There are roses.
A sniff of that—
turns the trees into sharp thorns.
Sit still.
Secured. Guarded.

Then there is a Tree,
meticulously crafted,
big-footing from the deepest deep—
not only skin deep
but the beauty is on—
deep-bone skeleton.
The pixels on the upper layer stay clear,
and perfect balance holds below, through every layer.

A day fades from the rose,
dimmed—even at soothing eve.
Not quite.
It walks in chiaroscuro,
through shades of tangerine,
slipping into the thick of night—
never growing thin—
until it catches the set sun hiding,
eyeing the new moon’s skin.

It stands,
ready for bold conversation,
as the stars emerge,
whispering
through the seven skies.

Wide-eyed death—
inevitable—
rushes in
on beauty’s stake.
But how long did it last?

Before the blink of an eye,
the tree was back in bloom.

In watching galaxies—top of mind—
it grows again,
quietly,
on the sublunary Earth.

Math of the matter
couldn’t be closer,
nor farther—yet it is,
as surely as cumulative math,
with countless truths under the skin,
unfound until the equation fits.
It can appear with precision,
or stay hidden from sight—
under the sun, or the moon, alike.

Sharpest sharp cuts: linear.
Deepest deep, yet curves—
smoothest golden spirals.

The solid full-stop dot
in Ma spaces
springs the sweetest—  
a panache showcase
that conquers height
and endures time.  

A sniff of it stirs the water—
boundless,
no sea, no ocean, no river,
just flow, forever.
It bumps into paradise above—  
roots stretching,
never ceasing.
Deep down, it rocks the pearls,
up high melts the clouds,
rains soft on the glass—
which breaks
into pieces of a star.

Breaks open wide—yet no angle.
Deep down, it never fractures.
Every line, on every lane,
curves inward
to its digital bedrock:
non-linear, vibrating numbers.

Day in, day out—
no ending at the end.  
A topological fold
opens and rewraps.

There is a tree:
overhead and on the ground.
Keep an open eye—  
it keeps up!

Into the expanse of thoughts of you.
Endless moments of smiles and virtues.
Constellations inside of your eyes.
Moments of forever written in the sky.

"I wish I didn’t feel this way,
A love I don’t want, but can’t push away.
I miss you more than I can show,
But I keep it hidden, deep below."

"I just want to hug you, hold you tight,
Let you see the side that’s pure and light.
The part of me that’s never changed,
But I can’t let this love be rearranged."

"I wish I was the light of your eye,
The star that makes your heart beat high.
Yet here I stand, a friend confined,
Longing for a love I can’t define."

There once was a man from Mumbai
Whose face had the laziest eye:
     It opened at noon
     While the other as soon
As the sun rose was focused and spry.

thank the maker who knew
that we did not require a
trained eye to love, appreciate
the reading of a poem

no the untrained eye still
leads the words for dispersal
to the other senses to ingest,
invest, instigate the insight
insides, to be moved by the
gifts of piety of poets, whose
eye see the life poetic and
command any all words
to train us to better understand
what it is
how it is
why it it
where it is
feelings word flowers
of that which is undeniably
essential

i'm a light machine gun.....
locked up and loaded in rounds......
firing all kinetic energy and reason..........
across the trenches and the fields i've sent..........
pistols, shotguns, autos to their knees.........
but as i unlock and reload and cool down..........
and the panicked silence settles in.........
i have to ask in kind......

s n i p e r..

do i have your eye?

A, Norwe-
         gian, fjord,
             overlooking, loftily.
                        Like, sixteen-
                        aged, potential,
                   love. Like, several,
                         protege's; full,
                           and, predicted,
                                            futures.
                           The, raven's, eye,
                   intersects, the snow,
                       as, though, a, beauty,
spot, on, translucent, skins; a-black
-serpentine-rock-set-in-silver-sutures.
           I, counted, to, nine, as, the
magic, faded......... Mountainous,
                    terrain, murmured, with,
                           feathered, subtlety.
"To be, a fjord, is, to, truly, view,
   the world, &, know, cascading, change,
                      over, those, that, are, newer."

© poormansdreams