My dear, you sway with the nervous passion of a thousand
winds. Tell my why you are so anxious, when you carry their wishes on your eyelashes?
This is a pretty thought or a piece of pretty prose rather than poetry. It was written in 2016.
My eyelashes are shooting stars,
least appreciated for their beauty. Much trusted for their 'Wish fulfilment'.
I put on sunglasses
To hide the loss of eyelashes The tears pull them out Leaving me in a drought My eyes are tinted red I put on sunglasses To dull how intense the past is It's brightness blinds me But God's grace finds me Even in the dark
Lone your stupor sits.
What reverie you declare, ambrosia never stang like this since last the rain came stinging. Ah but puddles my dear, what fun! I'll watch your splish splash but let us not forget the protection glass affords. I fear large numbers. I confess, it's true. It's not the hands per se, rather the eyelashes and how they remind me of teeth. They chew me up with a glance. Still, what good could one decimal eyelash hope for faced with Napoleon's specters. I'd wager on scarce. Even so, eyelashes chewed through my thatcher. I'll have to buy a new one. One that isn't so fond of how the Swiss process milk. Not that it's desired but it's still nice to have a tally in the loner's column, now and again.
as i brush the mascara
on my eyelashes, i notice the rain outside, gently hitting my windows. it’s a beautiful thing
seem to travel on the wings of birds on the outstretched arms of the wind fluttering like eyelashes like the rustling leaves of dying trees down to the ground at your feet if only i could get to you just a little faster
voices to me they cried
my tongues tied to an pole vice like grips on my mind hammer and nails she is an viper her venom trying doom on me shaking here these chains tremble hair of an lions back bear love me she feels from hibernation she caught me dream walking between her teeth my deaths voices to me ? ... .. .
an lash ...
And like someone took millions of years to create you;
Those eyes, Hiding secrets somewhere under those eyelashes and rest, in a split of a second spilling all the kindness left for the human kind.