Rivers run for eternity all over,
Again wants to take Earth over.
Always rivers're followed by chasers-
The greatest ever dream dancers.

In the mountains when following they fly,
And so, they jump up to the very sky.
Barely touching the water with their feet
They sign songs so graceful and so sweet.

Oh, in the darkest  forests on the branches they fearlessly  run,
Faster than birds, lighter than winds. Before you notice they'll be gone.
And the folk of the forests, animals would wonder:
"Why are those kids faster than lightning and thunder?".

And in the cities they ride winds overwatching the place,
Finding new members, through houses they trace
Nobody  can see'em, yet windows try to catch their reflection,
Know, they never do, because they lack in attention.

"But what is their goal" a reader would ask,
Over watching the life- that is the task.
You see, water knows the secret of moon, keeps keys to the life,
And while the rivers run,  fires won't find a single way to end our graceful strife!

These kids celebrate the life
of the dead street pigeon.
Dark streams down their brown faces,
they intone their private lamentation-
One exposes the corpse
to his little circle, holding it up
the wings stretched out.

©2016 Alex Bex - www.alexbex.net

I had the most wonderful butterfly
                                        on my shoulder
Whispering me an ancient secret!
But the noise of my footsteps
                                            got too loud
I stopped!
What? Say that once again!
But he flew away…
Hiding the secret
                  in the flapping of his wings...

Impression or suppression
an utmost subconscious decision
or an utmost practiced precision?
to cover her natural moving canvas
so he can see the physical bliss
never mind the festering dangers
that breed within her heart's cancers
until the day her painted face
is defied by time and space
of an old ancestral rival
time when death itself in arrival
comes and leaves none in its wake
evangelism; Cosmetics' new grace
offered at every corner and place
'that you must accept me or be ugly'
if she only knew
beauty fades like hubbly
the self conscious issues would be few.

There are people you've never met
who remind me of you
and that means I'm thinking about you
and chances are
you're not thinking about me

By Arcassin Burnham

While I continue to search for the purpose
I should have possessed along time ago
While I was still kicking and screaming
Fading away and took hold of my soul,
Now I have no idea where I'll end up when
I die,
Probably somewhere in hell fire at the end
Of a chain and a whip begging God to give
Me what I deserve,
But as a mistake I deserve nothing,
Why do I have to be any different than he or
She,
Why can't I just be stronger than both parties,
Dark , depressing, and lonely like premature
Ejaculations,
Born into a world that teaches you it's wicked ways,
I pray,
For all that have to live in the so-called "ghetto",
I pray,
These bad memories will disappear in time,
I pray that every single bad thing I've experienced
And wasn't good at will advance and make me into
The human being I need to be,
But the Lord doesn't hear me,
At least the Lord I'm praying to will agree,
Most of us sit with our mouths shut,
And bathe in this indecency,
But no one is listening.

Windowless, shadowless, fluorescent a room and schoolyard scent. A lecture on earth's composure rumbled on as thunder sounded when I need not know where my toes were. Terrestrial topography in the row marked 2 or 3. The hierarchy of "figured out" and inane diplomacy, but I was feeling fine. I was sitting alone and still and looking at the morning faces. I left spaces left and right so I could swallow my mind and wrap up tight in the vacuum allowed. The collided waveforms hit my selective ears. I'll see you next week. I'll see you next week. My knees are weak and I'm writing the words I don't know how to speak and writing the rhythm, the subject I so often treat poorly, write off as a cliche archetype made for the gullible, penned by the phony. Yet I can't wait. A nervous anxious wonder I can't shake, like a beautiful sun gliding over a closing wake with the wind on its back and a ship to take.