There was this sound of
birds chirping
rain drizzling
children and flower petals
singing in the rain.

Jade green trees.
Blossoming like roses.
Booming lilies.
Nature into one.
Wet slippery road
made with gravel
leads into the
unknown meadow.

There was the sound of creatures
buzzling.
little eyes
blinking.
Awakened by the scent
of the brand new season.
Dancing like chubby
butterflies.
Like newborn babies.
With their little feets off the ground.

They all noticed.
And wore coats, hats, and boots.
Bringing multicolored
clumsy umbrellas.
Those finally come to use.
The air was still cold.
But its not like February
with a pump of warmth.

A crystal clear raindrop lay
above your palm.
It goes all the way
safe and
sound.
It was the same time
last year.
They say.
"It's Spring! "
in the air.

The orange paints the clouds
as if it needed some care.
and everything else is painted with darkness.
Then, the sky is a an impressionistic painting.

The light vanishes bit by bit
as a lamp about to burn
and everything else about to rest.
Then, the world is a modern poetry.

The city shivers
as a cold and tender skin
and everything else shivers too.
Then, the doubt is realist prose.

The Sun lies down on the horizon
as a nightly kiss of farewell
and everything else kisses me too.
Then, love is a reciprocal.

Staring out the window as the bus travels,
The beautiful, deep, green Valley surrounds me,
I yearn to soar beyond that valley,
Touch the tip of the surrounding mountains
I dream of the day,
I escape this valley.
This large, barren, stone wall
cuts me off
from the rest of the world
Everyone else says:
"There's nothing for you out there"
"There is only pain and corruption out there"
"I don't want you spoiled by the outside world"
All of that...
It may be true, but...
There is something out there,
That's worth fighting the whole world for...

I open my eyes to the green valley below, filled with light.
I am at the peak of the mountain,
I feel a strong, warm updraft under my, now outstretched wings.
I feel light and so I jump,
Soaring into the sky...
Or so I thought...
The air suddenly turns harsh and cold...
As I fall through.
"This can't be happening" I think
But I continue to fall.
I expect to fly at the last moment, or
get caught by someone, or
At least wake up...
But it doesn't happen.
The ground accelerates towards me...
and I hit it.
I feel everything,
Every ounce of pain.
I realise then...
I have broken my wings...

I wake in pain...
On the floor in my room,
gasping for the breath that falling out of bed has knocked out of me...
Dreams... sometimes I'm too scared to fall asleep because of what I may dream of...

Sitting in the class...
The sterile, white, quiet, blank classroom...
Somehow it reminds me of home...
The wind;
It blows through the grass transforming it into an endless green sea...
The slow herds of sheep;
They bleat contently grazing and playing, care free under the watchful eyes of their Shepherd...
The river;
It flows through the valley, winding, turning, writhing like a snake, stalking an unsuspecting prey...
The roofs of the small houses;
They pepper the hillside like the ants, who crawl up their dirt mound and disappear into their underground home.
I lay back in the tall grass that hides me from the rest of world,
And it's just me and the never-ending sky...
Until the call for next class. My mind races back to me, I take a deep breath, and sigh,
Home...

The silence of your calm washed over me like a wave

half thoughts

reaching down your sleeves only to meet disappointment with a knife cutting us in places we fear the most

but in those moments
I see you see me

waiting to leave or reappear

 Where is your mind where you are going?

you left your impression
in the trees
and faces of others (I know and have yet to know)

setting up
unavoidable loneliness,
(the way a landscape can only tell you
all the things you've been thinking)

you leave me
things when you're
l e a v i n g
but

even at the bottom of everything
I find you there
alone too

These patches of fog that hang overhead
Amongst the highest mountain peaks
Are the same ones that cloud my mind
And cling to every corner
Masking my emotions.

Not against the peaks of protest, these aurulent banners and jasperated jaspe so so jargoon! It's like I was suddenly alive, beat-stretched out of winter neige and into the pancosmic blisses of bright and ebullient spring, plugged with an agromania to abide this new formidable friend in the aeviternal beauty of she and I togetherness. Never to spill a morsel of a minute away from us again, upon the newly conjured spirits unto us both. To be amidst a cynosure of such affiation, to be in the temperate or tropical gardens whispering about our mutual love for flowers nad lists. This that precedes us, bright colliding auras in this newfound numinous kindling of us two. Watching it, making it happen- it unfolding before me made me naseaus with excitement, dithering what our next move out to be. I just wanted to kiss her face, her cheeks, put our hands together so quickly, just to let our amorous fug fill the room with silver albuminious smoke from our breaths. Miles below this, round the Earth to other places, there are the fixtures of bright and corybantic life commoved by other nations and other poised people of the light, that I should not be idle in my desires to usher myself into this grand and briguing introduction. So she said, we will play the question game, the inquiry game, we will state the mark, draw upon deep and fantastical recall, bring from our minds the most immense truths and share them, no matter now feral, or caustic, or melancholy- they will be shared until we explode with each other, our intrigues wrapped in our perfervid and amatory excitedness for one another. Too vast with wonder to be afraid of- am I such a fiend for such resplendence. That we could be vitrified in eternity in a veil of fulgurite. So at this nightfall, this acronychal of bloviating bliss, to write and wonder, incessantly in the finest of provincial matters to settle this garden where Thetis lives to be of her, two philocalists in verdant pasture, heaped with matters of the pen and the palm, in the droves of this beautiful advesperating eve- where first I wrote to you, and then I wrote you back.