You’re like a storm.

But in the best and most beautiful way.

The kind of storm that happens all of a sudden on the most average of days.

You’re like a hurricane coming into my life and tearing away the ugly grey buildings and leaving only the green freedom to overgrow my heart again.

Like a thunderstorm that pours out love filled raindrops to fill my soul and grow back the childlike happiness that's slowly been deprived of its pure ecstasy.

Like the tsunami-sized tidal waves that wash away my lost ambitions and filthiness.

A blizzard that whitewashes my view with your unmistakable perfection and pulchritude.

The flash flood that appeared into my life at the snap of a finger and since that death-defyingly moment my love for you has only grown.

You’re the faultless storm that has taken my heart, life, and soul into steady hands and locked them all within yourself.

Since then, I’ve never looked back and never will.

You’re the perfect storm.

~S.C. Kelley

There is tale of  Kavala
which tells of hero true
simple man defyingly hopeful
would row the Aegean blue

Did this alone to save Turks
as Bulgars were encroaching
He knew the Greeks on boats
somewhere were approaching

To Thasos he rowed trough night
darkness of waves o'er sea
Only stars be shimmering guide
Long nautical miles to be free

His muscles wore desperate, weak
yet the fisherman pressed bravely on
for love of his wife and family
He gave word, but his heart was gone

By daylight the sailors returned
Man had found friend in Greek Armada
Just in time troops did arrive
and saved the burning of Kavala

Turks rushed from their homes
to embrace with joy, Greek sailors
Yet one woman knew of a man,
the fisherman who did not fail her

And though he had sadly perished
after his long tortuous journey
his family knew of shimmering star
a hero never more so aptly worthy

The zone, is another world, another state
Not zoned-out, zoned-in
It's deep -- the words flow from a source like a never-ending waterfall
It's etheral -- the subject matter comes from everywhere
It's outlandish -- some of the things you write may seem... odd... but that's fine, they are odd, you are odd, you're zoned.
It's death-defyingly wild.
It's right -- because when the words flow, when the topics abound, when your writing is freeky – it means you’re expressing
Being in the zone is pure expression
Like a factory line - the poems just churn out.
Not processed pieces, works of art.
The zone is a private Italian workshop located in your mind where suits and sportscars are replaced by words and stanzas.

Drinking delectable daylight of our dreaming days,
Daft and dandy, dizzily darting in delusion,
Dabbling in daffodils, dandelions and daisies,
Doped-up ditzy, dilly-dallying in distortion,
Drifting delightful in daydreams of dragons dancing,
Desires dreamed-up, duly delivered,
Designer’s defined deed decreed,
Duty distinguished - Dashed and desisted!
****** and defiled!
Drunkenly dackeringly, deviously defyingly,
The Doting damsel disobeyed!
Darkly devouring devilish devices discovered dangling.
Deliciousness decayed.
Discharging dismally dismantling The Divine Delusion,
Drooping, dripping, dropping in deepening descension
Divinity despoiled by demonic dissension,
Decapitated demons dressed in damnation,
Denounce defamation, detest destitution,
Demanding the dawn with deathless devotion,
Deft daring darkness, distressed desolation,
Dreamless dejection dragging delirium.

Is Death the depth of dreaming?
Dwell dwindlingly, and disappear?
Drawn down darker…destined to drown, or
Drop into dreams deeper than death?