Warmth has arrived,
Blissful sun rays that kiss upon skin
With the tenderness of a parent's embrace.
It starts in the tissue of my face.

It seeps a little deeper,
Pervading my infinite layers
As if it dreams of warming my soul.
However, it cannot fill the hole.

The heat has come at last,
The season has shifted from cold
To blistering, filling warm.
Yet it does not end my storm.

you only loved me during the summer because you were happy
because of the sunlight
but when autumn arrived
you decided it was time to walk away
i had become love faded

Everybody always quotes about laying in bed at night, alone and depressed, but nobody ever states what it feels like to lie in the comfort of your own bed at any hour of the day, with no one to take and give comfort to. You're alone in the sunlight, empty and distressed over the fact that you have no one at all to spend your time with. The day is when you are meant to have fun, and be with people, but when you are explicitly alone then, well, that is when you feel the most deflated and dejected.

Your fingers caress mine.
Our palms separated by a hair's breadth.
Our hands finally embrace each other.

They write poems to declare their love.
The negative spaces between fingers are filled out with warmth and sunlight and you.

But the hair's breadth is a canyon.
We both know your sunlight isn't tangible.
Are we holding hands?
Or ideas?

"There are defining moments when the blossoms bloom in spite of the wind, the reeking dryness of the ice cold plies of travelling light amid concrete, in speeding flight to grasp a sparkle of light, or a quick breeze of air, before their spines crumble and the petals back in despair!

These are the moments when and where, my eyes come fixed in constant stare... and then the nights takes away the plight with restless sleep!

You see, in the midst of all this, all this whirling and twirling, forth comes the sun, then the moon, all too sudden, all too soon... amidst all this noise so out of place, this stone grown pile of grace, and disgrace... so out of pace; the flowers I can see leap for a breath of air! amidst of all this despair, there are flowers out there, stealing their place in time! like the winds plying through the cracks in our old souls, one sweet glance at the braided bedding dawn, against the winds, the sudden winter, and stone! One quick strife for freedom, and then... no more!"

A.r. Bazian
*Mar 21st, 2015

The caterpillars preach their sermons,
Crickets string their choirs,
Under the shade of Broadleaf.

Beetles teach their classes,
The sunlight shines through the foliage,
In the morning at Broadleaf.

The leaves are green,
The airport of insects is blue,
A canopy above Broadleaf.

Lay here under the old oak tree
Stare up at its gnarly, crooked limbs
Feel the breeze grace upon your skin

Lay here in the thick grass
Gaze up at the clouds
Sunlight warm against your face

Lay here among the crisp red leaves
Watch the birds dance in the air
Hold my hand, I whisper in your ear

Let’s lay here and forget everything