Porto 9h

Take me on a little trip
Down the dawn road
Hold my hand gentle, softly
Beckoning with sparks in your eyes
And all familiar things
Down the dawn road...

Laugh with me a moment,
Sat by a road we know not the name or direction of
Sugary pointless nothing
Sip vitamin C with me, vital nature
Pointlessly, aimlessly
Shroud us in each other

And complete that tapestry begun together, don't think
Like before, certain of the second time, we're
Not going to meet again, never forever friends
Feel my hand and hold my heart
Squeeze it tightly, as I yours will
And let's walk together
Down the dawn road

A poem about memories and friends made and lost

Aeroplanes fly above the land,
we ride below them in a trolley.
Metal, rubber, and oil is grand,
but walking is just folly.

Legs tangled together, clammy skin on skin, and the sun
rising behind pointed rooftops, painting the sky
an aquarelle of budding peonies and candied orange peel.
Bruised lips taste of chocolate and blueberries, and the
white wine from last night. My arms feel heavy and
my soul is featherlight, soaring into the sunshine.
The morning air is crisp in a way that announces
summer heat for the coming day, and a discarded blouse
moves with the breeze. Life is eminent yet strangely
far away from this corner of the earth that we have
burrowed ourselves into, hidden from the universe.
The city hums with life and wisdom and love, and we
have watched it burst into song and whisper quietly
but it has never seemed as beautiful as now.
Fingers link together like souls have, and lips brush
in a greeting, in recognition, and then smile.

Porto 2d

Pretty poppies
And burnt earth for horizons
Crackling savage against the cool blue
That burns you without and tightens within
Endless green and poppies

I wish I spoke like you,
In red earth, pebbles spilling from my grin
Able to lie as much as gabble
And taste the impatient air
The scent of expectant poppies

Hurriedly, I'd rush back there
And feel the emptiness apart from me again,
That kind of emptiness that lends itself to
An adventure in you
And blushes
Like poppies blush
In turbulent valleys of burnt dirt

you, my sun and stars, are in the mountains
while my head is up in the clouds

praying to every god imaginable
they bring you back safe and sound

his first road trip
Ari 4d

You look at me and think I am broken
For you've seen the scars kissing my skin
You think I am jaded
For you've not seen the vibrant places I've been.
You look at me and see
A little girl without a dream
A little girl with no degree.
But if you'd open your heart, open your eyes
You would see

I've been a hiker
Climbing foreign mountain peaks
A swimmer exploring a clear blue wild sea
I've been a lover to a foreign man
I once even had the ring.

I've been a traveler
Asking for directions
Asking which way I should go.
I've been a foreigner in a foreign country,
Oh you've no clue how much I've grown.

You see the slight limp
Of my tired right leg
My hand rubbing the pain away.
You see the scars wrapped around my ankle
Snaking its way up to my knee.

You see the lines
Trailing from my tired eyes
The sun spots, on my neck.
You think I'm exhausted; I'm worn out
You've no idea what those marks are about.

I've been a hiker
Climbing foreign mountain peaks
A swimmer exploring a clear blue wild sea
I've been a lover to a foreign man
I once even had the ring.

I've been a wanderer
Finding home wherever I'd go
Finding a thousands eternities
Wrapped up in flowers; wrapped up in families
I would become a part of.

You look at me
You see nothing
But inside
I am everything.


No distance is too great
For I have flowing black rivers
Weaving to you from
Me in dancing lines,
And you will never be far from me;
Because I have black rivers -
And flowing black rivers -
That branch into streams,
That hug and kiss the delicate curves
Of my voluptuous figure.
Under the colored skies they flow:
Rapids, and waterfalls teasing the eyes
Of the sun as he closes his lids,
And waking, rising, the moon
As she opens hers.
There are rivers,
But then, there are My rivers.
Black, and grey, and aged by use;
But these are my rivers,
Wandering distances.
My rivers,
My open, free, and flowing
Black Rivers.

Celebrities on the boulevard
Paparazzi not too far behind
The sun always shines on
A beautiful day with plenty to do
Evidence in the long lines
Of traffic but we wouldn't
Trade it for anything and
At night an even better sight
Nightclubs to die for I wonder
What's in store for the weekend..

3 of 3

Running trees and sun rays,
wind brushing and pressing on to my skin
Saline taste, that will be with me, always.
But a genuine smile will be a sin.

Yes, I am almost there,
where i found myself,
where i found them crystals, so rare.
Before that i was hidden in the shelf.

My sorrow and pain will wash away,
the second I touch that ground.
The power of the mask will be tamed ,
and the masked people will be astound.

Loving people and their vibes.
The epoch of my past will be revived.
The fruit of jollity, again, ripes
And the agony resigns

But something scares my heart.
The goodbyes.
Will I be able to start again after the depart?
Would I have to, again, live in lies?

No! My mind is ready to take it all.
To absorb the pain of the departure.
It will sure be a hard fall,
but it will merely be a fracture.

So, yes, I'm here, where i found myself,
where I found them, my rare crystals,
who pushed me out of the shelf.
But the departure will hurt me with a pistol.

Terra Sep 2015

Lights moves slowly at night. Brutal flashes of distance belongs to the daylight and the busy commoner.
In darkness all becomes soft and silent.
Wrapped in invicibility.
As the bus takes me trough space like catapillars on leaves, I catch myself wondering.
Whispering about who you are.
We look at ourselves trough magnifying glasses as if the essence of the world were to do the same.
A tool for us only, and the curiousity lingers...
we want to touch the imperfections we're not familiar with.
Blind we reach out for details that never hits the surface, and what insanity to think of diving into the cold!
Yet we never felt the temperature.
Expectations will overpower lust for most.
I travel alone in the dark, holding my own hand.
Impulses flow trough my body like the silent shock of bombs in the distance.
My mind is at cold war.
I want to touch and feel the bumpy road leaning towards my fear, and to taste the sweat of my dreams.
A toung caresses my mind so smoothly, as I yearn to figure out how words could ever touch me in such ways.
Am I warm, stranger?
You don't need eyes.
In melancholy and excitement I bade in hills of emotion, and for once, my mortal enemy, my weakness, I welcome you.
I smell your intentions carefully as I learn to know your presence.
Your hair is grey with the wisdom of shared pain, and your skin is soft like a newborn ready to live another life.
I don't need eyes either.
Only heart.
To fight nature is my nature, for on this earth I am a moon, and how was I ever to learn the ways of the one admiring my mystique?
As I would admire them.
No grass to softly hold me tonight, only cold windows.
But strangely I have also found comfort in the passing by.

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