Lately, all the days have been turning into Mondays,
A job for the sun and a career for the moon,
A pencil sketched world with only shades of gray,
Stuck in sharp angles with no curves any soon.

Now Night is a Canson paper
Static with no signs of life

No room for poetry
nor the power of imagination

It's only a time for hours of sleep,
Eight to be precise

Behind the curtains
Dreams wait for an invitation

So I'm calling for all the stars to come nurse this disaster,
To bring back nights when staring out the window was enough,
I'm calling for them to patch all the hearts that ruptured,
To free those practical minds out of their handcuffs.

When going though
old photographs
you will
come across someone that
you used to love
You can't help but
look into their
big brown eyes
and fall in love
all over again.
If only for a moment
you will  remember how they once
made you feel.

20

Distrustful of the Gentian—
And just to turn away,
The fluttering of her fringes
Child my perfidy—
Weary for my—————
I will singing go—
I shall not feel the sleet—then—
I shall not fear the snow.

Flees so the phantom meadow
Before the breathless Bee—
So bubble brooks in deserts
On Ears that dying lie—
Burn so the Evening Spires
To Eyes that Closing go—
Hangs so distant Heaven—
To a hand below.

The crowd fades away
As chords in every melody
Rings in our ears,
And shivers downs in our body
It vibrates in every muscle
A musical fusion
Almost everything didn’t matter
It’s you, me and the beating rhythm
The graceful posture
The sway of every gesture
It’s a motion adventure.

Feeling the adrenaline pulsing through
Pervading the entity
Beating rhythm pounding, it electrifies the body
into graceful art, emancipating the sound of the music
Captivating the mind, liberating the young, reckless soul
covertly hidden inside an indifferent exterior

A freeing beauty
of movement to the rhythm
A therapy to the mind and body.
Dancing to the music,
feeling every tune
every beat
every breath of every movement,
with Explosions of Euphoria

do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.