we are duly taught
when moved from one
to another spot
what was will longer be
and soon things will turn
to memory
and that fondness
will gladly lurk
on the shoulders
which will soon shirk
what was then,
but isn't now
it is the way
things turn about

irrevocably.

fingers
tightly wrapped
to comfort, clutch harder,
a single caress
to reinstate
the vows
two golden bands made,
every day.

Ripples on a steady pond
chase each other to the brink
cease to exist therein
but aren't to be denied
their try. I don't know why.
The pond remains heavy
without any recollection
of the stories that are told
by the sun's reflection
on its shallow
facade,
which never lasts.

A gust of wind
spread them far and wide.
Wading through blades of grass,
crawling through mud on my knees,
feeling for those jagged edges,
I place together, piece after piece.
Some caved to the power of the wind,
crumbled in the face of glory,
a few drowned, or let themselves go,
with the river that ran in fury.
There are many glaring holes
than run so deep,
the picture looks bleak,
but the ragged pieces will fall,
albeit in the end of it all,
I will truly have,
to show the world
a wonderful story.

Free falling rain,
do we color you
when you land?
Turn your hues,
from white to blue
when you fell
with no such plan.

The man I love is broken,
my dark secret in the open,
all of me is now
revealed.
Broken stars on a crimson sky
I walked on glass bright as light
towards a shadow I couldn't deny
was a lie.
Fate decreed, I hurt my feet,
and waking up I felt relieved
under the noon time sun
my madness would ebb
and I would set free.
This yearning then
wouldn't leave me trembling
and glowing eyes in the dark
wouldn't make me retreat.
Yet there I go,
the same room again
where windows stand tall,
and he with them,
in moving shadows,
my broken man,
bends his head and stretches his hand
and I stand still,
watching all of this,
while I'm asleep.

Hundred heads rolling in the dust
under a crimson sky
enveloped in the smell of musk
there stood I, victorious,
in a battle against my creed.
While I also lay dead
laden in white and a smile,
bittersweet,
losing my soul to greed.

There is no boundary
but only ego sheathed
in time,
the unparalleled truth
is a limited guideline.

And so I am false,
my identity only a clue
before the hourglass turns again
and fallen kings rise to sing
the battle won is reset
parodies made are not of me
the mirror reflects different things
scars whittle, memories mold,
and events I thought were nothing
now cost me more than gold.

The switch is mine,
but not mine to make,
but when it does happen,
it is for me to take.

Unless I roll the dice today,
and make a choice,
to only realize..
the hourglass turned
the wrong way.