the keyboard
the pen
the pencil
the notebook
the computer
all the magic is here
all the magic runs through my mind
it travels down my veins
i can't stop thinking
it keeps going
i keep using my tools as wands
and.
i've fallen in love
with two concepts:

the story

and the writing.

There is a wrinkle
in my heart,
blood flow slowed
to naught,
chest tightening
in anxious observation,
facing
a thousand people
suffering
loudly and silently
at the same time.

This is the frame of mind
that breaks the branch
that reaches for hands
which never come.

Heroes never fly by
the midday sky
to swoop in
and save the children
from their depression.

This is my obsession
the passion of pain
painted in prose
and poetry,
me pathetically
trying to reach humanity.

I should take it more seriously.
Yet, foolishly I continue rhyming.

It is out of love
not callousness
that I continue this
poetic struggle.

This is not a time for lamentation
it is time to glide to climb boldly
for clean clear air of creation
reach inside like you told me
find what you’re hiding behind
jump up and jump down
is my mind mine
verb or noun
stuck to
you...

Today the air fell
through the roads making hopstotch
into bowl of oats

Was then she noticed
the horses in a meadow
Seemed to stand so still

The world had slanted
Yet through her house window a
moustache of a man

one of ancient age
sat and wrote a letter to
his wife in heaven

Tears rolled down his face
As he dabbed his pen into
his tiny ink ***

He climbed through a crack
in the sky and sat on a
floating fluffy cloud

Tis there he saw his
wife plant seeds in a garden
She gave him a smile

She told him she was
happy and he needed to
be happy as well

The horses began
to gallop jumping over
the wire fences

Her window shattered
And his ink dripped into the
deepness of the ground

She woke the next day
And saw a pretty flower
Standing all alone

Lying next to ground
A small white enevelope blew
into the big sky

landing right next to
the flower , she knew then his
loved his wife truly

A few days later
The flower had disappeared
And the clouds had rained

Blue ink coloured the
sky leaving one fluffy cloud
to float aimlessly

Having a million
Stories to tell
But lacking the
Proper words

Having a
Brilliant vision
But unable to
Paint it

Wanting nothing
More than to create
But the motivation
Is absent

But we try
And we try
Again

Once I was a Butterfly,
With colored wings I flew so high,
Up toward the sun in the clear, blue sky.
Once I was a Butterfly.

Once I was a tall Pine-Tree.
I towered above the canopy,
And saw all that there was to see.
Once I was a tall Pine-Tree.

Once I was a Shooting Star.
Beyond the Moon I soared so far.
I burned so bright but did not char.
Once I was a Shooting Star.

Once I was an ocean Wave.
I splashed the children while they played.
I touched the sand but never stayed.
Once I was an ocean Wave.

Once I was a Little Girl,
Who thought the Earth was like a pearl,
But saw her dreams dashed by the world.
Once I was a Little Girl.