one day ill lay beneath the flowers
my soul blossoming outwards,
only to be compressed by the soil.
once more rejected, failing to love...
poor little me, won't know what else to do..!
but tear into themselves,
crying for all of eternity...
but they say that tragedy is a beauty,
which is why the flowers blossom
over my pitiful grave.
and isn't it funny...?
laughable almost,
to be the source of your own misery

~
This level crossing--

stick,
sand,
and broken glass,

from naming to numbering,
names tend to define,
numbers are neutral,

they count the roads, follow their failings--

flow,
force,
and absorb,

dictated by a headlight,
I feel nearer to the surface of us,

motion made of visible memories, arrested in space,

mere unorganized explosions of random energy,
and therefore meaningless--

to fall in love with our progress,
and yet be outgrown by it.
~

Darkness was a shroud that needed to drift into outer space
In the wee hours of the morning it creeps back
Somehow, it is banished or it is hidden from others so they don't see
In silence and quiet there is a profound wisdom
Too much deafening noise out there coming from too many sources
Tired of listening to those who want to hear themselves talk
Listening to a world dealing with challenges and changes
Since coming out of the darkness , the middle suits me for now
That is where I am today

C@rainbowchaser2021

Walking home
at twilight:

the gentle breeze

the lavender sky

the wave goodbye
before the sun
closes its eyes

and the lingering disquiet
of knowing
you're all alone
for the next several blocks

plagiarism is a symptom
but the disease is deep
the cure painfully long.