The promise of a future bright
encased in a temporal temple:
It sits among Berlin’s blinking lights,
a spaceship made to resemble.

Its oracles stood in this aluminum starchurch
dressed in sparkling ABBA track suits,
alit by glittering disco ***** with lights that search
for the future’s many loyal recruits.

But futures seldom turn out the way
that priests of the modern prophesy,
and this once sleek starship sits, decays
while stoic streams of cars drive on by.

What happened to the dreams we had
of federations who deep space explore?
Was it all just an ephemeral fad
now left in twilight, to be ignored?

Then again, this is Berlin, the place
that is built upon its broken dreams —
Utopias all cast aside, but which grace
this city with abandoned and fading gleams.

The starship sits in unending preflight,
awaiting the signal to lift off.
Its digital clock counts down to delight
but never makes it past Hasselhoff.

Climb aboard Battlestar Berlin, my friends,
fly with warp speed to nowhere at all.
Before you know it, the latest trends
will leave you yearning for total recall.

Dreams whisper softly,
Stars fall like tears,
Hearts beat wildly,
Love conquers fears,
Hope blooms eternal,
Time heals scars,
Forever ours.

Time has run through
golden fields of hay
and swam the moss-covered
ponds in the soft amber
light of dawn.

There are shards of
beauty in the
rubble of a broken life.

Those summer days
crawled
like
a

grumpy

tortoise.

Then galloped on by, like
a ******* colt.

I fed on the breast of life,
grew strong, and free.
And now,
those November birds

are

coming for me.

In the bleak winter
under hurrying clouds,
the wind blowing, bitter
gusts through trees’ barren boughs.

A small house: Its nooks
in new Gothic style
once housed the old books
of a forgotten king for a while.

It had been a library,
a place filled with words;
now all that here tarries
are the winds and the terns.

Its glassless peaked window
looks out on the sky
to waters that flow
by the small palace hard by.

The window is incised
in stone shaded gold —
a warm tone that belies
its touch that is cold.

The red palace is crowned
in gold and white marble.
They shine out, gowned
in hues that spite winter’s pallor.

Now blue waters and birds
add color to the scene
that fills this blank window
with nature’s stained glass serene.

This house has stood waiting,
empty in wintriest times —
now it’s filled by nature’s painting
brushed in hushed hues divine.

never felt as much – thoughts on how this
crush had turned into love; and how it has
me questioning the value of time
             the right love at the wrong time

if a sunflower grows wild in the winter;
would it still find it’s place to shine – we wait
for love on empty paths and our heart’s many
phases; this seems to be the phase of real love
                   the right love at the wrong time

still are any of our moments better than
the ones before… to be honest I doubt that,
when life gives us more – looking forward to
an unwritten future, whatever it paints out as
I find myself so drawn to you, in this
                      right love at the wrong time

Me and my uncle,
Went out to buy,
Steel sheets and computer parts.

I asked him,
"For what?"
He told me,
"Nephew, I'm sick of living in today,
We're going to build a time machine,
To escape the modern age!"

So build we did,
And **** hard we tried.
But I guess you can't escape,
The world the internet trapped you inside.

Back inside we went,
When it started to rain.
Not before dragging the time machine,
Far away.
We covered it with a tarp,
To keep it dry until the next day.

But no matter how many hours,
We poured into our project.
It turned to defect,
So I guess money will never buy happiness.
Even though when you google happy,
There's a shopping tab.

So Mr. Musk,
Don't deceive me.
My wallet will never be,
A road to happiness,
In quite the way you sold it to be.

Guess I don't need those glasses,
A cheer to me!

Nowadays you have to think about the way you think.
Think about it!