Blue grows the tulip
White grows the Rose
Here goes a letter
To whom no one knows

Light falls the feather
Bright grows the fire
Of the irony of love
I will never tire

Green grows the grass
Heavy is the dew
All this beauty
Is in tribute to you

A child to a mother
A moth to a flame
As timeless as tears
I'll never be the same

Minutes to hours
A day to a year
Because of these padded walls
We're all mad here.

Delicate flowers
blossom in the summer Sun;
A breathtaking sight.

Painted a masterpiece
In my dreams:
A Chilean villa.
Cactus streams.
A flower composed,
Wilted with time
With muted colors,
Tequila with lime.
Fields of desert
With tuxtla soaring.
Winding paths of
Wood and brick flooring.
A cool wind blows
Through the heat
Over sweaty brows
And sandaled feet.
A moment trapped
That’s never been.
A life of others
Never seen.
Put away my brushes,
Stood back to admire
The deep ocean sky,
The burnt orange fire.
It lay on the table,
Alive on the canvas
When waking did cause
My hard work to vanish.
In memory only
And never shown
Forever discarded
Once beautifully known.
My studio of mind
So often produces
A wonderful concept
With no practical uses.
I’d like to live there
And run those streets,
Take shade under awnings
Sampling savory meats.
But I’ll never go there,
Never see that place.
Never plant in soil
That’s been erased.
That marvelous day
Conceived at night
Keeps the dreaming
Forever alight.

The enchanting, unearthly fog
overwhelms the parking lot
and my small romantic heart.
This drab field of concrete becomes
a magical fen
the place where epics and legends unfold.
My feet lift lightly through the damp
and I dance with the shadows
transformed by the mist into something
fantastical.
The street lamps beam fantastic eerie rays
in to my wonderland domain.
Am I a storyteller?
wanderer?
faerie?
I think I am the beloved of a great Lover,
pursued with gossamer dreams
and romanced by sacred light.

To rest, a lumbering Whale
slumbers within a dissmal
green foggy depth of the
shadowiest waters.

Sleeping now, an
unawareness
but also cause for
That from which to awaken. ...

The task to rise for a
breath still,
Magnificent size,
its shape imploring -

Where life grants itself
from the essence
of which to it
also plays.

Paper scenery's hang
                             in the background,
          reproductions brought to life.
The sun casting shadows,
                        before bulbs expire.
But when the wind falls,
                  plugs pulled, the set vacant.

You are so tall,
I have to stand on my tippy toes
To reach your lips,
And I can't stop myself from doing this

The need since we've met
And looked into each other's eyes
Has been so strong

Those **** beautiful blues of yours
Have me wilted

I think I want to get away from you,
Then hours pass,
And all I've thought of is you

This feeling has me all caught up,
I want freedom,
But I also want to be in your shower, screaming "yes, please"

It's a killer transition
To what I just let go

An incredible change of scenery,
That I enjoy
A ******* lot

There's a certain melancholy as I look out the window
the train swaying slowly, billowing smoke as it goes
my thoughts, clouded as they are, reforming me
I close my eyes and imagine the fields passing by.

I try to bring up the happiest memory I have
it's somewhere in there, formless and drifting
yet all I can remember is the path that I have traveled
all I can remember is the path that I have to travel.

I've been on this road for far too long
drifting from one destination to another
searching for an oasis in this endless desert
I am a traveler grown weary of the same old mirage.

The cabin rattles and pulls me out of my stupor
I go back to staring at those endless farms
this momentary respite from the journey
has slowly become the fondest memory of mine.

Smiling, I laugh at my own childishness
of wishful thinking, of dreaming about my goals
my destination is not at the end of these tracks
rather, it's these fields that I am passing through.