The thoughts come out like
   a stream into my words. I don't mind them.
They mean whatever they do.
Whatever the semblance your eyes
come across.
           I'm yours in that way.
       I wish I could change
    that reality,
          but I have no desire
        to change what has already been beautifully
        made.
               I'll keep at it.
              Even if in there everyone would
                  darken my shine.   Just
          Like an unlit candle in
               a room of only shadow,
               we could find the use out of you -
                                                          but you
            won't turn the lights on for me, and
          I refuse to burn your wicker if
            that your case.

the times will come
where
       when is all desolate
    and the what is ruin amidst
           so many of how.
                  but within the love lost and love
found,
            I'll be thinking of you.

the best poems that have been
made haven't been fully written
down with just words.
little pieces ?
  sure.
     Our memory can
      only really keep
              so much.

      But to see the
          poems flow
like the crowds of the multitudes
       that are a part of city streets,
             it is there that I feel
                everything;

              it is all fully written
                      down.

              Presently, I watch the
         Writer writing unrivaled opus.
                            the waves of wind.
                                   honking horns.
                                 the steps of feet.

                                    a child laughs.

she's afraid he might just be more than everything she could have wanted.
the life, of endearment and comfort,
of excitement, of trouble, and the dreamy star-stuffs of the vision over hills.

but really, he is only just enough for her.
(he consists of only- like, hallmark platitudes)
and she deserves to be within " you are good and better of enough ".

you play off my instincts like a predator.
your bite is enough to drown in.
your fight is enough to dose in.
your lips are like 100 roses
and I'm aware your blood excites
my taste.
your tongue's touch perverts
from the wickedness.
and the love is wildly bountiful;
I am liberated.
just one of your kiss,
is enough for my benediction.

make your muse the poet
and you shall be the muse.
make your poet the muse
and you shall be the poet.

are we clashing when I pull you thus ?
closer to my beating chest.
the spirit of
spinning our bodies,
but we're also making our
mind.

anew
from the
old.
awe
flashes my
eyes.
divine
is your
smite.

dance like your life depends on it

move like you are the song

and I shall listen to all of you within it.

your love shines through,
like a snowy midday.

" May I have your autograph ? "



Sometimes these shows make
me breathless.
just-
stunned.

I would love to fall to love and love to love to fall again.
for,
my heart it beats.
my life it weeps.
forfeit: it is cease.
my soul
it is been wholey
yours.
and there is nevermore but to surrender
to yours.

Love your body
as if it her own.

The magnificence of her shape.
The beauty of her form.

They will see it too.
The ones whom are true.

The pen is an instrument.
Like I am an instrument to
  rhythm.
Therefore my instruments
are rhythm's.                        I don't even
Therefore the pen is            feel like I'm
rhythm writing.                   the one
Everyone that's with my    writing
heart, watch as pen slides  these
to rhythm.                            writings.
I wish for no credit to
myself,
        rather the rhythm.
       The music of movement inspires me.

God speaks through the dance
of life.

Ya, no-
I'm certainly not really all that good at what I do.
my words land in mud
but I'm calmed by the quicksand.
and please just swallow me Earth-
your demands are too oppressive
and your reasoning too foreign.

Comfort has distanced far but from the ghosts
of the skies.
and any touch I am gifted are shoals in drought.
like eternal fasting.
but I never mean to appeal to pity, yet it can appeal to me.
and sometimes I am strong, but it's in vain.
and sometimes I am weak, but I lack further.

At least I can tell it to your face I am not depressed.
Nor cry a tear unrighteous.
Nor will I die from my own hand-
Ya, no. not me.
I know the privilege that is life.
I can at least be proud of that, right ?

And for when I sink, my mind keeps begging the question, "what happens in May?".

shall I synthesize your imagination ?
electrical impulses,
like singing sparkling stars
or a dive in lush deep green turquoise sea cities.
the complete notes there,
the ground has placed,
all in where we shall play.

the diatribes, in love,
of the framers and constructors
shall build and destroy
upon us the corrections.
do we trust
angel's blueprints
and shepherd's paths?
Well,
no matter,
loving phosphorous
flows in canals of
poetry and marble
aqueducts like our veins.
cathedrals weren't
built on nonsense,
but truth.
yet still the heaven's creator
is just
less than
discernible.
hiding eternally within
the architecture.
and I would not have it any
other way.

Christ said our tongues were to be our swords,
but I honestly preferred a scalpel.
I mean, he said it was cool.

and make hands...
because the physician is at work.

for i speak to his name
for his name
of his name.

and all the wounds of
Silence will scream
until the hurt perish;
like sizzling flesh.

and what of wound's death ?
shall it be made undone ?
therefore health ?
a scar to remember,
and a scar to bare:
the marker of how many
times we have become
healed ?

time will truely tell all and heal all.

she was really cute.
i always left with my lips
feeling like cotton.

I'll sprint through the grasses
and dare each acrobatic-
like soccer in summer
or a wild animal in wilderness.

the sun's phoenix
scorched across the morning sky.
the watchers were at play,
and there were the background fading ,the boundary
of the red burning blue sky.
asteroids like hell fire
rained easing stones
to cease Earth's mighty
pains.

We must renew; this resurrection.
An apocolyptic sufferage
we have in envision
praying to God we are
the false prophets whence we led astray from eternity.

For there she lay in deathly slumber,
wondering what could have been
and what she ought to do !
The survivors were like her savior,
and eased every of mark.
And once the moon's cool light
drove the flames away she thought
she'd blossom again.

the prophets could hear God
through the lightning,
the clouds, or anything the air
could reach.
the poets were there to document
the magistrate
of those excellence
captured
in the word
seen.

a man that be led and lead his father
has the power over every of man.
then shall we collect sons and daughters to grow the family
that is within the heart
of him who lives
through they that live ?
for love is there in which
the family of earth rejoice
together to puzzle us all
together into
our better unity.

the thanksgiving feast
a congregation of homes
with tasty tender affections
and blessing texts.

what were once walls
are now curbs.
the fences to be lept
like the leaping lambs
in the shepherd's
pastoral gaze.
in his
plentiful roaming hills,
there lack none
of any that
but husbandry.

the way i'll reverberate
i'll find stars in your eyes.

because the truth is my resonance
and you're but the beauty to me.

but the light fades
when it ceases to be arisen.

those dark pitfalls
are void of
the will of
presence.

as if our voices are
unheard to any beckon.

speak;
and the wind
will be
made apparent.
it shall smell save of
juniper and lemon.

I could feel the angel's light
through her body.
every single piece of her
reality.
the lines and curves
were unfathomable to
me,
lest any of her movement.

u'd leave letters
gifts and loves
and they'd be
taken from the
spot u had put them
by the next morning

the clouds, they rolled into eachother
        of an angel wing's breadth.
          swirling swilling and swelling-
                            ~ that were
  mountains~            miles
          appended upon day's sky.

I was lost in it;
     but I found it there.
     beauty; glory and grace.
     these tears were inspired
     by awe alone.

we have the energy of
kings within us.

lords of faraway lands.

So I cast the crowns.
and I pass them in rotations.
and like a miracle work,
or the art of the heart,
the blessings are a feast
even beyond just the taste
of blessing's bread.
and there the kingdom shall
rejoice, for they know that
there is nothing but
everything awaiting
to be reaped of us king's gaze.

one of
the greatest gifts that has
been presented is an
empty book and a pen

Please, mind my drive,
I'd rather realize a thought than the road.
Off-beaten paths
Even over every pothole
Wherever the steed would stake me
A limitless travel

Say, when will our cars also be boats ?

i blow a cool kiss
to the boiling ***
(lest it bubble over)

joyously cooking
mixin' and masterin'
stirrin' and spinnin'
sealin' and servin'
meals wrapped up all
tight

mmm.. tell me the secret
in how it tastes just like
love every time ?

stream of blades
like fish migrating
rushing dashing daggers
right through the trees
not striking a single one-
moving like rivers flowing
and rushing.
wary the crashing waves !
the innocence of this typhoon's cut !
but like fish, they join huddling in school.
the large mass of gentle dance slows,
and some dirks drift the way of its
wind; separating- but still apart of its beauty.

not every of note
must be perfect.
because where my
eyes distinguish, they
see only of your journey of grace.
your songs play like melodies
to the heart, a whole new meaning
of what's to die for.

golden butterflies
flutter in whimsical waylays
lighting the stars and the stellaris.

a white yellow mesh
of brilliant brushes
and healing discussions.

to be happy in the darkness
is to cling to love as
tightly as one can.

in the brisk of winter's
black silent nights,
I couldn't tell if you were the snow or the stars.

"let me be your king
among slaves."
"all I will gift would have
been free from me.
every downtrod
I will take
in favor of every of your own
development I so wish to build."
But watch what you do of him,
for our sake,
he is not playing to win,
and we felt him leave too.

the season of forgiveness
is like the cold bite of snow
that now slides down your
stinging smiling face.

i can't find all the words
     to tell you how much I love you.
i can't find all the words
     to apologize how much I hurt you.
i can't find all the words
     to say goodbye to the love that last forever.

yet i say; nonetheless- and forgive the attempt in its fruition.

the metal casket.
a machine pyre.
the ceremonial sky imparting smoke
pushed upward with each and every
of deep gray plume where they screened
into the brilliant white channeling clouds.

when we cry in each other's embrace
the love leaks, stains our shirts;
like before and thereafter.
our wintery clause has little naught but
tenderness and sweets.

when you had finally entirely let me
in,
i touched a deep and dark seed that I
found most probable
and never said it aloud in respect of
your secrets
but it never changed my view of you
and I decided
to understand how to understand you
and how to heal something like that from its root while you hid your beautiful flowers i had seen all along.

let it be true
that when
i am close to you
i'll look into your
eyes
and place your hand
upon my
steady flourishing
heart.

I thought I saw her dancing-

in between all the other little dance girls.
Her face looked kind of like yours.

Her heart was as pure as precious as pretty.
She moved confidently with vigor, control, and the power of grace, she had practiced for weeks.
You could tell with just a look she knew what she was doing.
She smiled through it all, her team were coordinated.
Arms up here, high kick there. One step where, next step with care.
The edge of an ice skater, the pen of an artist.

The music stopped and the applause roared.
She hugged her friends and they were beaming with
Christmas and Hanukkah.
It was beautiful, and I tried not to clap past any child's parent.

Because truth be told, I hadn't seen her performance just yet.
Nonetheless- I felt her, and I loved her no matter the same.
For time would tell her story to me.

there's a banquet of demise
in the sanctum of goodbyes
where the dance of lovers' eyes
leaves little sorrowed lights.

a victim of disguise
in persona's darkest blights
where a parade of trophy wives
free their bodies in the night.

if there are bad times to come,
there might be worse on the rise.
some of us go into the shadows
to ensure that if the
darkest nights arrive
there will still be a lit candlebra.
the strength of a home fortified
carries forth to whichever futures.