I write because the paper listens
to the tears and laughter of my soul
like blood pumping though my vanes
seeping ink drips down the damp pages
as I write across every straight line
the messy confused bottled up thoughts
turn into questions running through my head
high above my neck it sits holding it all in
just think of what my brain is going through
my pen may scribble to fill the page
with words written from my soul
yet it transforms all my thoughts
never before told

my pen takes hold of the paper
as I hold the flow of my thoughts
floating through the lines on each page
riding the waves of concept
that takes flight
thoughts are like birds
so many in groups
bunched together
one by one loose
feathers drop
here and there
falling out of line
yet finds its place
ether speaking in flight
or written in words
the paper listens
that's why I write

my words can hit instantly as you can see
I have to jot them down as they spark..
or they just might fly away from me
I write because the paper listens
for inspiration it can vanish so quickly
sometimes my thoughts may flow fast
if I stop in the middle I lose the imagery
causing my pen to trip over words
leaving behind a big mess of typos
then the bad grammar is exposed
my pen may scribble to fill the page
with words written from my soul
yet it transforms all my thoughts
never before told

just to let you know
my words can hit instantly
that's just how I be
most of my writings
are free style poetry
my mind possess the tempo
as each poem I write grows
I the poet hum silently as
my ink of harmony flows
from my quenching desire
my mind and fingers they
think much faster than me
unleashing unspoken thoughts
silent for too long I can not be
the paper listens and gets drenched
with thoughts of my hot to the touch
written emotions curved creatively

Endless thoughts swim
inside my head
as I drift into a
lyrical sea. Emotions
surge in rhythmic waves
as sublime ideas
flood the pages.
Paper drenched in
melodic verse,
passion gushes
and I'm engulfed,
drowning in the
whispers of my soul
as the ink
flows from my pen

On the wheels, I whirl, I spin, I move
Clouds too whirl, then darkness spins
A lightning bolt, then the deafening sound,
Then it pours,
N the fire flies go dim
I dont amble, I dont whisk
Opening my hand, gawking above, I dont decline
Three winks! Drenched n detached from the me wrenching myself,
I wheel as  "The Lance Armstrong"

Heavy pours invite a stroll
Cats and Dogs pouring down dismay Rats, ROFL!
Oust as Prince Zuko, I stroll
Surrendering myself to  the Zephyr
Same trail but with ****** looks
Hypnotic green, drenched, raise me to the Oblivion
Shimmering in the distant are two dim lights
N I ***** like " The Supertramp"

Beginning of the ultimate inception, I touch
Extending my arms to the cries of sky
Dont know the destination of this alley
Trying to think what 'm anticipating
Though without any charge on my shoulders
Flickering in the near distant are two lights
I hike as " The Aron"

'm I tears, I dont know
Even the silence has sulked
Nothing's in my head
Green n Brown, Pink n Purple hues
Repose the folioles, within
Distant lights are passing by now
I stride as " The me"

To the Aisle,
where birds peep, cheep, chirp, quaver, tweet n warble
From the stroll to the stride
's a short walk of hues n blues
The fringes have passed by
Arena's clear n so 'm I.

i walk home in rain
my hood down, my face exposed
hair is drenched when done

The rain pours
It fills every crevice and crack
It patters off the window panes and the broken hearted
The chilled air blankets over the drowned bringing goosebumps to delicate skin
It pours, swallows, and masks.
The rain falls and the broken are rain drenched.

It started to rain
From where we stood
A sudden change of mood
I reached out my hand
But it was left cold
Under the water
I roll up my sleeve
Sand poured
It was time for you to leave

My knees always ache when it rains. It feels like thunderstorms down there.
Imbriferous skies quake and pour. In rows of misery below, black umbrellas and grim faces held in raincoat hoods move up and down the hill slopes. Impluvious bodies move as a current – up and then down, up and then down – carving new streams of black into the long grass.
Officers clothed in raincoats and trash bags tug at the leashes of baying bloodhounds, slipping in the mud.
I sit in the spindrift – the icy pinprick of the heavy rain turning my face raw. Splashes of mud freckle my pink cheeks. The rain flogs every black umbrella to a monotonous rhythm. Thunder rolls like a rock avalanche into a mountain creek. Corn stalks and men alike are bent beneath sheets of rain. Flashes of light across the sky smell like Sulphur. The earth a deafening drone, continuous, never-ending, and in that drone swept the black umbrellas and raincoats, one by one, two by two, shifting, streaming, flowing stern-faced and wretched. From the top of the hills they pour, pooling and spreading out into the fields like a black river.
A river of desperate life, searching for the dead.

i'm a mess inside and out
i'm searching for serendipity
but all i have left is drenched emotions and crumpled up papers on my floor filled with ink blots and scribbles
my eyes burn from tears
my heart aches
i shake as i pour myself another drink of whatever is left in the cabinet
i down it like the 2 tablespoons of medicine my mother used to make me take when my stomach hurt
but right now, everything hurts
they say everyone needs to feel pain
it reminds us we're alive
but if being alive is the equivalent to feeling the sharp knife in my heart over and over again
i might as well be dead

A smile a day
Keeps the rain away,

But sometimes
I just want to get wet.