it's not,
too late
to feel again

even the broken
can be restored
and given a second chance.

just sit back
and relax.

good things will
come to those
who patiently wait for fate.

you thought that
was the end
of your world

but the end,
is just the
beginning

and those
good things
are never-ending

it's not,
too late
to feel again.

change your
heart and
mind

and don't
drown in the
depths of time sublime.

Well !
To justify the word
"Perfect"
All great artists
Have invested
Some more ink
Some more color
Some more truth
Some more sense
Some more time
Some more endorphin
Some more emotion
To detail
Their perception

Honoring the spirit
With passion to prime
Their enthusiasm
And insight to give
Eternal life endlessly
Consoling their soul
They invest

Nothing more

In the recesses of my mind
Lies a fearless monster
Whose heart is blessed and blind
And whose love grows forever

Its beauty glows of a shine
That suns and moons polish brighter
And its pain draws a line
That tears and turns into laughter

Its madness is of wisdom a shrine
And its lightness can never grow paler
For He expresses the sublime
That my aches breed for you, dear Reader.

When a soldier marches, where does his focus go?
Forward? To glory or doom?
His mind filled with stories of honour and pride of wars long ago?

Backward? Of the life, they left behind?
To the wife, the child back home?
The medals to be shown as trinkets or to speak never more?

Have they ever stopped to look around? Of the country, to be or not to be? The mountains, the rivers, the towns and to the sea.
The damage to be caused? The life preserved?

Regardless, the solider marches

If lucky, we accrue the time
that makes us me and you
it is sublime
and wholly human too

The Other Side

Look through me so that I can see you
naturally
Surprise me
Do not hinder your reveal

I appreciate your humanness

The blood that sings when you think of me in golden evenings

I know.

That you can hear me learning
I feel your brain’s creativity on my spine

That is beauty speaking to the core
Growing one breath at a time
before we meet again

a man crested his hill, he viewed the world around him. never before had he seen such ferociousness.

he was viewing something no souls had ever encountered. he was, for the first time in his life, the first.

he fell to his knees— water crashed below, as the tangles of pine closed in on his frail form.

he believed the world built this view for him, and only him. only— the world built this view for no reason.

the serendipity of the hill he collapsed on was marveled by the man. he wept. alone, in a world only he would ever see exactly as is.

cries to the heavens were silenced. his own drive to rise again fell off the cliff face. he simply watched.

vines creeped up his torso. snakes nestled under his legs. his hair melted with the spring thaw, then washed away with the rain.

his eyes never faded. his mind never dulled. he simply sat and waited. he waited for god to extend His hand.

what else should one do in front of the sublime?

When she walked it was as though
     the wind would move her
she would flow like summer breeze
one could barely behold
the perfection – oh the ease
with which she moved

Each step was like the ballet
like Swan Lake was set afoot
in the person of her womanhood
she, like no other could

Men fell in states of blunder
and ladies shapes of awe
for none could stand before her
not one resist her call

The Mona Lisa in the flesh
a living work of art
her subtlety betrayed her
a disguise she ill could wear

Her modesty set before her
a veil that through would shine
the loveliness of her countenance
the lady so sublime

I saw her once.