Sorry, ******* is not my type.

I am from a  land of whispers
Spreading like wildfire
From town to town
House to house
Not knowing what is true
And what are lies.

I am from a land that lived on secrets
Never trusting
Not knowing
What to believe.

I am from a land of sacred days and nights,
Secret rituals
Broken laws
For in this land
If you are found
This day might be your last.

I am from a land of persecution
Where all others who were different
Were savages
And died
Forgotten
Unremembered
Letting hope fade away
As the echoes of the past
Drift still farther from the present.

I am from a land of sadness and confusion
The terror and mystery,
Not knowing who was friend
And who was foe.

I am from a land of survivors
Those who lived through the darkness
To see the light
And left their memories of the lost ones
In the shadows of yesterday.

I am from the land of the free
Where the cruel are brought to justice
And hope still lives
Where there has been
Misery and happiness
Sadness and sickness,
Treachery and lies.

I am from a land of hope
Where the people wait
Numbering the stars
Waiting for the misery to end,
The sickness to end
And the world to change.

For better or for worse,
For good or for evil,
I am from the land of the Jews.

Step inside and come with me
Oh, what a beautiful word we shall see
We'll float up and away and out the door
To see things that have never been seen before
We'll sail on a breeze made of the free
Higher than the highliest tree
Far across the seven seas
To the far away land of dreams
Where the grass grows green
And the sun always shines
Where the rivers are free of muck and grime
Where the dream makers weave
The dreams of the world
Where many stories are told and retold
Of
Hopes
And wishes
Angers
And fears
Hates
And loves
Sadness
And tears
Where the dreams are sent out
On the beautifulest breeze
Up and over the highliest trees
Through the air
Under the sea
To many places
Seen and unseen
To people everywhere
Like you or me
So they can see
What could have been
What should have been
What might have been
What never shall be
But the one thing they will never see
Is the smallest glimpse of the land of dreams
So won't you step inside
And come with me
To see the dream weaver's world?

Surrounded by obscurity without gloom:
the depths of calignosity suffocate every speck in ebony ink.
Yet, every molecule breathes with ease.

It is the crushing, bewitching hour of eternity in nightfall.
A sigh exhaled is impassively terminated by the midnight dusk;
sound is silent here.

Emptiness gapes as the leviathan's gob
thick with gelatinous mucus,
vast, however jailing:
closed and unknown to the living universe.

The saliva sparks in a moment, as a release of static charge,
even though no solid is sensed, never-mind two touching
loaded with electric friction.

And then again, as a sparkler of summer's independence
now holding for just more than a whim.
An explosion.

Flecks of bright stains scattered within the physical aura breeze past;
they ripple like wave crests under a kaleidoscope moon.
Colors arc in the resistant free current: endless lightning.

The vacuum is an overpopulated city
of which the blind could never take census
and the ignorant believe to be mute.

Visual speech fills the void of sound.
It is the starlight of a body.

fireflies flicker bits of soul at ocean’s edge
angel mists rise from foam to the tiny lighthouses
i wade infant waves and their tiny lion roars
dig my feet into dis-finite granules of weathered stone
spread my arms into a cross for the ocean to bear.

i wonder, as the echo of silence fills my humid lungs
if i held half a sun to my cracking lips
licked comforting fire off its dancing edges
filled myself up with stolen luminescence
would i be enough a beacon to call you to shore?

i can feel the reverberating echoes of energy
they swirl glass-filled water around my ankles
for a moment i am infinity, omnipotent, divine
the clear sky is my mirror of stars and velvet
i think i finally understand why.

then little lions swirl away and the echoes are gone
i indent the sand like a statue left to wither
in that moment i am tiny, lonely, empty
my freedom feels broken, incomplete
i’ve forgotten how to know you.

(remember to breathe) as silence fills my gaps
a lighthouse firefly drips its way to the sand
white wings sprinkle me with dew and fall to dampness
shadows make love to the edges of my eyes
my cheeks are wet from the salty rain.

my feet are cold.
you are gone.

Her eyes shine like undisturbed dew drops
hovering at the gentle fingertips of young moss
on the northern bark of a white cedar tree
under a lazy morning sun.

Spear points of obsidian pierce the disc:
banished from the core of a volcano
scorched by a molten heart
and choking on onyx soot.

The dawn warmth filters through,
carried by a serene and wafting breeze.
It illuminates the pleasant, tickling greenery,
bringing to light the depth of her irises.

Fire belches from the mountain's stomach,
and the flame ignites a gleam.
Her gemstone eyes shine
as though the embers have been captured within.

At the base, there is the earth:
firm and dark and cool.
Interlocking underbrush layers fawn with chestnut
overtaken but not undermined by powerful streaking tree trunks.

The rim is built of force and rumbles with strength.
A cast of bronze is seething and glowing.
Her intensity blazes as sun spots
deep within ancient amber.

She is as her eyes are
an indigo inferno:
seldom
and
elegantly alive.