Trying to tread water in a tsunami.
Being swept under with the furious currents.
So deep down in a neverending trench.
I take a deep breath.
Inhaling the salty waters.
Letting it fill and
draw blood to my
Drowning in my own pride, and hope.
The sloshing of water becoming a gentle whisper as the lights fade out.
grace snoddy Apr 2
i never really know what to say
how to say it, and how to get the heavy
vowels and consonants off my tired tongue
in an equal demeanor
and no matter how much i plan it,
no matter how much i skim my
hands through seemingly silky waters,
words become rigid
as they roll helplessly
out of my cardboard mouth

i want to be clean and straightforward
clear and understandable
but i always seem to come out as
a jagged line or illegible handwriting
my mumbled words and thoughts
that lay behind my paper thin skull
stand still like secrets
in whispering houses under the moon
and they beg to be let out

i only wish i could speak as easily as i write
because words have much more meaning
when they are finally let out of cages
made of paper and pen
Awaken onto nature
Set your spirit free
Mighty are her waters
Ancient are her trees
Open wide oh starlit sky
Magical summer heights  
Mighty forest kingdom
Feathered furred in flight
Embrace her in the mornning
Evening tides roll out
In the cycle of her Venus
Ending way down south
Love her when she's frozen
She shall thaw again
Awaken on to Nature
Enjoy Her
While you can!
Traveler Tim
Who will remember the houses where they lived,
        its streets and the moon and the snow of those days.

Who can remember that night that came to them forever
and in his hands that little piece of paper so beautifully written.

Who will remember the glances of his eyes,
perfuming the dawn,
in a world that both certainly inhabited.

Maybe one would remember his hair,
-oh, his soft hair-
and on his lips the kisses that brought them from the sea.

The time went away and maybe it does not come back,
implacable that day
each one found himself,
and they stay forever.

And although all things could not be remembered
one of them will resist oblivion,
that soft liquid with unknown flavor,
it has remained on his lips
like the soft stream of waters,
in love with the sea.
To Cesar Simbaina.
They say the more afraid you are to speak something the more power you give it right
Kept asking myself if I was doing the right thing
I always knew it was never something true, still real till this day I’m tearing wondering if this is one of those things that never heal
Will this haunting everlasting death ever pass
How have I not dug myself out of this grave yet
So disturbed burning tears seeing reflections of ghosts near memories seemingly too close
To her soul is the adamant adventure trying to win her back again but devil memories keep me soulless I am a entity of no beginnings no endings just existing in this black hole of nothing
I am still trying
Like right now I’m on meteor showers looking for lost battleships seeing if maybe they could guide me home, dreaming in high clouds looking at the last hour looking back on angelic souls confused with the misfit’s bold while running sin, it swims farther than suns shining rays of golden turning black and then to dust as deathly black holes with vampire intents seek to steal all light out of the world but all after explosions and fire and bangs but no one is left to see the void because it is all in the aftermath.
But what’s left to do after that? Always trying to get on with a new thing before processing the last. My brain keeps me busy going and poking fun and finding things I huffle puffs after breaking into strangers dungeons without knowing where this fairytale might take me. Would Alice have jumped down that hole if she knew it was an empty casket? Little bunnies could lead to the devil you really never should judge a book by its cover you never try to bridge cliffs together when you never learned how swim in the waters running underneath you never know how deep those waters may go. You never know how far from home they may take you. You never wanna drown in a fairytale. The amnesia never heals.
Painted in hues of grey
a bluff that reaches down into
rainbow colored waters

Wind whipping through
dark strands of auburn hair
crashing into brushed tones of bright blue

Jagged shades of opal
striking in the orange twilight
impaled into dark teal palms

A heart pulsing blue
splatters the floor with flowers
There is beauty even in death
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