"First day of Spring tomorrow!"
The Weather Teller says....

Outside, the Death of Winter
Drags along,
Over-acted, under-cut, and slow...
Decaying, ***** piles freshed again
In wet and heavy snow
While water fowl vee North,
Circling low to find slim-margined waters
Lining shores and cupping
Cakes of ice the size of lakes,
Brooding in their rotten state,
And waiting Orders from the Sun,
Whose work it is to usher Spring
In all her greening garb to stand
And bless the annual Burgeoning.

Today i got some papers written  by you for me,
In reply of my limitless feelings,
Most of the replies are not about the questions i asked ,
Your most of writings about your frustrations & problems from me in vast ,
Every new letter got nothing new to read,
Even when I expressed every phase of me,
In the starting of our relationship,
You accepted all but already putted a limitation,
But i still believed in you ,
& what i got in response that am not loving you through,
With your expectations,
Our conversations depicted a theory,
That i was living in the feel of primitive real love story,
In which a boy& girl loved each other,
From the soul and spent their life together ,
Less calls less communication,
When i asked the reason,
Your response forced me to realise,
I was not there from any corner or in any size,
Bundles of word I wrote & hardly heard any appreciation,
Likewise before me my fellows sensed,
You lost interest in me like the previous guy who caught and banned,
Just because he opted another girl also,
Alongside to support you from head to toe,
When my eyes opened & i understood the circumstances,
I asked you that we're gonna apart,
But **** it was done your side & heart,
Okay on valentines day the breakup it was,
Ink letters freshed up the eighteen months experience again ,
Let's close it until i open my inner locker to get ur maintain

Woke up,
at Lake Balaton,
wrote up,
some words like Babylon,
or rather,
a rant on like the Tower of Babel,
chant down,
Babylon we build up and gather,

or rather,
we collect then scatter,
collect the thoughts,
then write them in patterns,

sort of,
like what prose is,
bitter sweet,
like what a rose is,

smells good,
but has thorns,
stormy seas,
but calm shores,

snore,
no,
sleep,
yes,
wake,
up,
re-,
freshed,

at a resort on a vineyard,
overlooking Lake Balaton,
with a girl who is gorgeous,
that let’s her ball of yarn unravel some,

she says she’s my “substitute,
in other words a replacement,
for the other girl I was going to bring,
with me on this 24 hour vacation,

and at first this sounds like an insult to her,
like she’s just here because the other one couldn’t make it,
but really if she can so easily replace the first girl,
then that means that the first girl was actually basic,

and was easily replaced with,
the new one,
see the first is so last night,
and this new one is so new dawn,

I’m on,
a level seldom reached,
like a secret state of enlightenment,
the type that’s so sacred it’s rarely preached,

enlightenment,
secret,
oh there he goes again with that Illuminati talk,
Jesus,

Jesus,
has nothing to do with this,
the new one is on the balcony dancing,
in the sunshine’s rays she’s beautiful,

the old one is gone now,
has no place in my life at all,
except for on the shelve of Past Memories,
that hangs on the Mind Museum’s wall,

although,

I had had an intense dream about the old one,
I’d dreamt about her Illuminati tattoo,
and we’d made love some of the best love made over,
as if I was Adam and she was the Forbidden Fruit,

ooh,

what’s the truth,
what’s perspective,
what’s the proof,
than any of this ever existed,

what are we doing here,
and how much longer will we be,
why are so many slaves to their own projected fears,
while so few are liberated with love and set truly free?

And this all comes to me like a never ending dream,
as I write this words which come to me in a conscious stream,
as my new love dances outside on this resort’s balcony,
overlooking Lake Balaton which is so big it looks more like the Caspian Sea,

see,

I woke up,
at Lake Balaton,
wrote up,
some words like Babylon,
or rather,
a rant on like the Tower of Babel,
chant down,
Babylon we build up and gather,

or rather,
we collect then scatter,
collect the thoughts,
then write them in patterns…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

author of the largest collection of poetry in the world.

Pointed pencil,
Talking,
Black pen,
Talking,
One sheet of freshed lined paper.

My brain is a jumbled up mess of growing up,
Figuring out blueprints and survival skills to stay alive.

Taking persistent footsteps so I don't step on a personal bomb to blow up a building I built myself in sparkly bold letters I call my future.

Dull pencil,
Whispers,
Almost empty pen,
Whispers,
One sheet on crumpled paper.

Turning my thoughts into words is terrifying, Giving someone the opportunity to judge you like you were put in this world to be nothing.
I am something.

Short walks,
Quick talks,
These are the things no one wants but I've had both.
I've got icy cold wind in my wings but im floating above it all.

Broken pencil,
Silence,
Empty pen,
Silence,
Now a pile of crumpled paper.
My thinking pattern is out of wack,
I don't know what I'm going to do with my life and it's only just begun.

It's a mad world they say,
And I'm beginning to believe it.