dear God almighty
you are
the
willow in the wind
who
dwells
in
the
soul
of
a tiny grain of sand
still
He has the whole world
in the palm of His hands

From Harlem's pulse, a symphony untold,
Stories etched in a brownstone, dreams unfold.
Streetlamps pierce the twilight, jazz ignites,
Hope flickers, a flame against the nights.

Laughter rings on stoops where neighbors meet,
Gospel choirs rise, voices strong and sweet.
Stony sidewalks hold a million strides,
Asphalt dreams where destiny confides.

Stars peek through the rooftops, reaching high,
A silent promise whispered to the sky.
From Harlem's struggle, a spirit takes flight,
Soaring upwards, bathed in heavenly light.

A crimson bloom upon her face,
Her lips were a promise, full of grace.
Cherry red, a tempting sight,
A beacon sweet, in gentle light.

A silent call, a whispered plea,
To taste the fruit, the mystery.
Desire stirs, a blush unseen,
In hopes of what might lie between.

Are words unspoken waiting there?
A secret shared, a love to share?
Cherry red, a kiss untold,
A story waiting to unfold.

Love builds her castles, grand and tall,
On shifting shores, at danger's call.
With seashells bright and whispered vows,
She carves her dreams in fleeting vows.

Towers reach high, with flags unfurled,
A fragile kingdom in this world.
But tides will turn, the waves will crash,
Love's sandcastle crumbles in a flash.

Yet hearts rebuild, with hope's refrain,
For love, undaunted, builds again.
Though waves may wash, and dreams may wane,
Love's castles rise, to dance with rain.

On crimson sands, beneath a rusty sky,
A figure walks, and a cloak of fireflies high.
The Red Cloak of Mars, a legend whispered low,
Through canyons vast, where ancient secrets flow.

Is it a hero, cloaked in Martian fire,
Defender bold, with untamed desire?
Or perhaps a phantom, haunting desolate plains,
A lonely soul, where silence reigns?

The red cloak billows, a mystery untold,
A splash of color in the Martian cold.
Does it conceal a warrior, fierce and grand,
Or a wanderer, lost in this alien land?

The Red Cloak fades, as shadows lengthen deep,
Leaving behind a fiery secret to keep.
A silent promise whispered on the breeze,
The Red Cloak of Mars, forever to appease.

If we build a time machine, a whirring beast,
To chase lost moments, memories unreleased,
Would we rewrite the wrongs, the choices made,
Or stir a storm, a future yet unplayed?

The past, a siren, with a tempting song,
Could fixing cracks just make the whole thing wrong?
The future is veiled, a mystery untold,
Might tampering unravel, make us grow old

Before our time? The present, fleeting guest,
Would chasing shadows leave us unblessed?
Perhaps the journey's heart, the quest's fire,
Is what defines us, fuels our soul's desire.

Not shrouds of silk, nor funeral black,
But garments are worn, where shadows track.
The weight of loss, a heavy cloak,
Draped o'er our hearts, a mournful folk.

Each thread, a memory bittersweet,
A whispered laugh, or shuffling feet.
A smile was long gone, a tear that fell,
These clothes of death, the stories tell.

Yet, in their folds, a strength takes hold,
A love that lingers, brave and bold.
Though shadows cling, a light breaks through,
We'll wear these clothes, and see us through.