evil eye
no one ever sees
it spies you

slipped sideways.

while all remains the same, something is different.

Take me dream to pleasant dreams
In silence
On  night’s island
where different colored flowers are awake under dark velvet blanket sky
In the presence of white admirals.
Black feline on the hunt
watching carefully this strange behavior.

Listening to silent night
of peaceful midnight longings.
Where in my dream I’ll pick for you beautiful wildflowers
Smell the sweet scent of nights air
while waiting for you
in my dream’s dream garden.



Shell✨🐚

Just happens,
Your mood on paper fueled by the ink
A delicious toppings
Of metaphors,
Alliterations
Personifications,
Hyperboles,
Onomatopoeia,
That makes words come alive using the five senses,
The seeds that you till in the ground to get a harvest of poetry,
Bringing out the souvenirs of passion and compassion tucked within your soul,
And sprinkled with emotions that flow in rhythmic waves.
18/9/2022

~
Moving beyond the sun
to where our minds
are a fraction behind us,
believing they've found
the other-side.

I am glass shattered by redemption,
and I am now the shadow
of a mirrored divinity,
for somewhere out there
is a god resembling my face,
and its nakedness stares me down.

Raising eyebrows at the moon
as if this is love's culprit,
yet, opening arms and minds welcome
the thereupon lust as if
some devoted era:
bow and arrow shapes
of you and me,
falling out of love without travail,
but of constant ease.

I look better in black and white
than in vulnerability,
my exploitation of
private earth looms casual,
though I'm well aware
of the vibrations it sends.

Manipulators of love and war
were all we really wanted to be,
cheating destiny
by falling for the future.

And from this side of our mind
the sun was always cold,
just a vague old relic in a fresh grave:
a princess ruling among
the ruins of past decisions,
and happily she gives
a stagnant kiss of consequence.

Recommitted wind breaks
through, like turning, burning
pages desperate to speak.

But I'd rather that her white lies
take me now, than a waking grasp
or a skirmishing wave
terrorize me,
as this black [media] plagued sun's
desecrated heart bleeds
and recalls to mind
the coming blasphemy.
~

The hungry
and the
the hunted

The visions
we never see

The fleet
and
fastidious

The ones
terminally ill
in turbidity


Where flare
the hearts
synchronize

The words
form meek
and criticize

But they
wind up
wounded

Not even dead . . .
the included are
excluded

The complex
complicity
swirling

The truth
comes down
a barreling

All around
occupies

deep
inside
the place

Drains the tears

he's had
to learn
to face

Now
he leans upon
the crutch

the vacuum
of years

Looking into the
mirror

Peers into the face

Petrified
he is bound

left standing
out of place

He has
no answers

Just the
dismay found
upon his face

Desperate
for a reason
why

But nothing
comes
near nor nye

just the image
of the fossil
in his eye

We don't control our own lives,
we pretend we do, but that is
merely a wishful self-deception.
Even human life happens not
unlike our riding a rollercoaster.
we are merely up and down
passengers with no control, on
board for the duration, at the
Whims of Fate, and recent
good maintenance of all the
equipment.