music is
rain
mingled with the sun.

I remember a day
when purpose could be found
with ease,

now, I strive:
what once was winter love
has touched the summers of my life
and forever molded the seasons.

poetry became too personal.
At some point,
the pain was too real when
put into words,
and that is why
I turned to music.

When making music,
your feelings are also mingled
with the notes,
and you don't feel any pain.
It's incredibly beautiful,
just like a poem,
but it doesn't hurt you.

But I can't stop to wonder
that all these things are a filler
to hold on on this ever maddening road,
until the time is right for us to meet again.

because that's where my life really shines, right?
I won't remember the filler days.
I live for the moments that we create together,
and maybe the art that I produce out of it.

But that's it,
sadly... or happily.

I know I'd trade it all -
the most beautiful poem or melody,
it doesn't mean a thing to me
when put next to what you mean to me.

And maybe we could forgive
the days
we wasted away from each other,
longing to be
surrounded by each other's arms.

Oh and perhaps we could
start again
all over
like a newborn cloud
in the empty blue
of a sky

Yes. I'd like that.
I'd make it possible any day,
if it was up to me.

Renewal.

Darling, the road was
full
with other places to go to,
and as you know
sometimes we lose the track of time
and the track itself
becomes another road.

I'm sick of conquering the world
with art
and my eloquent speech that never
left the paper,
where it was carefully crafted
and refined.

I need nothing. I am what I am
and I conquer a part of reality
with that that I am.

If you love me now
drop a letter.
This is the real me. Feel it.
A weird beauty of being alive
by your side.

If you love me as I am now,
you are a fool,

because the real me
is out there, somewhere,
waiting to be reinvented
by endless roads.

I only ask you
to be a part of those endless roads,
and forget the first and the last kiss,
and love me in between.

Overwrite moments w/ 1s and 0s,
in binary mood,
until love is gone for good.

Do you remember when we
were 1 amongst many 0s?

What was once the sound
of a smile in your laughter,
tied together by sine waves,
will become empty 1s, empty 0s
after we press ‘Y’.

And the machine will
wipe the sectors for days,
until the cycles become unreadable,
and that’s when
our love will truly be gone for good.

Like a puzzle you try to solve
with the wrong pieces.

And now smashes the hammer.
Only the hit will tell
how gone for good our love will be.

dawn on the backyard.
No guarantees
that it will be a hot
summer's day.

I am here. Not a sparrow
with a song,
not a pigeon with a
poem attached
to an unwilling paw.

Just walking the walk,
reading out loud
to children,
trying to mark
their childhood,
to dwell there,
forever
as a strange familiar
face,
friendly memory.

I said I'm no one.
Just someone with a song.
I miss the old feeling
of being kissed by the world.

I had more,
I just don't carry these words
anymore.

I am here. Surrounded by
a universe that holds
itself
in a mysterious pose
inside
a magic box.

but I know
what I must do.

I won't chase its tail,
and walk my own trail,
and that's when
it will reveal itself to me.

To see a fraction
of the world:
so many different people
and all of them
have something to tell
a poem of their own,
and sometimes you just want
to stop it all
and go to them
and grab that poem
and read it

but poetry doesn’t work that way,
and so you wait
for the poem to unfold.