I grasp on to what is left of time
yet it dissipates elusively upon the hooks
of youth.
I wonder if I were to end it all,
perhaps I would be frozen in time;
a mere visage glancing upon the tendrils of adolescence
who claim to be "eminent for their age."

Outlined in the shadows of dawn,
the vista of ocean softly reveals
a repletion of reflection across the faint musk of light.
I ask myself again if I were able to write a sonnet within
the acres of crystalline perfection,
yet all I can do
is form a mere line
denting the shimmer
of sand.

Weaving a dance within the melodic chaos of what we call music
is as if you ask
papers to rustle in synch with the deathly disposition of pollution.
It's easy to wreck this world with beauty
if one is able to entwine more trees across the strung cracks
of breaking twigs coated with spiders and
dead carcasses of honey bees battered to the ground.
Notions of spiders being artists are tossed with
disgust with the basis of a body
inked with obsidian tresses.
People forget that spiders create
webs painting the illusion of a dew dropped sky.
And bees fumble with honey
gorged within the melting ecstasy of sweetness.
Twigs.....
may not seem capable of more than snapping in dying echoes,
but they are a part of nature.
Isn't nature considered
beautiful?

Rain,
drops across the sliver panes of
a creaking window, sliding meticulously inside the
softened pores of my heart.
The droplets of the rain...graze my vision's confusion
for in one endless second
the oceanic clarity of a rain drop
spins its hidden secrets into
a
doze
of
blood.