if I could
rule your days,
I'd craft a sun
just to measure
the shadows
of your dreams.

the ring that ruled
before dawn and day,
o'er summer & an old sun
with its shafts of remebrance;

shall it remain in middle-earth
and the Dark Lord will feed upon all that is green;
shall it become fire from the mountain
and fair lairs will tremble with the wind of age.

but what is to be must be;
all we have left is what we always had:
the power of a single day that is given to us -
one road to fulfill, to live, and to love.

As I write ifs and elses
& grab some dreams
out of the shelf,

I am struck by
a miracle with beautiful legs.

I am struck again
by a feather with a soft spring song.

And I lose my mind
to these little things that belong
to that time before summer.

The melody that echoes in my humming
and your beautiful uncompromising pace
send my spinning wheel of emotions
to never ending places.

To love you is to write you down,
word for word, until the pen loses its ink,
and another days goes by in dazes
and it could rain deserts for all I care.

All of the sudden,
my poem gets touched by other,
and that’s how poetry is made,
you see?

She lives in all of us,
somewhere, somehow,
waiting to be unfolded.

And the day will come
that the best poem will come bursting
out of an entire life of compilations.

Woman, you are my poetry
and my poetry is yours forever,

since that green distant summer
when all else was set to remain
untouched & preserved

by the flower of
youth.

bitterness will **** you
faster than a cigar.

a sad childhood
or a bought one,
hard school days
or sweet sixteen lies

the cigar burns all those
days away;

they never think
you can go as far as to think
that perhaps your life
is yours to live.

With night lies a watchful sight.
Breathing lungs waiting in detox -
does it hurt to be out of the center,
on the edge of dawn, another door,
oh life could be so much more.

(black dragon under ceiling.)

She waits because she has the time;
My kid, again, returning home,
lazy school days, nothing could hold me on;

(and it dawned on me that my time, I wasted it on a dream.)

Friday ate ice cream watching the sunset,
I took her for a walk around the citadel;
Ran for miles during my youth, wasting all away,
but Time on this life is our great illusion.

New kids at the playground,
where I used to play one day.
Now, school days are over
even though I miss them so.

I took my soul elsewhere, beyond,
and I don't care where I'm going.

No, I don't care, where I'm going,
because I know I'm not going
I'm not going anywhere.

your hardest days
are the ones you really feel alive.

to be deprived of challenge
in exchange for a comfortable life
can seem a reasonable thought,

but it doesn't make for a much interesting story,
and life without stories to tell is no life at all.

so let the rain fall in your face, once in a while,
and go to nowhere, see where it's at,
and maybe on your way back
you'll find that the rain doesn't bother you anymore,
and that maybe that's because of the new you.