You were the days
that walked past me
when a maternal touch
melted my griefs
drizzling the drops
of sorrow's retreat

You were the days
that sang to me
the replies of the leaves
on my memory's tree
that refused to fall
but swayed in peace
to the music beneath
the subtle calls
of an autumn's breeze

You were the days
that gifted me dreams
where I could relish
the waves nudged
by the silver ferry
that blissfully rowed
across darkness's sea
as a flavour that was sweeter
than sweetness could be

You were the days
that deserted me amidst
the dance of the waves
that drowned me within
an ocean of solitude
the waters of which
failed to quell
the thirst of my desire
for your immortal kiss

Weakened by the venom
of the serpents of senility
as I lay
chained to the cot
that awaits my bid
bloomed again
a million flowers
that portrayed heaven
behind the doors of my mind
whose beauty spread
an aroma of glee
the kiss of oneness
between childhood and me

Take my golden wings and fly away
Through dark of night, through light of day
When you've found your paradise
if it be summer sands, or cystal ice
Sit and wait for me under the moon
I shall come to find you very soon
It is not yet my time to fly
so not for long we say 'goodbye'

First I thought that life was fair.
Then I hoped that life was fair.
Then I learned that it was not, but tried to make it so.
Then I knew that it was not and sensed a loss.
Then I tried to make it fair for others,
Then I helped them grieve,
But I did not
And suffered long.

Now others comfort me
And gently draw the tears that never fell.
And soon,
Perchance,
I will accept life as it is,
And change it not
And thus
It changes me.

look at the stream of life, the
streaming of consciousness,
each in their own contained,
Untouchable
bubble. their private world, heading
in one direction, toward

One destination.

yet separate, disparate, diverging,
Disassociating. Why is this? as
machines show no recognition, so
too, is the car’s shell aptly
assumed; purposeful, intent, yet is this
humanity?

oh but there is not time to
Stop. to think reflect muse wonder for,
the stream continues, rushing…
flashing… by, in a droop, a mere
flutter,
of the eye. is this an

Escape?

the final great escape? or just
Life
as we know it.

To Paint a Water Lily

A green level of lily leaves
Roofs the pond's chamber and paves

The flies' furious arena: study
These, the two minds of this lady.

First observe the air's dragonfly
That eats meat, that bullets by

Or stands in space to take aim;
Others as dangerous comb the hum

Under the trees.  There are battle-shouts
And death-cries everywhere hereabouts

But inaudible, so the eyes praise
To see the colours of these flies

Rainbow their arcs, spark, or settle
Cooling like beads of molten metal

Through the spectrum.  Think what worse
is the pond-bed's matter of course;

Prehistoric bedragoned times
Crawl that darkness with Latin names,

Have evolved no improvements there,
Jaws for heads, the set stare,

Ignorant of age as of hour—
Now paint the long-necked lily-flower

Which, deep in both worlds, can be still
As a painting, trembling hardly at all

Though the dragonfly alight,
Whatever horror nudge her root.