My eyes, that I carry in my hand.
They let me hold the beauty of this land.

Just a square, it’s not much to revel,
Even with its grid and with its level.

It goes beyond some glass and metal,
It opens my heart and mind just like a kettle.
The steam and scream find their place in self esteem,
Because through these eyes the world gives sighs,
And I finally find a reason why life looks oh so green.

My little sister
Came up to me
Hiding something behind her back
Her brown curly hair was a mess
And it was in front of her big brown eyes
She was smiling up at me
She told me to close my eyes
And hold out my hands
When I did I felt her give me some paper
She told me to look at it
She had drawn a little picture
It was her and me
We were standing under a giant rainbow
And a brilliant blue sky
That little drawing reminded me
Just how much little things in life matter
And how they can make someone feel

two in love, a picture found
hair as dark as midnight brushed up
against olive skin carelessly their strands
strayed in a lovely mess feather light
jawbones grazing the scalp
of this lost, doe eyed girl

straight, long eyelashes batted
against the eyebags you never had
somehow still those eyes were
never truly asleep in a facade
without the guilt of a lie

a gentle smirk painted across
that beautiful face you had
lighted treaded freckles
the softest of brown eyes
that always held cunning

mysterious how those eyes
asleep against her waved strands
managed to pretend for care
a yellow collar you had
a woman under your spell

and i had too, those brown eyes
beneath the thinnest lies
stood betrayal beyond lust
unimagined sin
without regret

in this picture
we slept

Mirror, mirror!
You are so clear.
Pure like clear water
I see not your colour.

'You can see my inside
it's your picture!'
It whispers to a candle
curiously burning
in front of the mirror!

I want it to rain
slowly intensify
I want to feel every drop
Crashing
Hard
Exploding in tears
Becoming one
Connecting Earth to sky
Dripping like liberated hope
going home from work
Drawing an image of how chains
are a bad metaphor for anything
I want it to rain
and I invent and recreate
a collage of the greatest downpour
in my head I find the space
to soak everything that wants to be soaked
and it rains
the way it was always meant to be
felt
perfect
it rains

Sitting in this cool black chair with a blanket of sunshine beating down on every inch of my skin
I stare off in the distance, beyond my dark brick wall
Where the seamless pillow clouds float away and towards
On a blue ocean of infinite depth with puffs of smoke in layers
The wall blocks the view halfway, leaving only the sky visible
No ground to be seen or believed as real
If I were to jump right over the wall
I might just miss the mud and the grass
And end up only falling endlessly into the abyss of baby blue

I see the fireflies floating gracefully in the rays of the evening sun
See the webbed light-orange leaves eager to be set free by the wind
but continue to leash onto the delicate tree branches
See the fine layers of grass stand still and permeate the air with freshness
And realise that there’s more to life than grieving over you
The world is alive and divine and so am I