How are you fellow poet?
I hope the burning sun is keeping you
Warm without knowing it
Through a thin veil of sky so blue.
A pure veil of blue
It is beautiful, white fluffy clouds
Keening wind and lapping waves
The most pure of calming sounds
Waves rush the rocks
Though the sun pierces the clouds
Crashing, smashing and rumbling
Till the mountains come crumbling.
Sun sets and darkness falls
The stars show themselves at night
Calm waves rippling
Reflecting that beautiful starlight
Though bright a light may be
The touch of a star is all but lost
When we ask of fun and glee
Amidst all the chaotic costs.
A collaboration/ poetic conversation with Star Gazer
The mouth may be
Sewn, out of words,
Sworn, to never speak.
But a pen and a bottle of ink
Can never disappoint
The unspoken things you think.
A soft, bristle brush of it
On the surface,
The marks it leaves,
Are so unworldly picturesque
It’s always hard to believe.
They made her a quaint painting,
she never spoke out of turn.
She granted herself a wish,
she only wanted to be picturesque
waning to the wayside of mannerisms
she gave herself 'wiggle room'
she was a sight
not worth seeing.
Cracked porcelain faces,
she saw herself in them.
It took time to find her way to shore
but when she did
and stood on her own two feet,
she was more vivid and brilliant
than any quaint little painting.
Someone once told me that Christianity gave him the idea of restriction. Kinda wrote my thoughts on how being a poster child or a pinup girl isn't the point. Being and knowing who you are and knowing what you want is important. You can gain strength through obedience but also from being free as who you are rather than being made.
The mountains raise their heads
To look up to the sky
Looking to kiss the eternity
Searching for the soft caress of clouds
And soothe the upheaval it went through
First drop of rains anoint the rugged surface
The sequestered waterfall cascades down
And adorns the mountainous terrains
Covering it with the soft velvety green
Enthusing life into the once lifeless rocks
Once among the rubble
The mountains have found their place of glory
Pretty people are petty.
We're all marred up beyond recognition.
Perfection isn't an option,
Therefore neither is peace.
We're all floating down
A swirling stream
Filled with insecurity and scrutiny
Looking for something
We're coming up empty-handed
left only with rays of the sun,
Billowing trees in the teasing wind
And hands that hold nothing but
Loneliness and apathy.
We're all insane.
— The End —