The little
flower was
content,
safe from
the winds
of the world,
then, the days
sprouted her
body upwards
to the sky,
she found
it tiresome
to grow while
the poet
of the world
painted the
leaves
golden
to green,
finally, she
can gently
sing for the
clouds as
life became
greater in
color and
beauty,
until the
white blanket
of heaven
takes her,
and, she
is reborn
in some
other time
and place.

Humans
in scales
are in
touch,
they
glide in
the waters
of the starry
skies, the dust
of nebulas
move and
dream
as clouds,
all is in
silence,
and the true
music of
love
begins.

Wake-up to a Day, that's spilling Sunshine
and let Sunlight, keep nourishing your Soul.
If there are Grey Clouds and Rain around U.
Don't Worry, as up there's God in Control.
Inhale the Beauty that surrounds U,
look at Nature from near and far Away.
Discover God's beautiful Gift to Mankind.
Thank Him for having given U this Day.
When the Day is Done and Dusted
and the Sun is setting beyond the Hills.
Wait for the mighty Moon to show up,
as U sit patiently near your Windowsill.
The Universe is wrapped with Darkness,
eagerly waiting for a Spark to Light.
That's When Romance shows up with Aces
and Passion keeps seeping thru the Night.

on soft clouds i walked so many days
we were lovers and i feel time now with my heartbeat
as we wander far apart
kissed by angels when i'm sleeping
or is your sweet soul touching me
this vaunted world is just a nonscence
without your memorey in mind
in the dark night dear past the moonbeams
i will ever see our favorite star

The moon whispers stories of the stars
And I tell him tales of you,
The boy who stole my heart
And parted the clouds
To see the sun.

I swear, they're having battles up there
and we're missing them!
Right there! way up in the air
past all the houses, past the hills
past the pollution
Right there against the blue
They are warriors of strength through and through
I see their charges, the waves of legions
sides changing as quickly as the seasons
but they keep fighting on, forever I'm sure
The battle of the blue and white blur

I fit into a shell
whos size
lays in the palm
of your hand

I curl my body so it’s
matching the hollowed spiral
and is pressing gently against
the cool, smooth barriers

The noises are muffled
and the air inside here
is how I imagine it feels
to fly through the clouds.

how do you paint water, or clouds?

I could read poetry for the brief,
of my of remaining life, however brief,
and never be satiated, of love, and streams of water,
never stilled, always running in patterns that exist,
but for milliseconds, admired by clouds born in, of,
a moment of re-formation that is perpetuity long:
unending shape shifting, like the freedom of flowing water
currents, forming, reforming and unthinkable, nay,
inconceivable that human eyes or their spoken words
could capture their shiny white foamy essence

But of love, that we can do, paint, design, recreate its
endless loops of undulations, like the radiating circularity
of a pebble dropped gently to its burial sight in a quiet pond.

Humans know, understand and excel at clasping and grasping
at the synapsing of human cells from differing bodies: the
exogenous erogenous of human touch that like the clouds
and the water, who could paint that, who capable of capturing
said sensations that wrack and enliven the body with invisible
interior chemical reactions. I cannot. Thankfully better men and women have treatised  their entreaties to the powers of the universe and been rewarded with the skilled delicacy of weaving human tapestries, the milliseconds of connectivity, eclectic and electrifying of different currents and differing amperage’s forming and reforming like water moving, just  like the clouds changing in response to the externalities of wind and gravity and all the forces of nature that encourage us to study and stare at these flows, hoping to entrance them into standing still for but a moment, and instead, mesmerizing us into standing motionless for hours in awe of their freedom.

Love’s undulations too mesmerizing, and freezing us into
place, or alternatively caucus to run endlessly arms extending,
flying though not airborne , rocketing us upwards while feet never budging, but finding good wards, masterful metaphors to recreate and thus to share the fabulous mystery of this thing we know as love.


2:58AM
Friday
jul 22 (jewel 22) of the 23rd year of the 21st Century.


O.L.P.