The earth feels small,
loosing size constantly as the sun lowers herself
the world is immersed in her ****** streams of warmth.
It is fading
the sky becomes stronger, rocks us in the darkness of minor stars
- so big, so far away.
They matter so little
It is far away, yet so big.
We think of it as little.

What do they think of us?
Stars are suns
But are they all the same?

Millions are sweeping around the universes
so big
So hot
Far away
Looking small

They are hiding their meaning
.. You have to find it

Do you want it?

The stars are suns
So small
But they are big
If we let them be
If we explore their truth

Do we mind the darkness around them?
Do you see it?

Our eyes are meant to find light
We focus
Nobody minds

Nobody wants to find darkness
We are all looking for another sun
Lost in the cloak of darkness we want to escape from

Shooting stars.

The most intimate thing you can ask a poet,
Is the meaning behind their poems...

A world beyond the dreams of mortals,
filled with passages and portals.
A magical place, of hope and grace.
The unreal is real, the real is unreal.
A constantly turning wheel.
A place I could only dream of,
the spreading wings of a dove.
The perfect place for all magic admirers,
a space where my dreams burn like fire.
But this such place, could it be true?
A place I know, I knew.
But this haven, it comes with a catch.
For it bears a key and a latch.
And now it can't even be found,
the wild vines that bind it can't be unbound.
Will I ever get to open the gate?
Could I discover it, before it's too late?
If I cannot my heart, my dreams, all will be shattered.
And people will laugh, like it doesn't even matter.

this thing we
choose
to call beautiful

he

takes his time and
stirs up still things
hidden inside
     to
exhaust the mind

then

settles down and
infests, but

come o beloveds of
darkness and decay

for day
    is near

One touch
Calls forth reality
Just a glimpse
Caught off guard
Never much
Walls with a moment of clarity
Of clearest quartz

Windows to the smokey undertones
Dried bushes of roses
Wilted, with petals to the wind
Stained stones
Line the path down
Into the endless pits of brown
Like bark of a tree
Or perhaps nutrient-rich soils
Of a secret garden
Watered with internalized rains
Never to flood out with great pains

In the garden
Shielded away
Is a pond of fish playing coy
Above tangling reeds
Only they stay
Protected from hands that may destroy
Or perhaps to brush against the hand that feeds
Light filtering through the green curtain

Buried beneath roots of reeds
Lies a chest of steel
Painted with winged steeds
Ghostly figures, perhaps once real
Locked with a strange mechanism
To which there is only one key
Of the strangest sorts
Perhaps lost to time
Or kept close as can be
Just out of sight

- Jay M
February 5th, 2021

I would tell you that
I love you.
But I won't.
Because I like you.