Just a moment with a rose
that may come with a dew or so!
Ah, thousand and one fairy nymphs
wait for that sweet mo.

That moment painting the sky all blue
the sun hanging low
down the cool rainbow
will roll into an upspring water drop.

Oh, save a dew on the rose
if only one knew from
what a spring does it float!

I refuse to let my artistry
be ignored,
broken, beaten,
bruised, or forgotten.
These words hold my truth,
deeper than any flagship
can carry.

A water bottle perched
on a desk, cluttered
with papers. Old writing,
portfolios of work half-forgotten.
A hand grips the bottle,
untwists the cap,
sips. Right now,
her words
are her only friend.

The clay mug fell, shattering,
the water inside staining
the floor with its murky
paint-infused hues.
Brushes lay, wet and askew.
Blankly, the artist stares,
the sound of his breathing
emphasizing this moment.
There is beauty in small things.

. . . "You are dusk on my horizons," I muttered, as I stroked the familiar line of his shoulder blade.
"I think you mean dawn," he scoffed, as he rolled away from me like he had one thousand times before.
"No . . ." I whispered at his retreating form. "Dawn brings the light. Dusk . . . Dusk steals it away."

Sometimes you have that moment
that one moment
when you walk to your boring job
or to the school that stresses you out
or to the boyfriend that treats you
like you are not that beautiful as that wonderful flower
you see on the ground.
it's the first one this year,
isn't it?
Maybe the flowers started blooming a while ago
but you did not pay enough attention
to actually notice
And in that one, special, hideous moment
you realize that everything in your environment is changing
For a second, just a small, tiny, short baby second
it feels like a new beginning
but then you keep moving, keep walking
to your job, school or boyfriend
and everything stays the same
tragic, isn't it?