We chose to be caught,
Swirling in this vortex,
With our crystalline eyes
Closed, or open—

innocence,
violence.

I remember clearly,
A flirt. A touch. A kiss.
I flew with my mind,
I loved it wet—

but you couldn’t love it then,
you couldn't even hate it,
you hate it now, looking back

We found ourselves
Spinning in the spiral
Of something we chose—
It was our own will,
Unbreakable by anyone,

though it had happened before:
you were torn apart like paper.

and now you are here,
gluing with gold the shattered pieces

Of the beautiful being you are,
Of the beautiful thing you swear to be,
Of the beautiful child you see,
When you look into the mirror
With your eyes wide open.

The first glance

Unsteady, unsure

One beautiful smile

One thoughtful flutter

Godspeed you butterfly!

She comes to my shoulder

And pins a rose on me

She leaves a note

She lifts the net

But wants no words to her song

She is from November

And I am from snow

We stand together

And everything is new

Pure was the snow
now muddied-
by the ***** boots
of travelers
who never settle.

Roaming from town to town
sullying snowfalls everywhere.

Why, oh traveler
do you step onto the snow
and create an eternal imprint,
only to walk away?

A group of thieves found a thriving tree
So they dug it up, then all went to see

The tree had grown from roots of pain
So they were confused on why this tree was sane

Then one realized the tree was made from healing
The guilt it hid over the years was now revealing

The tree started to wilt, slowly dying
They heard the tree’s screams, even its crying

For the tree hid everything to protect its health
It was just not happy for its life and wealth

The thieves felt bad and ran away
Even if the tree would still decay

They knew that tree was once their own
The one that they had used and thrown

But they were not thieves of objects, even if they could
They were the thieves if my innocent childhood

Little Bo Peep
Has lost her sheep.
The big bad wolf is full
And sleeping on a bed of wool.

I gave you my most valuable possession
My angelic heart !

But you didn't appreciate it
You  disregarded it
Like  it was something casual

You crushed my love
Through my warm tears
Through my request

You  smached my teenage innocence
And took the most priceless thing from me
You tore off my rose
And then you left me alone
Sobbing  ,helpless
With a bleeding heart
And bleeding body
And  through my warm tears  i ask you -
are you satisfied?
Was it worth breaking someone's else's heart?
Answer me and if not go to hell!
You and all like you!

the wind's whisper was
a romance of sound

satin sheets
shifting
softly
sliding
between her legs
with each gentle tug of his
her marble skin was the rapture
of his innocence
and the oarsmen
of his temptations
rowing him along
toward her
between her nubile legs

and he felt
for once
not like an invader
a Viking
a barbarian
trudging over the mountains
with lust arming his flesh
for the takings to
come

no

he felt
like a father
dutiful

yet also
like a son
respectful - obedient

yet truly, he was
her lover
who had mastered her platonic whims,
sacrifices, and conditions;
earned her trust
earned her surrender
and her, his
and her, his undying, unabashed love
devotion
humility
honor
reciprocal instincts
romantic intuitions
senses of guardianship and homage
faith...

for, he felt stronger
bedding her this day
than any woman before her
stronger
than any promise of affection
any kiss
any trust

for, she had conquered him
passionately
patiently
enduringly, with love
convincing him - resoundingly
that her heart was solely HIS

for that day,
with her inviting him into her womb
that was the start of their honeymoon
the firmament
the consummation
of their oath to love
and eternity
humanity

with no remorse for their matrimonial union...
no fear
no sorrow
no misery
no end

A whisper soft—across the vale,
Where Rona Mae Ronda treads—
Her footfall light, a breeze’s tale,
Through meadows gold—she spreads.

No need of day—her presence brings,
A twilight soft and kind—
With every step—a thousand springs,
Awake in heart and mind.

The daisy turns—her face to see,
As Rona Mae Ronda glides—
Through clover fields—so carelessly,
Where innocence—abides.

The robin pauses in his flight,
To hear her laughter’s sound—
For Rona Mae—by day or night,
Turns all to sacred ground.

She leaves no trace—yet all can tell,
Wherever she has been—
The very air—begins to swell,
With what the soul—has seen.

:: 08.12.2024 ::