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“In night...
in night is when my mind is a flutter, and the world ablaze.
In night I see you, subtle, yet sure wrinkles in your smile and the echoes of your laugh.
In night
my mind tries to forget, but it is still there branded as etchings.
In night
my heart is set a fire thrashing to and fro from distant lands and seas.
You were a sailor but your anchor was no match for the wild waves and so you floated, but quickly sank.
And in night I write about a hundred moons and a hundred deaths. But they are all you.
For you are the sky and the wild seas.
And in night, I think, I will sail across your shore once again and once more.”
―
in night is when my mind is a flutter, and the world ablaze.
In night I see you, subtle, yet sure wrinkles in your smile and the echoes of your laugh.
In night
my mind tries to forget, but it is still there branded as etchings.
In night
my heart is set a fire thrashing to and fro from distant lands and seas.
You were a sailor but your anchor was no match for the wild waves and so you floated, but quickly sank.
And in night I write about a hundred moons and a hundred deaths. But they are all you.
For you are the sky and the wild seas.
And in night, I think, I will sail across your shore once again and once more.”
―
“-The Wonderer's Dream-
Upon one lucky night I had a vision
A vision of a tree whose roots grew
Wide
Deep
and Long
And I followed it down until it lead me to another world
And in this world I learned there were worlds upon worlds
A world in which there was no slave or free
As there was nothing to be free from
This world was made of pure light
A light that radiates
In you
In me
And on the rare occasion it finds itself travelled and distant
and somehow, as luck may have it, in our world.
A poem for the Nalia Books”
―
Upon one lucky night I had a vision
A vision of a tree whose roots grew
Wide
Deep
and Long
And I followed it down until it lead me to another world
And in this world I learned there were worlds upon worlds
A world in which there was no slave or free
As there was nothing to be free from
This world was made of pure light
A light that radiates
In you
In me
And on the rare occasion it finds itself travelled and distant
and somehow, as luck may have it, in our world.
A poem for the Nalia Books”
―
“You came in like rain
Washed away and drowned every last piece of me
Could you not have left me
With so much as a scrap?
Upon which I may breath, live, be, go
But instead I wonder between dreams
And faint impressions of consciousness”
―
Washed away and drowned every last piece of me
Could you not have left me
With so much as a scrap?
Upon which I may breath, live, be, go
But instead I wonder between dreams
And faint impressions of consciousness”
―
“I do not know, not do I care to remember
The time in which I knew distinctly that you were gone
You fade in and out of memory
Upon which I can not feign to touch
Or feel
How cruel to leave me
With paper but no pen
What a way to leave me
You give me cups, but not water to fill them
So they sit there
Empty
Your reflection
Bouncing to and fro
From every surface”
―
The time in which I knew distinctly that you were gone
You fade in and out of memory
Upon which I can not feign to touch
Or feel
How cruel to leave me
With paper but no pen
What a way to leave me
You give me cups, but not water to fill them
So they sit there
Empty
Your reflection
Bouncing to and fro
From every surface”
―
“Celadon, azure, crimson and amber.
They are beautiful, for sure.
But they have nothing on you.
Even the piano and its shades of melodic sounds.
And even, when I have the chance, Chopin in the park in Paris.
These are some of my fondest memories.
But still it is hard to think of the subtle nuances in the gold of the sun when I see you.
In you there is no viridian, cerulean, venetian, or citrine.
This is not to say that there is no color in you, because there is.
I just have not found the right words to describe you, and somehow,
I feel that I never will.”
―
They are beautiful, for sure.
But they have nothing on you.
Even the piano and its shades of melodic sounds.
And even, when I have the chance, Chopin in the park in Paris.
These are some of my fondest memories.
But still it is hard to think of the subtle nuances in the gold of the sun when I see you.
In you there is no viridian, cerulean, venetian, or citrine.
This is not to say that there is no color in you, because there is.
I just have not found the right words to describe you, and somehow,
I feel that I never will.”
―
“I do not know, nor do I care to remember
The time in which I knew distinctly that you were gone
You fade in and out of memory
Upon which I can not feign to touch
Or feel
How cruel to leave me
With paper but no pen
What a way to leave me
You give me cups, but not water to fill them
So they sit there
Empty
Your reflection
Bouncing to and fro
From every surface”
―
The time in which I knew distinctly that you were gone
You fade in and out of memory
Upon which I can not feign to touch
Or feel
How cruel to leave me
With paper but no pen
What a way to leave me
You give me cups, but not water to fill them
So they sit there
Empty
Your reflection
Bouncing to and fro
From every surface”
―
“I have hands with naught to hold
And I have love with none other to give
How long will I sit here?
I turn page upon page
And it's you
You gleam then wither every page
I go further
I try to erase you
But somehow you manage to
Wrestle, fight, win
I try
Pull
Tug
But somehow you are still here
How did you get here?
You must have crossed
Moons
Stars
And galaxies
To get here
For did you not go where the dead go?”
―
And I have love with none other to give
How long will I sit here?
I turn page upon page
And it's you
You gleam then wither every page
I go further
I try to erase you
But somehow you manage to
Wrestle, fight, win
I try
Pull
Tug
But somehow you are still here
How did you get here?
You must have crossed
Moons
Stars
And galaxies
To get here
For did you not go where the dead go?”
―
