We’ve got the soul to move the mountains,
in the rain we don’t falter.
Would it be the blood of gods that wind their way, ferociously, majestically,
through my mortal veins.
the soft whispers, of ancient mouths
divulging the secrets to persistence
through my weak ears.
I am the child of the rain
and blue crystal glaciers.
I am the wind in the east
and the dirt that settles relentlessly on your skin.
The sun is the eye of my mother,
who watches with double haze clarity every hour
and pierces me with her love
as she blinks away the days woes.
Peppered with the colours of the universe and dirt.
I dreamed a cascade
of colours poured from your eyes.
And all the sunsets were named
Like the air at the top of a mountain,
I am lightheaded in awe.
It is impossible to describe the feeling of perseverance.
The acknowledgement of dead weight
pulling your body down,
Yet, an unswerving jet of energy pulsing through my finger tips and collar bones.
That is what it feels like to love.
I have this kind of image
and it’s completely underrated.
I wish that you could see it,
but you see right through me.
I don’t know if I’m worried
But I know that I’m scarred.
I wanted to be a butterfly
and you’ve painted me a rose.
Is it not enough to wish the termination of the ravishing of the body by my selfs doing.
To glimpse a moon and it’s loves
through heavy lashed eyes.
Were it not for this war I wage on myself,
I would explode over every ridge of a single footpath.
Harbouring ignorant dreams
Of candy floss days.
Condemned to mourn the not-lost, wish-it-was
fairy tale you are creating with another.
My thoughts are punctured with your calloused hands and gentle eyes.
I asked my lungs to let me breathe.
To let it all work so that my heart could beat.
To let my eyes open from weary grey
and my lids rise from fitful, wistful sleep.
Once there was a hand that slid down my back,
whose fingers whispered patterns on my hips and
lips that emboss poems onto my brow.
That is a veil lifted,
a memory scoured and blissful.
A time cherished and forever pedestalled.
My lungs will no longer gasp for calloused lips,
nor poetic fingers.
we are but the foulest of creatures,
with the purest of hearts,
that no one will ever see.
i am hidden from you because of what you could do to me,
and i hide on my sleeve so you think its make believe.
sometimes when you hold my neck and whisper in my ear
"did you miss me?"
Raw water rolls softly away from your palm as you place it against its soul.
It echoes your hand print and send goose bumps numbing your legs to your ankles and contracting your chest.
Exhale and let the burst of life so hidden from yourself jump from your skin and chase patterns in the sky.
Let your eyes roam the ink black night for an angel star that can sway with you on mellow nights across the old cobbled streets in your city of rebirth.
That can caress you in light like cashmere and protect you like amour.
I dream of you running your forefinger down the spine of my back
as we waltz around the corners of the shower stall.
Kiss my shoulder as we ignite and hot water jets over our passionate bodies.
I could face the outside with someone like you.
In our hast to be great,
we called ourselves Gods.
The towns people sighed and in relief they said
Thank the heavens, they are only human.
I am sure that it is the colours of your hair that express the algorithm to breath. The dying sun is what pumps my heart and I vow to commit to the moments that hold the sparks. We walk and walk and I can feel something growing. It would be almost undistinguisable to an outsider but we feel that connection. Some unexplainable fluididity, some mutual feeling to watch the jaded orange from the sun glint off the beer bottles and scortch our eyes. It dips behind the mountains and so do our inhibitions but I never want to leave your side. This is where you grab my hand, scull your drink and we howl to the growing moon.
You are the ocean
and I like to keep you close.
You touch me gently.
I am at bliss.
Your words rush over me
in magnificent torrents of
tenderness and humour
so that when we are finally silent,
I feel cleansed,
Your emotions show on your face
and I love the way
deep within you, I see,
there is more that you wish to say.
Your eyes glitter with the colour of the world.
With you there is just being
and life is as fragile and impenetrable
as the ocean that keeps you.
Under where the cherry blossom grows
I will sit and stay a while.
The sounds of the young girls who sing
wash away the dirt and grit.
Let us play a while,
Let us stay a while,
Let us laugh a while,
While I am young.
If I had courage,
more then now.
To the stained glass windows,
I’d move the sun and stand under those holy rays of light.
How do you choose for the innocent, Dear Lord?
Are we not all equal?
Under where the cherry blossoms fall,
so you can stay a while.
Does it hurt that I love you more than the infinite light particles of the sky?
That every breath I breathe is a testament to my will to love you harder.
That my movement is a song only you can create.
That the kisses you delicately place on each rib bone could awaken me from almost death,
and that I pray ferociously to God, that you are not his favourite.
I see eternity in your smile.
To the shades of air
that melt unto my fingertips
and grace me with your prayers,
I am but a lonely mule,
waiting for the road.
They say it is one worth searching for.
To look for all your days.
They say it is almost worm-like,
blazing past your trail.
But once I met a wizened gypsy,
hiking up the same.
I asked him his direction,
he glanced at me and said;
my guess is that the road we search for is equal to both.
We have heard of riches and glory, magic, haze.
I’ve searched, mule. I’ve walked roads merely dreamed of,
but am yet to find such a proclaimed road.
I’ve searched for the road worth searching for
while wasted on my travels,
I missed the road worth grazing on.