DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, new poem:)

not the best lens emitted such light
delicate weathers upon previous sights
in a dived listening exile
the carry of the Earth in a swift's mile
in the blink
the week's blur and the paint's sink
raging on red sunsets
raging on yellow's pale sulfur the dreams let
the twirl of winds
on the worlds of the flipped
like in every sky
the one of the days that the one of the nights
fogs in a hurry
what's grey is the face of worry
never know if you don't see for yourself
that the clouds above this roof are the same above that shelf
not always a purple fairytale
August slipped away a coat in the cruelest detail
haven't even begun them storms
the already seen is a scare out of the norm
peace to heart
yet my mind awoke in fear from each start
these bugging times
are the times of memory loss in a hellish crime
the one sun the one full moon
how stars shine mystically reaching future's soon
and me in here as shown
tracing a map of the intuition's unknown
delusion
maybe a disguised mood before the ultimate confusion
the one month of picking up pieces
the dark is long so sleepless to the hope decreases
yet I do know that the same will return in ease and flow
been recalling that for the last two years in a row
the outer skies
now a reason to fly


                                                           ­              -------ravenfeels

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, the faint of the heart is the vision of blood on a love's dart:-/

mine to love
like a broken bottle of wine trickling from above
mine to lose
the death of leaves with an odor to choose

nerve visions times of sadness
like books left unread and ghosts of madness
the radio silences the alone
the heart of blood grew a heart of bone

speaks in gazes
like a reach of hands before a car crash embraces
stares in orange roses
the lost up space the past dream exposes

all too well prefer rivers not seas
like when the window winds shuffled with car keys
green grass shades and shields
the depressing autumn can be the golorious of all fields

bestest trees of lights in luminaire
like the colors of stolen Augusts and the Jupiter
before the shot of a wounded summer
the listen of violens and the heard bird hummer

now empty lines on empty pages
like a no remember of the highlights of the faces
with the drawn pencil a smoking scent evoked
expressions painted in coffee and lost letters in the cold  


                                                        ­    -------ravenfeels