Here late into September
I can sit with the windows
of the stone room swung open
to the plum branches still green
above the two fields bare now
fresh-plowed under the walnuts
and watch the screen of ash trees
and the river below them

and listen to the hawk's cry
over the misted valley
beyond the shoulder of woods
and to lambs in a pasture
on the ***** and a chaffinch
somewhere down in the sloe hedge
and silence from the village
behind me and from the years

and can hear the light rain come
the note of each drop playing
into the stone by the sill
I come slowly to hearing
then all at once too quickly
for surprise I hear something
and think I remember it
and will know it afterward

in a few days I will be
a year older one more year
a year farther and nearer
and with no sound from there on
mute as the native country
that was never there again
now I hear walnuts falling
in the country I came to

they say that eyes are the window to the soul and if thats so why do we hide them as to not let them show we dip are head and dont make contact. souls connect contract and become compact smoothing and soothing windows to the soul. the eye is beautiful true but to few its a weapon bent on harming you. some eyes attack at your mind tricking you over time into keeping a calm peace of mind until its time to strike you. these eyes can leave you battered and bruised all kinds of abused and feeling used. if i look at the soul and see something artificial in those holes that are the so called souls we need to see not with are eyes but are minds or we will be blind and leave are hearts behind.

A shaft from the golden sun,
reclined peacefully in my lap.
The amber gleam reflected back,
and gently baked the solemn land.
An ardent whisper furnished the woods
with a viridescent scent that woke up the woods.
Silver songs of sleek streams,
chased the lullabies away;
gently.
Ancient tress cuddled the wind,
their leaves clapped in sheer bliss
The broken winged white eyed bulbul,
warbled hymns to lift the curse.
Scarlet tainted vintage letters resting in the rustic mailbox,
await your tender touch; while they chant for a past long gone.
But lily livered clouds,
they have turned your courage into a yellow illusion.
So now defy the toxic words and the errors you made,
A different person inside your skin, long ago, burned our hearts on the hateful flames.

I cannot sleep
Or at least I choose not to
Until the sun breaks the horizon
I wake up to a typical ringtone
But sometimes my heart hurts
Like it used to when I smoked
And after 12 hours of rest
I can still barely open my eyes
I cannot convince myself that
There's a real reason to wake up
I am so alone aside from my love
That any social interaction crashes over my body with
guilt and embarrassment that have no purpose
I swallow a few conversations but they hurt
I miss the friends I used to have but I know
We changed so much it could never be the same

And through recent interaction
I realize how much I miss my community
Surrounding myself with those who understand
My fears
My pain
My experiences
Without me having to explain it
Validating my emotions and
Reminding me that I am allowed to feel the way I do
Simply because I do

childhoods are forgotten
mere bonds simply left to rot
bewildered and betrothed to the very idea
of a more golden sun
and glistening moon
but not all the planets in the solar system are close
and are in fact very far away

words are to mean nothing
nothing
left with the wind
blown away
good bye! adieu!
I shall miss my friend!

and where is the blossom
whom I met so long ago
on Mars
on Jupiter
the promiscuity of proximity
reminiscing
within the shallow walls of the cave
that drips drips drips
to the past

and history becomes bloated
with subjectivity and
a sepia undertone
so how can we see what went wrong?
how can we learn the implications of each movement
made by our lips
fingers
each deep breath
that coincides with the galaxy
underneath a waning moon

This wilderness beats from my bones.
The air,
Tangling through my hair,
Bells, ringing from long lost homes
Soul
Tumbling down an empty rabbit hole
Like alice.
My mind is ebbing away at
Short-lived thoughts and fantasies
Like light hood dreams.
Sunlit rays refracting past
Leafless, souless trees
Tiny watered boats on misty seas
Squelching; muddy puddles in
A rainy morning haze
Baked hot heat, dewy grass on
Lazy summer days
Pristine, soft-capped mountains
Last angle to explore
Sand, rock, pebbled beaches
(Tacky matted gloss on plastic)
Gravelled paths well trodden
Donkeys, camel, horse
Talking, shouting, screaming, morse
code on docks and oceans
Cities: loud, tall sleeping
women, men, children, babies
The noise, the love of crowds is seeping
Through my heart.
Insomnia from all these places
(People everywhere)
I cannot stop nor start.

Inside doors i feel i'm trapped
Like lion in a zoo
Around the world, i've gone and mapped
I'm wild
Through and through.