Your perfection is an illusion.
My faults are real.

'Trust' is the stitching
that holds my fragile
parts together.

Whispers of what we share,
like confetti in a breeze,
cannot be recovered
once carelessly set free.

Don't release me to the wind,
I beg you.

~~~

haunting grey outside,
forced to reminisce.
some believe we should just be.
no mind,
no chemistry,
friends in need.
I was born complete
but now fractured and
blown with Autumn's leaves.
running in place
no direction,
just haste,
faking my way.
the membrane
between me and the pain
is thinning away.


~~~

Classics in Art, Music, Literature
live beyond temporal limits.
Touching chords when seen and heard,
on canvass, in melodies, with written words.

They can be young and fresh,
or ancient and frayed.
With messages and stories
ringing true through every Age.

They transcend places
and march boldly through time.
Still relevant,
Still beautiful,
Eternally sublime.

~~~