disclaimer Lune:

these are just studies
not real life
which is more complex

0
sitting on a bench
in the park
people are the show

1
beaten down by life
tired eyes
explain frustration

2
girl sings to herself
almost skips
her path seems so clear

3
headphones on
in another world
this ones fine

4
man who chose
to live his life such
as it is


5
slowly killing him
he continues
a bite at a time

I stand in a crowded parlor of stain-glass windows.
Surrounded by Rainbow Christs crowned in hemp.
In the corner sits Lao Tzu, in a tweed jacket that wreaks of mothballs,
Talking mildly of quarterly earnings reports with Buddha.
The former Joseph Smith Jr. just got new gauges.
She smiles, her braces flashing in the smoky room.
As I enter, a crumpled and toothless old man introduces himself as Muhammad
And politely inquires as to whether I want any cookies.
“They’re snicker doodles” he says, “I made them myself"
Meanwhile, Moses and Abraham hold hands preaching
“Down with God and Bill O’Reilly” over a game of pool.

All the while, as I stare up and think and attempt to make something of the thoughts swimming in my head like fish who cannot see, and the mouth of the everything full of so much nothing that surrounds me spews back not a single hint, you, the girl whose hair is licked a charred brown from the crackling fire of passion swirling from your inners, you, the love of my life, all that may have been past and all after ones too, you are the anchor of my imagination, the stone to hold down my wonder, and keep it from floating off into the vastness of the loneliness that consumes everything that is not here, in your arms, against the soft breeze of your touch, and then I know that everything is well, and all the unspoken beauties of the Universe only mean for me to wrap around you in way of mind and soul and body and laughs we share beside a city without lights, five stories above the world and soaring ever higher.

It was a summer morning. The man got up, got ready quite quickly. He pulled the door to, and stepped into the street. It was still early, the sunshine was bright, the street like a wasteland.

A small boy was kicking a football against a low wall. As the man approached, the boy kicked it towards him.  The man returned it, the boy returned it again. The man lifted it with his toe, flicked it ten feet in the air. The boy let it bounce and headed it back.
The man trapped it and left it at the boy's feet as he walked by.

'Where you going?'  asked the boy.
'To see my dad.'
'When was your dad born?'  asked the boy.
'Nineteen twenty four.'
The boy lifted his finger to his mouth.
'Ninety, that makes him ninety.'  said the man.
'Better hurry then.'  said the boy.
The man looked at the boy properly for the first time.
And smiled.

He cocked his head, looked down at me curled up in his arms, vulnerable, I'd imagine he'd see me as, and parted his lips to let out a string of words tied to a sigh.

"What is your favorite memory?"  He spoke, the words dripping off his tongue and slipping down my face, creeping into my mouth, coating the insides of my lungs I no longer breathed from.

I wanted to say this one; The one where I bled to death in his arms, and I finally felt the sting of his tears he no longer had to hide.

i.
​As the looking glass feels the soul
strength will be revealed
in the song book of life,
as it is told true beauty fully wonders.

ii.
​Were we born in the arms of Angels
with heaven standing by
thats finds a way to the heart,
that had been bound by love forever.

iii.
Fate somehow bestowed on us
the arms of a shooting star
no one will ever love me,
that will be forever more.

iv.
The forever was willed upon this earth
pursued my way along
the corridors of heavens horizon,
in the vessel in the land of the stars.

Debbie Brooks 2014

The freshly severed heads
of dandelions
explode, silently, at the gentle
puff of a child’s breath.
Their hollow stems shed milky tears;
the seedlings fill the air.

My mind is racing, the finish line is just a little farther. My heart stretches but can't reach. It can't reach the goal I've strived to accomplish. For it only shadows and scars those who love. Theres fear in my head, theres pain in my ashure eyes. This strange feeling scares me. It scars a heart that has been through hells unremorse. No hand nor heart could heal its wounds, only true hearts can heal the broken. A dark heart only fails to realize the reality behind its darkness and hate. Beyond the crowd, is where the creed resides. The true Kings and Queens of the Heart. My heart is in an inbalance with its soul that keeps it beating. With one knife ******, it could end. With one bullet, it could be no more. The true heart must reside, and survive the greatest feat its ever known. Strange lives are lived today, but only the shadow of that demon remains. Within its snare is a lonely soul, with no love that remains.