A butterfly on my notebook
Rainbow colored wings, as large as leaf
The other day escaped from my hook
Carrying the burden of my dreams and belief.

It flew in the midst of sunflowers
Gazing at the sun,never getting tired
No heat bothered them,nor the waiting
Without expectations, they were sired.

It flow above the ocean,endless blue
A reflection of sky,an estranged sister
To meet at the end, of which they had no clue
At night they stop, staring at each other.

It flew between the mountains,hard to touch
Singing a song, no one listens
Waiting for the shower, they care so much
Hoping at the end, they will be chosen.

It flew under the caves,secrets hidden
Needle of silence, vow they taken
Fearing the light, if secret get stolen
Day to night, their eyes are open.

At last butterfly came back
Drew pictures of places it has seen
Told me how my beliefs and dreams
Were the reason, who I have been.

her eyes
were black
no trace of white around
and I always wondered
what they reflected
did they reflect her soul
her endless soul
full of mysteries
hidden in the depth
concealed by her
only for her to see
or were they a reflection
of what has been and
what will inevitably be
the beginning
and the end
of time

I lost myself
never to be found

THAT in my fever while sanity has escaped by baluster
i continue to gaze in daze across the sea of white-
capped madness

Each o-shaped mouth
Each Black-bead eye
and all the ears
     all the chins
             teeth

  speak an infinite story of nothing but sadness.
And within the orchestral pit finely dressed musicians
they shed b-flat note tears; their mannequin powder-white
skin a color of pink's sunsetting murmur.

Simply, the true story is off stage toward this
improbable army audience; the finely carved polychrome
citizens start to move;  half-bodied and more alive
than the flesh-kingdom.

   Last night.  Last night i felt.  
That one's life can be as real as one's imagination
   if you sinerely wish it.

:: 08-23-2018 ::

What is worth a writer's many words
When the ink holds your meaning like something
at the tip of your tongue?

When your eyes finally perceive
what your soul feels
and your ears hear
what your spirit receives

When you dwell
be it in high ground
or on low valley
When you look to the sky
or cast your face down to the ground.

You look longingly into eternity
awaiting something all worth more
that this.
Longing for meaning,
purpose,
life,
a reason to live
a reason why you breathe and do the things you do.

Longing for
connection,
relationship;
Longing for
mercy.

It is in the journey of a lifetime
that we realise
the hidden things

When the deep cries out to deeper waters;
When we look longingly
into the mysteries.

Thus it is in those
that our restlessness yields,
and we find peace despite calamity.

When we shall see even the face of God
who once dwelt with us.

What is worth a writer's many words
when the ink holds your meaning like something
at the tip of your tongue?
It is worth more than this,
that meaning be even found in this life
and moves beyond to something much greater
than this.

In the open air of
A night still young
My imagination was
Let loose and the story
I had to tell
Seized me

Free was I to wander
The dark and witness
Mysteries unfolding in
The shadows that
Foretold the coming
Of the light

Remembering that life
Is a remarkable journey
And that we're all
Just one ray away
From being a sun
To someone