This seed I’ve been tending and grooming,
sadly it misses the sun these days.
Yet I catch the vibrant flowers sprout and blooming,
it’s the strength not the amount of rays.
I’m not afraid to graze the dirt,
I need to reassure it’s fully hydrated,
softly brush the petals, I’d never see it hurt,
I could be offered palm and money trees but I’d never trade it.

Bringing life into each room
and in the darkest pits it provides a shine,
My heart beats start to rapidly boom,
you know that I know it will all be fine.

I buried a time capsule within my chest
though it was defined by a single memory,
I’m not absent minded just it was the best,
changing and morphing but it’s you constantly.
I’m not afraid to lose sight,
both literally and metaphorically,
as long as I can absorb this all day and night
It’s really the only thing that’s important to me.

Bringing light into the world
illuminating each route and sign,
diamond in the rough and deep sea pearl,
you know that I know it will all be fine.

For if she ever wishes for the moon,
I’ll bring down the whole galaxy,
and a second is just too long and not too soon,
she beats my heart and the air that I breathe.

And if she ever craves the stars,
I’d burn my hands to grasp though they reside in her eyes,
they’re the only thing that shines brighter than this love of ours,
and though her name is of the sea I see it etched in the skies.

I know I am stained with darkness and that itself makes me a crow,
and she’s the pinnacle of light and peace and that dawns her the place of dove.
And while we drive ourselves insane, we can’t deny fate and what we know,
that the dictionary has made a mistake,
darling, we are the true definition of love.

Birds drop dead at my feet
I don’t know- if to die myself, or to give them life.

Now I know that heaved wings look like
Grey snows melting into each other

Life vaporizes from the summer sky
As a wounded dove trembles in my lap

Polyurethanized love,
Polyols and isocyanates
And one part dove.

Broken wings and ****** feathers
the grey dove tries to fly once more
It feels as if it's being pulled in one direction
And being unable to follow the leash
It watches forlornly as the others around it
the ones who had been broken by the same thing
take flight
renewed
refreshed
ready
but the little grey dove
isn't so sure if she's ready to take flight anymore
She's not sure who's fault it was.
The cat who broke her wings and threw her?
Or was it herself, for letting him do it?
The little grey dove
is waiting instead of doing
She knows that time can heal her wounds.
But perhaps the bone is broken
too far up.
Perhaps she'll never fly again.
No one comes to keep her company through out the months
she's made a small refuge, a place to sleep
a place to heal
But every once in a while
A newly white dove comes by
with a bent feather of her friends
evidence that the cat is still out there
While she sits
and heals
and does nothing.

Rose tears are my lips
and these lips are anointed
in the nectar balm where
angels sip and roar. This
garden of my soul is but a
flying dove, going from
pond to pond and hiding in
its treasures. No human can
catch me, no perception, no feeling,
for I am the everlasting substance
of Heaven.