The perfect poem exists
But not
It’s the one that jumps into your mind
When you don’t have the time
To commit it to permanency
And as much as you try to
Grasp at the vapors
It will forever remain a mystery
But isn’t that what perfect things are supposed to be?

The eye sees-
Singular, as I am only,
In corporeal, in tangible form;
We are 1 out of many.

When our cup runneth empty,
Many welcomes back the one;
As a droplet joins a water's body-
Like tides taken back by the sea

As dawn & Sun meet

We are as day,
The slim slivers of light that separate
Night, from next night; the fleeting life
In the darkness that permeates.

I know you want
a conversation
not sure what there is left to say
I left
I walked away
not sure what there is left to say

Leave your feelings here
your emotions
and your deepest thoughts
I will mind them
sacred here within my heart
locked within a lovers vault
they will live here
forever
without fault

Sitting in a café
Watching the people
Talking and smiling
People from everywhere
Languages of the world

Watching the staff
Coming and going
Bringing orders
Like an orchestra
Languages of the world

People on their phones
Eating and drinking
Texting and talking
Laughing
Languages of the world

Baked goods on display
Beautiful desserts
Smells of things baking
People buying bread
Languages of the world

Street scene playing outside
People out and about
Bright sun shining down
Blue sky dotted with clouds
Languages of the world

People talk, more than I.
I am ashamed of my past,
And confused about my life.
Where the history, of many lineages
Is well-described:
I am unaccustomed with mine.
What I know, of right & of wrong,
Is it predicated on the rule of the weak
By that of the strong?
The gaze thus glares from my eyes,
Does it live in black & in white?
Does bruised fruit still grow ripe?