Leaving trees....

Rain drops run off leaves,

joining wet streams,

As my heart bursts at the seams,

Will this feeling last forever or diminish?

I hope to feel peace before death spell's cast,

before my life reaches its finish.

I wish to leave all pain in the past,

And have a heart heavy, full of love that lasts.

hand in hand they walk
over mountains and valleys
never letting go

Where is lost
the sweet silence
in the solitude we cherished;
the still truth in
the river of our reflection?

A restless echo
runs into our languid chest
and chases the content out.
A yearning resonates -- everywhere.
There's a ripple
the images come unseen
Haziness eyes
the form of our being.

Serenity compromised
Mirrors shattered
We scream at life
as the blur surfaces.

When words lose their meanings
When Authenticity becomes an act
When truth  starts to hurt
When solitude is nowhere to be found

I'll start asking my questions

Why do you need to lie ?
Why do you need to act ?
Why don't you speak your mind ?
Why don't you enjoy the silence ?

You live in my solitude
That frightens the world too much
I open my eyes
And close my conscience
I need to see solitude in other people
To rescue my darkness from life.
I believe in your eyes
Because something musical gets out from it.
I believe in your body
Because immortality keeps poetry alone in it.
I believe in your labyrinth
Because it leads to my sorrow.
I want to destroy your silence
And follow you in the fog
To meet bergman who actes in the hell
And tarkovsky who shouts by my name and yours.
My horizon gets dark from time to time
But you are in the gap
Between my soul and body.
I will leave you destroyed
On the gate of nebula
And will not get closer to the blind death.
I don't own existence
But I own nothingness.
Nothingness is a lot of mirrors
that marry in onself.
the non insasive poems run
from your right eye to the left
and it never founds home
except when I **** the distance
between your eyes and my eyes.
my solitude commits suicide
every time I see you.
destruction condoles my soul
and I found its roots in you.
I will enter the life
When I die
And will enter the death
When I kiss you.
I want to widen the death
To include our souls in the frightened letter.

I pose high my chest of ragged ribbons
And unravel a fist to stretch out fingers in search
Of a hand glimmering pale like a lantern
throughout this grey
        empty space. Once a pavement, now as good as

Cloud. Frozen lake. Dust. Boiling ashes. Skeletons.

I am walking on the slashed frames of waves
As jesus once must have. Propelled to a miracle unwitnessned
To anyone but myself. I am impelled to corrode
Into a statue; to remain a rigamortic rotting jade jewel in the sun
Until I no longer can.
Until they found me...

Perhaps they'd dust me off, thaw the ice from my shoulders,
Rehydrate me and gorge me,
Restart the blinking light in my brain
And refrain me evermore from having to seek.

But seek I must, for the lonliness weighs me down
Further by the day. I take half as many steps now as when I began my voyage.
My memories are like ghosts of flames that play
Snakes and ladders and hide and seek.
I am the lighthouse man and I sail drunken--
A rubicund mishape of bone and scuffed thoughts,
I can feel every soul which once embodied and huddled this place.

It's like they are trying so hard to posses me but even
Their souls have been smouldered to whispers
So thin they ring as mutely as the surrounding mist,
So soft they vibrate akin to an infant’s pulse
Throughout these walls, these scrapyards, these crumbling arcades, this sandbox grey that begs for a scream.
The spirit of a tarantula trembles along my back and grazes it teeth against my shoulderblade,
Praying that I turn to confirm it's being –but it's a game I’ve long grown sick of–


I am the lighthouse man and I ceased having a face long ago.
What I recall of my reflection was a child so young and so sure
Of a different life that

I cannot be sure it's even me.

I am the lighthouse man; a puckered bulb balancing on too-big shoulders, that walked
  through barren flat closes and exited empty handed, the lonely poltergeist,
a bitter flab of skin.

I am the lighthouse man and I am the final Aspen leaf in the pond of the universe,
I see myself reflected in a sole star twirling underfoot and overhead
rowing my ears so thick with disfigured silence so that I wished I was born deaf.
I am the lighthouse man and my mind is a spinning fragment
    my eyes can merely follow and my floating steps merely trail.

It never changes tone here, I can only vaguely trace the time
By the occasional moon. Tonight it shines half chewed,
  Befitting the levelled star a sideways crown.
It is beautiful but I mustn't stop to admire, lest a survivor
Scavenger loses patience withholding the last of their scran.

I am the lighthouse man and I haven't eaten in years.

I am the lighthouse man and I bled for the first time yestardy.
I am the lighthouse man and my bulb ricocheted off the base of my skull
In a telling fairy tale dream. I felt static in my head
And my light's ink spilled across my hands and for a minute I thought
My light had gone out. I tasted blood,
Trickled down from my stinging nose and I had never been so scared.

I am the lighthouse man and I never knew I could die.

I am the lighthouse man. Once the world danced with magic and I was
A walking satellite that grew to want to dissapear.
I am the lighthouse man and my decrepitude is casted in my hands:
Black as the night from the dirt collected over the years.
The few slashes of skin clear enough to see look rust-like and obtrusive, outdone only by
My veins like wonky bruises that vine across the silhouetted bone;
Bridging gear to gear, clinking shivering knuckles
         That want nothing more than to surrender.

But I am only frostbit, not frozen.
Life was and thus must still be.
I am a raindrop, not the whole ocean.

I am a walking lighthouse inspecting and guiding empty seas,
A form without virtue
That ceased feeling it's metallic steps too long ago to recall.
A cubist teardrop falling down a grey giant's cheek,
Waiting to be captured and swallowed.

Or perhaps I am climbing uphill, slowly along the circumference of his forehead.
So slowly I cannot notice the rise. Perhaps I was destined to amble in hypnosis,
En route on this colourless limboid curve until I forget the concept of
             a destination, a soul, a matryr jester to rouse me awake...
             and perhaps it is then that I will be blessed with the heavenly bulb

Of the weeping giant on whom's flesh I disturb.
I am the lighthouse man and I dream of purpose.

I am the the lighthouse man with a penchant to levitate
I am the lighthouse man and I am a God without tool or reason.
I am the lighthouse man and I'll walk this limbo until my feet dissapear.

I am the lighthouse man and I am cursed.
I am the lighthouse man transitioning between lives and never knowing
Causality nor the answer. There are no questions to have;

I am the lighthouse man and I must have been a murderer in my past life.
I am the lighthouse man and I can feel my inner fuses twist,
Falling fainter and fainter by the second.
I am the lighthouse man and I will not make it another night.
I am the lighthouse man and I am a memory-bank full of nothing remarkable.
If I felt this months ago then perhaps I would make do with the my sojourn of an empty house, atop a parked car, and perhaps I would be content with rotting.

But now the moon shines so luminously bright and full and close! So very close!
I am the lighthouse man and I chase the moon.
I am the lighthouse man and I vaguely recall my mother saying 'do not eat the moon,
It will give you nightmares!’ and it all suddenly makes sense now.

The stars are all out tonight and they await my company. I am the lighthouse man and now I run.
I run run run run for the sky in ode to the rest of the bodies that abandoned this place.

I built my self
a windowless room
so I could see the world
traveling further
                       down
           down
down
into myself
to grasp a universe

Seasons change and winter for my heart is on the horizon. Entanglements ensnare and crisp breezes burn to chill winds carrying her heart to another. I find myself ellipsing through angst and ache, profanity and pensiveness, anger and outrage, longing and loathing, recognition and regret.

     As I grow accustomed to the lengthening nights of discouraging
                                                         dark
                                              to the cruel chill of absent air
     You re-enter my life, Whirlwind,
                                              beautifully baffling my seasons of
                                                         sentiment
     An unnatural spring of hope withing the solstice of solitude
                                              for which I prepared
     How do I resist such a heavenly attraction, when all I wanted to
     be is the man who won your affection?