My heart is a stained glass window, fragile as a Rose in May
refracting light from every angle, it holds life's leeway
Suffused with fragments of love,  I can be warm as night    
filled with a sense of awe, when you tilt me to the light,  
                                 I feel just right  
My heart is a stained glass window, fragile as a Rose in May !
Fragmented beauty encased in bursting beams of afterglow
if I follow only yesterdays, life can soon appear surreal  
Infused with an outside world that can often smite  
I choose to live inside my own reflective colors,  
                                           Always, in the light   !
Fragmented beauty encased in bursting beams of afterglow
My heart is a monument to all that I have lived and known
changing and bending with every curving path
it has been overused and "Inter-diffused" many times  
like this mosaic piece of art I call "stained glass window "  
                                I am a,   "Pièce de ré·sis·tance " ( a work of art)
My heart is a monument to all that I have lived and known
My heart is a stained glass window, fragile as a Rose in May
When I pray with it, it remembers to give thanks, in every way.

As she drinks nectar from a flower, sweetness from heaven falls like dew
anointed like gentle rain amidst sun showers, she appears as if on cue

Lifting her wings she lands on a Zinnia beneath a tinted sky of April blue
a flight of fancy fanning fast, she's a fabulous marvel of beauty, true on true

"I exist in two places, here and where you are." says the butterfly to me "
"I am you and you are I and that is why. " (pause)... we are both free !

She soars to heaven as if she were an angel of grace with wings of lace  
and when I get there I will see that God and her have just changed place.  

She drinks in the moment as if no one is watching her and so do I
and from now on I will live like her, until the day I die ...

I'll land on each soft place I find and know that I am not alone,      
over by that sunny spot I'll sit and wait, until He finally calls me home.

In the afterglow of your beautiful loving heart
lives a flower that blooms each and every day
Planted deep within, you are the great thou art
of my living soul's reveal, you are the way !

Dazzling me with brightness and effulgence
you are a glowing candle in the thick of night
With luminosity you touch on my resurgence
helping me revive, a long lost dormant light;

You are a gleam, a glint, a polished diamond stud
an opalescent being who grants prismatic hues
Seeded in your garden I know that I am loved
above all else, ... and it is I that you did choose

You are the afterglow of love's most precious gift,
the bridge across forever, that never goes adrift.

She wore a tiffany hat with a bow and six big plumes of red and white,  it had an ultra wide asymmetrical brim that rolled up to one side.  
When it came to dames like this I believe God ran out of humble stock !

She wore pompadour shoes, like she had nothing to lose
and rouge so red it made the cardinals have fainting spells !
Her hair was soaked in henna, elderberry & radish extract,
and I believe her dress was stitched in the boudoir of coco-channel!  

She was a nouveau riche reveling in her new found fame
and everything in her life was right as rain until that fatal day,  
when her hat expanded 10 x its size,  growing past her shoulders
  like a great big beast, of leavened yeast!  

Her hat pins strained from the strain of those great big plumes,  
moaning and groaning from her lithe walk and all that perfume !
Then First World War arrived and suddenly it was unpatriotic
to be concerned with one's appearance !
She was no Rockefeller and didn't own a rupee nor a heller,
so she became a steadfast loyal dame, like dear old Helen Keller .
What happened to that big old hat, with the plumes of red and white ?

She stewed it, brewed it, boiled it down then poured it in a flask,
and yes she drank it slowly,... just in case you thought to ask !

City stars and lights, darkly lit bridges and little men from Mars
I'd rather be far away from here, away from pollution away from cars
To a place where fresh water pearls live cradled  under water's overflow
and the stars of night shine brighter than the snow !
City stars and lights, we live in dim lit places like butterflies live in jars
Urban city viewing, we got gadgets we got wi-fi  we got nigh
buildings, roads , public transportation, makes me want to sigh  
Take me to a place of silence where the stars are always bright
and the earth is filled with cosmic dust from stars infused with light.
Urban city viewing, with arms outstretched we either live or die;
Come with me to a place where docile stars can truly shine
leave this world behind and join the glitter of their Divine !
Take me to a place where we can talk without restraint
a place where we can be ourselves and never wear face paint.
Come with me, to a place where docile stars are yours and mine.

Let me loose the trellis that holds on to my roses
weave every thorn I own around your open space
I do not twine nor do I have a tendril to boast of
but I do own beauty and the scent of Rose Khalid  

Let me penetrate your senses with my wildish ways
cleaving shadows of your night, I will bring you day
I am not a flower to be cast aside just like the rest  
take good care of me and I will surely bloom in May

Let me be your muse's musk, powdery sweet like earth  
leaving trails of inspiration on your velvet book of love  
I am not a garden trinket nor your favorite rose my dear
talk to me as if  I were a prayer, written just for thee.

For I am no longer a prisoner of your poetry Dear One  
just a simple musk-filled muse, reaching for the Sun...

Power is indeed a corruptive force,
Through all of mankind’s history
This has always been true.
Emperors, Kings, Potentates,
Popes, Presidents and Despots too.

Gathering near the Throne are the
Eager Courtier leeches reaching to
touch the anointed one’s robe.
Declaring their undying loyalty,
In the process selling their souls.
Their rewards, a speck of personal
power, Castles and more riches of gold.

Like their Master, the entitled ones
will lie and cheat, while ignoring
The principals of right and good.
Believing “Decency” is but a poor
man’s word, never uttered within
the hearing of their Ruler.
Truth never a considered artifact of
his desired absolute corrupt power.

To the Ruler the slaves, serfs, the
little common people matter not,
but to serve him and his enablers.
He and his power elite will start
needless wars, or offer up sacrificial
lambs, for deportation all to distract
the unrest of the little people.

They will suppress human rights,
free speech and defame, banish
or imprison their detractors, ignore
our laws and our constitution, tread
on our flag and urinate on our history.

Their smiles and lies are all merely smoke
and mirrors to conceal, their controlling
agendas of limitless personal greed.

Telling us it's all for our own good and
will make our lives and nation great again.
From ancient times down to today this
egomaniacal cycle and agenda repeats.
Kingdoms and Nations have perished
From this kind of poisonous corruption.
Needless to say, it will happen again.
It seems that it already is.

Unless this poem is too obtuse, We all
must endeavor to change our history
to come. Stand up and speak out,
march in the streets, if we must,
defiantly stand our ground!

This is our nations new Ides of March.
It seems we now have our own Julius
Caesar, may he go the way of the other.