I've Walked a Myriad of country roads
Places that are nowhere and everywhere

I've stepped into the deep and endless woods
Therein a billion tall, slender spirits

Old souls watched as I walked in between them
Patches of daylight played in fluttered spats

Bright daylight, it cuts into eyes and mind
Like memories fixed in a Déjà vu

Hidden beneath the mosiac floor, a love
Shining brightly as an October day

I've Watched leaves tumbling down from perfect skies
like soft kisses between falling dancers

Just as my heart tumbles out of its' place
recalling falling leaves and soft kisses



© P.M.H 12/22/2011

Upside-down and unconditioned I
climbed my tower.

Sprinkled my flecks and dodges.

Wistful-eyed, in soul surrender
with my twin wild roses, I grew.

Sunset in mauve near sparked attention
cop politician any progressive crew

and all the while
I whinnied to the moon.

Before the door was broken into
under-rooms had shut, had disappeared.

Streaks of starlight filled the streets
and sailing, flew.

This is way the desert sings
tra-la-tra-lee.

Tra-lee-la.

what if you asked me, how I was doing
and I answered
something along the lines of,
well, I've actually been very tired
for awhile now
but of course, we all are every once in a while,
so it's all good.

would you nod and leave it at that
or would you say,
well, now that I think about it,
I've been kind of feeling pretty tired too,
so why don't we talk about it.

I stand on trial
in a spherical, tightly wired world
enclosed in a wooden, sun bleached box
formed from unintentional ignorance
and mishaps that stem from the inability to change,
details of my charge:
attempting to establish my personal identity
in which I am colorful and sprout wings to take flight
and my footsteps trace to the ends of the earth and back
during the day I soak up people's laughter and smiles like a sunflower bathing in sunlight
and throughout the night I sleep comfortably in a bed of warm solitude underneath the stars
I'm perhaps guilty of knocking on my senses
to think outside the box
and am mischievous enough to peer into other's
enclosed spaces, coaxing out the best in them
like a magician wielding shimmering flowers
out of his sleeve
I am charged for distinguishing distortions
and painful black and white misconceptions from reality
and its diverse colorful rays of magnitude and life
I believe something along the lines that
not everything is what it seems to be,
but instead we're all flowers
who need to be nourished and watered each day
as weird as it sounds,
I'd like for my tears to mean something
during the trial, which I hope will pass quickly enough
for the wind to ****** and carry away

Paint me a picture
Of your skin
Does it bronze beneath the sun?
Or sizzle and blush
Like your cheeks
When you’re in love?
Is it soft to the touch
Like when your palms graze
The smooth surface of water?
Or rough around the edges
Like your favorite book
And its lovingly worn corners?
Does it melt in the heat
Like sweet syrupy treats
Dripping through your fingers?
Or does it welcome the winter
With wide open arms
As if greeting a lover?
Paint me a picture
Of your skin