If you think I'm writing things to you,
you're mistaken.
I write everything down to you...

.
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's the tears that trickle with radiance through words.
     It's a treasure trove that hides but longs to
     be found.
          It's a book shelved high that wants to
          be read.
               It's the freest of all birds caged but
               unbound...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't beat to the capable strokes of the artist.
     It doesn't pump in the most vibrant of
     colours.
          It doesn't wield a paintbrush to
          translate its thoughts.
               But it can see through the eyes of
               painters...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't conform to the conventional parameters of lyrics.
     It doesn't bind itself to the requirements
     of musical harmony.
          It doesn't follow the conventions of
          genres.
               But it sings its voice loud without
               restrictions of melody...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's an open secret, that whispers in metaphoric codes.
     It's an exploding universe, that merges
     back into galaxies.
          It's a sought after painting, that boasts
          of unfathomable beauty.
               It's an everlasting song, that echoes
               within the poet that embodies...

Art, unborn,
aches to find form;
to manifest itself.
Within me it screams,
while those around
remain deaf to its cry.

It claws to free itself
from mortal chains,
restless to share its vision
with the world;
to tell its story
in verse and beauty.

This art within,
impatient, cannot wait.
It struggles to find
its voice
within my finite days
and world.

Until at last,
like a volcano,
unable to restrain that voice,
it erupts,
and my art flows out,
spilling onto paper.

The words and images
become solid,
taking form,
giving birth to the art within.
Thus, completing me,
quieting the cry inside.

Fragmented lives entangled
but asunder in our journey
as our paths cosmically connect
in a romance of the arts

And who's to say what's real
to touch or deeply feel
what will truly last
or simply where to start

So I’ll
paint you alla prima
as I feel you playing me
in warm colors of merging ardor
a wet blending of artistry
my brush strokes of your body
painted in my mind
of impressions blushed in passion
in hues I can’t describe

Suspended in the moment
floating on a breeze
I revel in this picture painted music
almost in disbelief, unthinking…
knowing every nuance of our love
found only in our dreams

Like children in parallel play
I’ll finger the keys
and slip the locks
of all your orchestrations
filling the walls
of my concerts halls
with deep
splattered tones
in pinks and blues
the hues
that forever
bind us

And we’ll not look back
nor forward
but hang here in the moment
to display our
Painted Song
in the eyes
of giggly children
both doing
our own thing
together
on a string
curated

Destination home...
Making my way
Sleepy heads leaning
End of the day

Different people
Diverse ethnic races
Same endpoints
For us nameless faces

Where we're headed
Timeless cues
Rain-stained windows offer
Only blurred views

Beautiful display
Droplets colliding
Like liquid missiles
Crashing and merging

Yellow street lamps
Neons on buildings
Vehicular signals
Intermittent flashings

Reds, greens and ambers
Fighting for attention
Blues, whites and their hues
Feast for perception

Myriad colours
Refracted and broken
Prism induced dispersal
Little light show haven

Quite the spectacle
This dance and flight
Kaleidoscopic effect
Between water and light

Rain didn't abate
Unleashing full fury
All of us still safe
Capsule of tranquillity

Watching the chaos
Still silently looking
Overwhelming wonder
Heart is choking

Found myself tearing
At the sight of this view
Realised for certain
That I'm missing you...