Feet swayed above the depths of the deep blue sea, eyes scanning over the horizon of crimson reds and embellished purples that rest with the indolent ripples of water; leaving reflections of scattered perfection to dissipate into the open waters. Longing for a sense of direction, a sense of change. My heart ached for a better me, to be as beautiful and courageous as this sea.

The salty water napped at my toes, hitting the floating pillars that hold up this stretch of rotting wood, as though in a rage to let me know, “You are beyond what you see, open your mind and let free, just be!” But who am I beyond this flesh prison of intellectual knowledge? A walking encephalon of salted water, feeling more then my core accounts for; I want to be the sea, and so much more.

An illusion in the real world, as if the magic man forgot to snap his fingers and bring me back to reality; and still, I pity those who can not see me. The genuine me. If only I could be seen beyond the phony, people-pleasing charade. Oh, what a lovely day it could be. To listen to the quiet, before me. For words are not what make self, but the silence of the unspoken, of the words spoke within.

Though, I look on into those crimson reds and embellished purples, I am reminded that I am just as puny as the planet itself, beyond the galaxies of space and time. Or am I just as vast as an ant to its crumb, that falls beneath the floor board? A dreamer of the void, but I’ll never touch the starry night light. I am a gnomist, deluged in a subconscious mass of riptides. There has to be a better construct among the hillsides, but my mind is branching off in dark suicides.

As my thoughts wandered, so did the allegory of the sky, beneath the sea to sleep; and the darkness settled a top the water. Where am I now? Still. Silent. Wreaking havoc on this ageless soul. I lay back on the rotten wood of this outstretched dock far from the shore, with my thoughts deep, deeper then the water that licks my toes with every wave that pushes. Water that once touched the deepest sands of the sea. Water that has coasted along sunken ships and forgotten memories that lay a strewn bottomless pits, never to be seen. Water that evaporates into the sky, touching the air we breathe, with clouds that sheds it's watery tears back into the sea, singing, “Oh, wont you come with me, to this wasteland of the silent. Where we’re all destined to be.” I raised my hand and touched what can not be seen. Seen, but can not be touched - The starry night, and the aurora’s green ribbons of light, dancing to rhythm of my off beat heart.

What a beautiful sight. Thoughts of darkness turned to light. A different thought provoked within, and a smile creeped across my face. How strange that a change in scenery can alter one’s mind riddle in a blink of an eye. Once dark and sorrowful, to serene and irenic. The search for our better selves, is never-ending and ever changing.

Under a mask and some ripples
An ocean of sky and foam of clouds
Wind wanderer, you and your tides
Must have been where nothing remains

I see him everyday, on a broken pieces of mirror
His pale face, body thin, Eyes sink in tears.
Cry of his belly and brain, is all he could hear
Carrying the weight of his shattered dream
His heart beats in the fear
Will he ever overcome
From this enduring nightmare.
Will someday he can see himself
As he had wish to appear?
Lost in these thoughts, every now and then
He moves here to there
So the passengers, passing on the street
Called him, 'The Street wanderer'.

Sometimes he dives into his memories
Remembering how he had come here
Remembering that once he had his loving parents
His friends, his relatives, all were there
But he left the home and brought himself alone
To do something for which the world can cheer
And as you can see, he reached nowhere
Shedding his hope with every drop of tear.


But forget, what had happened in the past
As this morning, the Sun casts
The lights of bright fortune
What he have to do
is to follow his tune.
Sitting on a bench
That serve him as bed
He takeout his dairy
And his pen.
Started to jot
Whatever in his mind
Satisfied with nothing
He scratched all, in no time
In that anger, he had on self,
He hold his head, he yelp.
He remembered the words of his parents
"Focus on studies, You are not for all this!"
Oh, how good, if he follow their instruction
At least, he can see his reflections.

Time passed from day to night
And he is still, without smile
Sitting on that very bench
He pick his dairy, in his hand
Turning the wrinkled pages, all scratched.
Marking his disbelief on himself.
But this time he is determined
And this very night, he have to find
The rhyme
The very best rhyme.

Alone he walks down a rocky road,
shadow scattered with winding turns.
With canvas sacks he carries this load.
While eyes fall sleepy and muscles burn.

Each step taken with intention,
To reach the end of this twisted path.
Each step fueled by retention
of memories from distant past.

Alone he walks, as shadows laugh.
Nocturnal creatures stare, and jeer.
His lonely journey a social gaffe,
He takes solace behind a stoic veneer.

He never had roots, as the trees beside him.
But he met other caiteoiri along the way.
He spoke with them in moonlight dim,
With unspoken knowing that they would stray.

Not well understood, this roving man.
But those that tried could see his heart.
A vagabond that most have banned.
For reasons only seen in part.

Cricket chirps, they sound then subside
as he nears them along the crooked way.
They pick back up with distance wide.
He can sense the awful things they say.

He did not ask for this nightly trek.
Or to carry the burden of this sailcloth sack.
Sympathy is rarely a prospect.
Some folks never wander this stony track.

Some will say they understand,
but those that do, they know the truth.
That to say such things is sleight of hand.
No one can really know but you.

Spit out thunder,
Fortress of emotions,
Buried deep under

With every beat that drops,
Pounding in my heart,
Dancing with me

Moonlight drives, crimson
Red painted sky,
I sense drama everywhere
Draws me to the truth

And when Nature,
Holds your hand
And says, darling
The founder is you,
This is your race

Shoeless,
in a forest,
insects on my toes.
Have I lost it?
It’s better if I don’t think for so long.
I might stop it,
sabotage it,
before I make it home.

Don’t put that spell on me,
now that I’m free.

Boneless,
in a casket;
washed out to salty sea.
Sun-baked, I’m awake,
but again, it’s just me.
Two times, I have tried
to steer away
from a lake that bears my name,
but now that I’m awake,
the notion just don’t feel the same.

Have I lost we,
now that I’m free?

Weightless,
and dateless.
Lost in time and space.
Doesn’t matter where we begin
so long as it doesn’t end.
I stay in place as everything floats away;
running as if chased.
Lasso the sun or the moon
to rocket me to some other rat race.

If I’ve lost we,
then, so be.