none, not even me.
Her beauty, beyond perfection,
Her love, my only obsession.

Would I give that which she gives me,
I would my soul, so that she could be.
For she is my sun, my sky, my trees,
She is my only love, my lady...

when the leaves are turning red,
time is rife with parting words
as we say goodbye instead

of hello to fleeting birds,
and the schooners out at sea.
time is rife with parting words.

hidden in the poetry,
of the gypsy butterflies
and the schooners out at sea.

then return with stronger ties,
to the pattern in the wings
of the gypsy butterflies.

an imagination sings,
bland acoustics of an ode
to the pattern in the wings.

branches creaking secret codes
when the leaves are...