life is like a patchwork, of various scenes
like the quilt you had, filled with so many things
the colors were bright with patterns mixed up
there were even flowers, sitting in a bright cup
the squares and the shapes made it dizzy to see
they told you a story in patterns of three
life is like that quilt, of patches I suppose
you go, and you go, seeing what life has chose
you never realize what you're about to conceive
just patches of time is what life is, I believe...
Brian Hill - 2020 # 289
On a dead of winter day
our footsteps in the snow
melt too quickly
for anyone to follow
In drops of steady rain
we picnic beside the lake
and watch fireworks
fizzle out with summer
Riding the crest of fall
but stalked by spring
and so, in the throes
of such invisible connections
And sitting on a shelf
awaiting our turn
to be pried open
and spread like jam
for someone to consume...
Sun beamed at
her melodious smile,
patterns her feet made;
A sight to behold
even time stood
in solitude to
witness love song.
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There are not any mistakes in the world.
When you look at patterns on the foam of the breaking waves on the seashore, when you look at the outlines of mountains, the grain in wood and the markings on marble; you notice that it never makes an aesthetic mistake...
You are perfect.
Breath frozen in small puffs
Catching the first snow
Stand in the middle of the parking lot
As if this is something new
You are sleeping alone tonight
I know you will be hurt
Or just lonely
For we seem to fill each other’s time
An outline will be next to you
Maybe you will miss me for once
Looking up into the night sky
Gradually coating my arms and head
Smiling I stand there
Each snowflake a new beginning
Erasing the patterns
I have been caught in for so long
It is time to say goodbye
To this safe lullaby
Even on a good day
my eyes gaze through a cloud.
I think the colors are vibrant
but it’s merely the shadows dimmed down.
The doubt has been sharpened
the frailty ready to pounce.
If a twig snaps outside my walls,
I am prepared to tear everything down.
When the book was shut
someone stuffed it inside the case.
Confirming my trickle of fear
and spelling out my mistakes.
I highlighted every typo
I revised all the drafts.
I thought I could fix the punctuation by clinging.
So I suffocated the past.
I cling like snow to eyelashes
frozen and unforgiving,
or shadows to a cavern
too ashamed to let the sun in.
I reach for him like starlight
blowing wishes on desperate pollen.
I drink in his compliments
and my existence relies on his attention.
I bind to my patterns
like a moth killing itself for light
And if feelings are divergent
well, I start a fight.
I ****** my flaws.
“We will protect you,”they whisper.
I resent their ignorant attempts.
Plastic wrap, holding broken glass together.
I cringe at the words “I love you."
I can’t look them in the eye.
It hurts to know they exist.
Love doesn’t need my consent to survive.
But frost wouldn’t pound on June’s door
demanding a second chance.
And mountains don't lose their mind
when the wind asks crumbling rocks to dance.
Look away, look down.
Squint hard enough and you’ll see the light.
But what worked just as well as grasping
was opening my eyes.
Birds, they come to my porch to talk
Except for these crows that visit me on my window in floks.
With each cycle's end the black birds come to me again
I learned to speak with crows many lives ago
We have a pact that makes them reveal to me what they know
Knowledge is a fortune
Curiousity is a heavy burden
When the cycle ends , i close my window's curtains
Restless days , restless nights
Restless thoughts inside this restless mind
My will is conscious , my allies are aligned
Death is still , waiting silently by my side
I am ready to accept what is mine. ( Do i have a choice?)
Words Of Harfouchism