The eyes are the window to the soul?

When you look at me do you see the cracked pane

Of a heavy prison door?

The image distorted beyond recognition,

It must be apart of your imagination.

The smoke and agony behind that panel of glass.

With a soul so tainted,

How could anyone smile?

Chest falls as smoke rises
Up into the air
The memory of a past
Long forgotten
Buried under a mountain of ash
Scrap metals, old wood
And photographs burnt at the corners.

The Violent Storm by the Water
(Do You Trust Your Imagination)
was not unexpected
but its fury was without compare,
poet awake in semi-preparation

living by water should be a human right for all,
even a small room, overlooking, gives new meaning to
perspective

we blessed with a patio door, encased in a glass window big enough for a smallish elephant to come visit and play with children

a storm is observed up close and personal as if one was in
an IMAX 3D  theater, and the edges of existence were being redefined,
sharpened by fury, tooled by tools untouched by mortal hands

miles of bay illuminated with bass drum furious accompaniment

stand before the screen,
poets arms outstretched as a supplicant,
the light of the lightening passes through him,
yet , behind me, she still sleeps

then the entire house shakes, reverberates, as if to say:


”tremble humans, cower, you are not permitted to watch my majesty, for such it was when created heaven and earth”

bold poet window worshipping
risky answers:

“but who will know
if even a poet cannot declaim sights
no one else has seen?”

”true, true, but you must choose if poet truly,
do you trust your imagination human,
to prove that the powers of the heavens are limitless?”

write of storms unseen and nature endless miracles

”then you may call yourself
a miracle too,
a poet”

scribing with smoke and utter devotion
———————————————-

****!

half an orange, half a grapefruit,
on a crystal dish, resting on a fine china plate,
Royal Worcester, from England  retrieved,
in a smoke cloud, upon my chest appears

the coverlet up to my chin pulled,
my arms tucked in tight, side by side,
the light turned off, the television too,
who?  in a smoke cloud, catch a faintly glimpse

the menu does not mention love, or utter devotion,
no recollection of ordering either, and yet,
here I-am, well served, piping hot and well chilled,
scribing of one’s shadow, she who never disappears

she, whose never disappoints, late in the evening,
early in the morning, a mirage, a ghost, magical elusive,
lightest touch of a forehead kissed, a tingle for evidence,
but not the only proof of her
utter loving and devotions appearance

I’m fatal, to your life,
And though you know,
you don’t resist me.
You ****** me puff by puff
until I was reduced to
well, not nothing.
You didn’t stop with me,
And went on and on,
a new one every day,
new soul every day.
You think I ceased to exist
and no trace of me remained,
but wrong you are and
that you should know,
I am and will remain to be
inside, where you took me.
Turn is mine but you don’t realize
as I ruin you cell by cell,
like you did to me, few months ago
until that time arrives,
when you will be reduced to
well, not nothing
and death finds your way.
Then you may join my other half
with no one to avenge your fate.
Regards, that cigarette of 7th October.

I sit in the dark in solitude
How did I get here?
Know how to get out
Paralyzed by fear

Bleed good intentions
I'm running out of red
See all my weakness
Instability in my head

So pretty appear to be
I perfectly play the part
I'll feel how I look one day
Til then inhale myself apart