pain is with him
they never drifted apart
not even once
the sun knows the truth
and so does the moon
yet everyone knows not
because every time he bleeds
all he bleeds is ink

Silly sullen sentences
strut in my brain
boiling baffling batches
of cluttered dust-bunnies
creating a babel tower of
lost love lullabies
slowly
decaying, dying, drifting
Wet your quill
with the ink of now
write new lulls
swaying your pendulum
between your now's
and what's yet to come

The sun sinks lower in the west where it has set the sea afire
Standing on the beach we, with baited breath to see the glorious green flash
The phantom phenomenon lives for one magical moment
Why is it that we, all of us, want to see that which will inspire?
Dipping feather quill shed from a seagull in ink I make my slash
Furiously writing and dipping until my pensive mood is spent
Sitting in darkness, pensivity gives way to discontent
Ghostly presence or absence of you.  I'm haunted by your urn of ash
I wouldn't need a summer day one last dance is all I dare require

She was Quaint
  And she was Quiet
But her words came in Quantity
With nothing other than Quality
She was a Quantitative Quilt of knowledge
Full of Questions and Queries
She was an ever moving Quill
Writing the book of her life

Yes she was Quaint
                   And Quiet.

Someone gave me reason, not to go too far
A friend that seems to me, from another star
In a not so ordinary world, where paper and quill speak
Where best hug ever are not true, but we can feel it so deep

I've been busy lately, trying so hard
Pushing myself, to get an ace on the card
"Think of the reason why you are writing, Is it to impress or to express?" she said
A word that humbled me and knocked some nerves in my head

Truly with her, I think i can share my secrets
Everything about me, my happiness and regrets
I've learned a lot from her, on how to survive in this fairyland
Coached me how to engraved perfect footprints in the sand

She was the hardest riddle that I've met
Gives a lot of clue about her, keeps you thinking but you'll never get
She was someone so close yet so very far
But for me she will always be... my friend from another star...

From my mind to the keyboard
words that do spill
quill to paper
cursive sureal
imagination stirring
fantasy abounds
a bird sings from pine
flowers I do smell
a jet flying high above
white plumes it makes
writing letters to gods
on clouds they do lay

Sometimes when you read a verse
The words hit your soul hard
They make you wonder all night
“How can someone fabricate such a piece of art?”

The feeling each syllable holds
Gets carved into your heart
Words inspiring you to weave some of your own
Which might cause the ordinary populace to feel your warmth

With excitement flooding
You pick the quill only to wonder
Would your quill succeed in
Re-creating the magic
You recently witnessed?

You drop the quill
Not because of self-doubt
But because you just know
That some magic tricks only belong
With svelte magicians
And sometimes you yield sweet joy
In being touched by others
Just witnessing greatness…