The Falling For Live

My love,
your first confession
was a lie,
arguing you fell
in deep,
faster than possible, before
the lightning even struck,
because I saw you
from the depths,
falling,

I was already injured for life

Fragments Of Happiness

Bought or borrowed
perhaps resolved
achieved
set as a goal

happiness
in search deludes

life is not levels to climb
but fragments of time
we are blown
through

hold on to ones that
make you happy
before they are
gone

The Very First Time

Wet tarmac eats light abundantly, excessively
like an overtly hungry baby
suckles on a breast
with absolute concentration
eyes shut to ignore else
reaching the vigor to bend
light to succumb
and cease
in  existence

how many miles of light drawn?
how many zillion beams and rays
wasted?

thrown to oblivion

....and then

eyes wide of daze watch in gaze
is a dive into a cloud from a window seat
of an airplane, woolly
a feather in forgetful wind
like a gentle whisper
through nightmare:
"you are safe now"
in my floating haven

marshmallow chips
parachuting in slow motion of
tranquility

from first ever glance to this
very day
year after years
no difference to words I say
you are, at last
here
and welcomed
magic of the day
as charming as ever
again forever

arrival of royalty
with  delicate dignity
gradually gliding light to
be applauded with marvel
falling feathery from the sky
like angel's arms open

snowflake in your eyelash
lights your gaze to white up
my life bright

Ready

Four feet and inches
on tall wooden box
shoveled
ready
what about the ones
left behind

nothing unfinished he left
he willed even the last
glass of wine
something not said
or heard?

every last screw was counted
nail and mortar too
precision was done by perfection
under magnifying glass
a house it became
for what and for whom
ready

years upon years traveled by
walk around with glancing eyes
knock knock on the wall
bulldozed it shall
said the man
leveled and done
cleaned so neat
ready was done

what does it look like
how does it seem
by wings of bird from skies
eyes so high
from dirt by blacks of an ant
in morning at night
with binoculars

from far I suppose with telescope
to spot what's ready
it is easy a task
turn and look
the telescope the other way
around
ready

Summer Dreams

Spring in me

counting for summer

wind blew a trash in my eye

rose my head 

to see lamp showing

me a light

rain or snow

a sigh

too early to dream

Broken acts

I am a therapy to myself
in words

a road winding like a creek
in spring time
snake on a rock
slush in hailstorm
books in foreign languages

a flower
grinding its way through
tarmac
through or
from the crack?

success always comes with price
and likelihood

what I want, where, when
with words


acts are broken

not functioning
hole in the tank
fuel is consumed in the
act of filling up

with words I write pain to words
with words the pain to pieces
as words to sentences
dreams

then if and when, dreams

acts broken

convict of self-made prison
out of pain, with
words to sentences
invented dreams to escape

words for words as words
in a row I place
as words to words to utter

since acts are broken

Mighty Pen Of A Poet

A pen beautiful but perfidious
deaf even, writes
what it pleases
obeys not my common sense
mines cavities utmost peculiars
at times cares not an inch
hiding away words as
if I could not them recall

yet without the will  of the quill
to capture beauty or immortality
would quite impossible
to be

prisoner of the mighty pen
squeezed in pressure
skies open not
nor flood gates of dam of pain

crowds inside me
thousands of stories, feelings
if not the pen release
them to live