The Artisan tongue and Linguistic,
Likes of the melted cheese upon the mouth,
And the gift of tamoto soup in winter tundra.

Those are the gift that I seek upon,
As an indentured servant looking upon the wonders of aurora boreal,
Or a spiritless soul seeking to quench the inner fiber meld with ether.

Dream seeker with nothing to stand,
A adventurer without a quest,
Or the rebel without a cause.

Those days are but a distant past,
Forgotten murmur of mythic dreams,
As radiance dawn from each breath.

Come upon the golden kingdom,
And seek prize upon the window of glory,
While never stand in comfort of being normalized.

The suburban curse of procrastination,
The comfort of daydream,
The arrogant silence of enact.

The desire to seek greatness entwined with destiny,
Perpetual confidence grasp the very breath of existence,
And one would crawl out from nothing.

I breathe to be something,
And seek everything,
To avoid being nothing.

For seekers desire,
And desire seek every essence of breath another day to be all things.

I wonder if you could tell me
What you saw in my eyes on day one
The day we met had a warm summer breeze
But what did you see under our setting sun?

I ponder until my sky has darkened
What you heard that you didn’t want to let go of
The night we sat in Aya with our eyes widened
But what did you hear through the music of love?

I squander my imagination out of reach
What you could’ve felt on our last embrace
Over the clouds, mourning mountains and seas
But what did you feel about the memories we couldn’t erase?

I surrender my thoughts and dream from yesteryear
What stopped us from erupting every single day?
Through our implosions, we’ve turned igneous and seared
But what good are we if we can’t make it through today?

It did not look like rain.
And then, slowly,
Clouds gathered, fat drops fell.
A perfect storm can take you by surprise.
Words fall into my hands and your lap,  streams of language,
A downpour, from that stern and sombre sky,
A deluge, spilling sudden, wrenching, overwhelming need.
I fear that we will drown.
I hope that we will not.
You cannot stop the sky when it cries,
And so, we let the storm pass.
Now, I take your hand, and run towards the sun.
Laughter sparkles, there are diamonds on the wet, worn road,
Washed clean, the landscape itself surprised, renewed,
It did not look like rain.

My dilemma's plays are on as always again

Eruption of flames at my heart now begin

my dilemma's fire in an sunset suddenly attacks

sunshine glistens and cloudy sky crazy shows as blacks

There is just too much

Too much to feel:

       Eruptions of emotion channel from my core to the surface
        Only to be siphoned off and returned to the callous cauldron
        The magma dashes at my inner walls and
        The wretched pain it causes is tightly sealed away;
        Kept such that no one would suspect…

        No one suspects Mother Nature is alive within
        And she is restless

There is just too much

Too much to think:

      Contemplations accelerate through my mind's eye
        Ideas and reminiscences claw the pupils,
        Each one consumed with self-importance hence
        driven with desperation to tumble through that narrow opening,
        Falling instead into the cauldron
        Wherefore they agitate its contorted contents

There is just too much*

But,
Like a calm ocean,
The surface waves are *gentle
Healthy blue-green water dances to the shore and back
Crisp, salty spray permeates the air
Which invariably caresses the lungs of the living

Like a calm ocean, the surface waves are gentle
Masking the horrors lurking in its murky depths.


                                                       ­                                          -A.M.E.N.