Moons, stars,
planets you
are nothing less
then an earthquake.
For in my heart
you reside.
Deep and
sound, you have built
in me cities, that are
ethereal, for in my words I
can not describe
What are you?

She doesn't wear vanilla dresses,
Ethereal shoes and a mint beret.
She doesn't accept gluey embraces
And kisses, where the truth is away.

She doesn't like stuffy speeches
About the Moon and stars at her feet.
She doesn't need a fiery chatter,
If there is a hollow behind it.

No use to disturb the Sun in vain
And lead it to shine only for her.
In fact all your cries are trait falsehood.
No need to be so low-lived amateur.

The sea throws a foam right at her feet.
Sea waves are noisy and bold.
Her ear's softly caressed by seagulls.
These birds are the peerless sea gold.

Her clothes are surely relaxed fitting,
And so it has always been.
The wind in her face, unfastened hair,
And he's nearby - it's the ultimate thing.

Longing eyes upon you cast
As a mirror does reflection find.
In the air of chambers behind
Lingers restless passions laid to rest.
Like a silent laugh or tearless cry
My life seems waste to my enemies.
Their wrath I did bide my time to appease
But hope-sight you gave me--ethereal eyes.
Through these common sight can never be
As a soul into new dimensions born.
At these seas I stand formless on the leas
No longer hiding but now riding the storm.
Your soul holds mine deeper into these seas--
Orpheus and his love reunited forever in
Glorious form.

Evening is on the take
The sun herself senses it
Her heat is slipping away
Eclipsed by cold, arctic tendrils
Rilling through the fragile geography
Earth is a strong fighter though
Able to restore itself in serene defiance
Light she brings to keep night in its place

Eternity
The fabric of reality twisted and torn
Healing and hurting woven in tight
Earth, beginning and end
Ruby gaze, caught in a trance
Everlasting Dream-state
All serene and lovely
Letting go and falling off

she has my voice,
only sweeter;
she has my notions,
only purer;
she has my pride,
only gentler;

she knows i’m hurt,
only better.

she means well;
is it… only a spell?
she breathes a song;
only, i cannot tell —
if she yearns for me,
or only mourns for me.

to me, it don't seem;
but i know —
she's only a dream.

Water on the way
Passing hands
Watch the liquid sway

Spitting stories from the skies
Look down with your yellow eye
Brave

Grows steeled in its covet
Of the crown
Shoving night away

Keep pushing little lies
Emancipate them with your yellow eye
Saved

Salts in shades
Shake devotion from the stars
Thick tar turns to martyrs
As a moment turns to day

Stained glass peers
Bring tears to your yellow eye
Slave

Another slender figure
In the mirror
Cries to stay
Modeling composure
As it struggles for some closure
Disclosing on the altar
That it falters when it prays

Black mold in the corner
Blindfold to your yellow eye
Grave

Beneath the willow that wept at the lake's edge,
I sat nestled between the soft 'V' of branches that rose only to fall.
The wind kept a soothing sway that ever so gently left ripples in the moon's reflection.
With a book and pen in hand, I wrote the next lines to a story.

Along came a woman.
Her hair as silver as a blade, and her skin as pale as porcelain.
She descended to her knees with the grace of a queen,
Cupping her hands to sip from the lake.

I glared in awe, as if seeing a spirit from a folk tale.
What beauty, what grace... and yet, here she was.
She leaned back, falling to the grass, with her eyes finally resting on me.

Not a flinch.

She gazed back at me...
The same wonder in her eyes
As I held for her.