The biggest lie I told myself was the I can’t live with out you .





I’m still breathing better than before

Larks don't need parks

They need ploughed fields and waving grain

If they are to remain

They soar and sing of joy unbound

But they are rarely found

nighttime phantoms of birds swoop low through the breeze,
greeting bats with sweet melodies and mingling in the trees.
not only do their songs tingle the ears of few,
but they are gone with the moon and the mid-morning dew.

I’m awake,
Once again,
By the touch,
Of the wind in my skin
In this new month of April

The flowers blossom,
Their colors mesmerize me,
Every tone,
Every shade,
They captivate me.

I contemplate the plants, with a scent of bitter-sweetness,
While some bloom,
And others wither,
In an endless cycle.

The fauna and flora,
Announce once again,
With their songs, dances and colors,
The sunrise of spring,
In this new month of April.

After the dreadful silence of winter,
I can hear the sweet singing of the birds
And the sound,
Of the wind dancing with the leaves:
A spring melody...

I observe these creatures,
So graceful, yet so fragile.
They swing through the sky,
Synchronizing their movements with the wind,
As if they were ballerinas.

At the end of this month of April,
I fall asleep,
Once again,
While these tiny singers,
Recite their lullaby.

I find “the morning”
to be subjective- despite
what the birds may say.

As swaths of life creep into the dozing sky
The cry of dawn cuts through the tranquil veil
The birds, as one, announce the nascent day
And praise the world that hasn’t yet awoken

Praise be given to the champions of the dawn
If not for them the new day may not come
And if it did I would cry a thousand tears
For the loss of my dearest escorts of the sun

Brisk early morning
Birds singing, serving up joy
An extra cup please