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Love should heal
Not feel like
An incurable
Disease.
sometimes you will want things
that aren’t meant for you
that aren’t going to
bring you love,
safety and clarity,
they are most likely
to cause you more damage
and harm in the long run.
so don’t..and i beg you..
don’t trade
your peace of mind,
your health and heart
for a fleeting moment of
what is known to be
a masterfully
executed
illusion.
Deep into the midnight
below the gleaming star,
I stepped on the running wall — the creation of Nirvana,
lights.

Heaven's an enigma
a forged between the steely and the curve
the star's collision and the minor parts
have the iciest heart — a grain of Truth.

Prophesy the future,
shuffle the sheets
and let them look at
your eyes — does it carry the dullest truth?
Or a blundered ignorance?

Does the dawn of the newborns
form the hallowed mysteries
of heaven's plea?
Into the Unborn
where the sky holds a mere certainty.

You climb long — to match the moon's faint
and the beaming sunlight;
where the galaxy
was just as narrow
as the strange fragments
of what we see?

Then if beneath us was the roaring storm,
will it expose the unborn?
Will the dream catch us
when we fall asleep?

Into the future.
this is what happens when we have a clear vision of our dreams, yet an obscure journey we'll have when we try to reach it.

we tend to overlook the hardest part, yet so easy for us to be in a figment of our imagination.

can we unfold the existence of Truth?
Tears from the mystical sky
seeped in through my shoulder—
as I let its fervor tears
dampen my lowly soul;
he said, “hear me out”

The way it moves around
sailing toward to broaden
mysterious mists—the plastic clouds
covering most of the gleam of the sun
and the way he murmurs into my ears—
I can never get out again.

While strange stares pierced through
my core—a menacing way of
forcing unraveling fragile pieces
of my silent port, and there I
let a foreign one
travel his way through—
sailing beneath my springs.

On this day of August's chilly afternoon—
while the tears of the mystical sky
tumbles through my shoulder—dripping
my cold dry bones.
after a week of not writing.
When your buddy
Sets up
An elaborate joke
With an international
Recording artiste
Done with skill
Thats completely
Bespoke
Then the only way
To view it
Is from the status of love
Because that's the way
He was thinking of.
snow white egrets glide,  

tip-toeing through reeds so green,  

morning whispers peace.
Good morning dear hellopoetry poets ❣️ wish you a day full of strength and inspiration, been feeling stuck in a rut of late... some healing is taking place as I keep writing about the same time in my life...
 Jan 31 Mike Hauser
Emma
skeleton leaf rests,

veins trace whispers of autumn,

time pressed between lines.
A special bookmark I have.
 Jan 31 Mike Hauser
Emma
golden shadows drift,

ripples cradle mirrored scales,

silent sunlit dance.
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