There is a early spring flower blooming in the late winter sun..
I think they call them indian paint brushes..
Its firey red pedals shined brighter than the late winter sun..
It was the only color we saw in the new green grasses..
Green grasses brought by a thunderstorm from a week ago..
There is a small hint of spring perfume in the late winter air..
We feel her pass through us every now and again..
We continue forward on our walk to no where..
We'll go as far as we want to..
We cross a bridge with a small stream running under it..
Although full of trash it still holds a majestic beauty under this now one star evening sky..
The stream is strong creating musical water notes and songs..
A cardinal bird follows alongside us from tree to tree..
His red feathers are the only thing that has surpassed the beauty of the lone beautiful indian paint brush we came across earlier..
The night is now kissing the day away..
Time to walk back..
We will let you know what we see..

if you were to rise
against the lashes
your spine bears
witness to.i know you
could burn the cities -
echoing enslaved
cries of your mother. or,
the cities tainted in
red, with the blood
of your father.

but, you don't.

for you know what it's like to lose
what you love.




(such is your love for a city that turned into rubble everything you
ever loved)

Ghost Torch: Horse: Quiet Storm

When I was a baby I was sleeping in the night.. The indian chief walked into my tent to give me a name.. he then saw a torch floating over me. It was as if a ghost was watching over me holding a torch.. From that day forward I was known as Ghost Torch.. I was taken away from my tribe at a very young age.. I do not know what type of indian I am.. This is my first entry into the Hyperion Archive.. I am 2 of 4 in this world.. I hunt the Nightmare storms that walk this Earth..

Day 1, Year 1889, Month 10..

Weapons: Composite Long bow:
Helios Transformation: Lightning Phoenix Long bow wave series S.AWAY

She is a true blue living legend
displaying  many colors of love
there is no doubt about it,if only
you know where to look at.
But wait,in the way she expresses it
everything  would get reversed!
if one concludes she is demure,
think twice before deciding.
She did invent a new tongue
entirely of monosyllables!
write it in high  hieroglyphics
none could ever aspire to decipher.
Don't forget to take this fact in to account
in bed, she is a whirlwind
unlike  most Indian brides,
who wear shyness as an armour
tradition prescribes for brides.

Phoochkas to right of me
Phoochkas to left of me
Phoochkas in front of me
Garnished and Savored
Spiced with chaat this shell
A pani puri dunking swell
Into the jaws of yum
Into my mouth a spell
  Phoochkas by the dozen!

My mind revolves around the Indian Summer.
The same one where you and I first met.
I told you upfront that I’d never been a lover,
But you’ve become the photograph stuck in my head.

The music filled the atmosphere
And the world became our playground.
I’m trying to remember what it was like to hear
The instruments that never made a sound.

The colors were much brighter
Where you and I would dance.
I used to be a fighter
Till the first time I held your hand.

I cannot forget that Indian Summer.
The same one where I first saw your face.
It was only the earth’s surface that I was able to hover
And now I soar with the stars in the never-ending space.