In the evening having inked his feather
He engenders beauty line by line,
Writes a manuscript that joins together
Ice and fire, darkness and sunshine.

He is looking for his lot no longer,
But he strikes the lyre on the stage,
Showing humankind that love is stronger
Than injustice, enmity and rage;

It is more than life and nonexistence,
It can give downhearted people wings,
Neither flow of time nor any distance
Can destroy love’s harp and tear its strings.

He narrates that standards and traditions
Put sometimes a lot of lives at stake,
And that human honor and ambitions
Should exist for other people’s sake.

Every moment of his life he's ready
To amaze his audience and thrill.
Many centuries have passed already,
But he still creates and always will.

The craft of seeing

What could be

Creating

And making  

A possibility

we study lips
yet no sound
can convey
what remains unspoken

we draw trees
for every sentence
then refuse
to paint the leaves

every word
we know how to create
but creators
we are not

the history of language
walks our tongues
we admire
without adding

we analyze
written or spoken
to avoid
our own

Mechanical and Robotic
Sentences in line of Code
Schedules and Timestamps
Clockwork and Progressing
Power down, power Up
Maintenance performed Regularly
Uploading to the Cloud
Mechanical and Idiotic

go Where You Are told
perform Your function
analyze The data
upload To The cloud
prepare To Power down
you Have Functions tomorrow
goodnight You automaton

Look at us deciphering from scattered bits of simple cadence

Gluing framing gaining prudent palette learning newer flavors

Loosening the meaning proving brighter than you once expected

Catapulting action leaving no depiction undisected.

Incomplete induction building context of compressed impressions

Sifting pieces understanding wanderlust in simple lessons

Pouring into view the words
Assuming form in function destined

Coloring a loose interpretation
Fusing loving heaven.

Seldom do the patrons of this theater construct it perfect

None the less the picture seeds a lust and makes the effort worth it

I am yours.
All of me,
Every single last inch.

I am hers,
All of me.
Down to the last inch.

I am his,
All of me.
Including every inch—

I’m sorry.

My heart is yours,
My heart is hers,
And my heart is his.

Can’t you see?

My love comes in the most powerful pattern of three’s.

I’m sorry.

I love you.
I love her.
I love him.

You can’t make me decide,
You can’t make my heart shatter once or let alone two times,
Please don’t make me cry.

My love is for you, all of you.
My love is for her, all of her.
My love is for him, all of him.

Yet, my heart creates separate beats for each.

I have three hearts, one that loves you fully.
One that cares so deeply.
One that wants you completely—
Is that not enough?