sifting through Infinity’s
pockets,
over and over,
and
over again, I find
you.
i find you
laughing.
and
i find
you crying.
i find you giggling with glee.
so much vibrance,
absent of me.
so
i find my own pockets
and continue.
life awaits,
without you.
mementos,
receipts,
and
little shopping bags
remind
of a love
that traveled on.
more poignant than all the words
scratched to each other with love,
a morrisons bag
kicks me in the gut.
the past has passed,
no doubt;
but in constant refrain,
nostalgia digs
with the sweetest pain.
life
is
gorgeous-
The Universe, divine.
To have loved was a gift,
both hers,
and
mine.
Slipped,
between
creased corners
of Night’s gossamer,
Moon,
timid & shy,
slips
softly
in –
which hour,
come,
and
gone,
shall magic
come
again?
wicked
wholesome deeds await
lovers,
and children,
and all that fall between.
Come
&
Fly,
my little devil,
Heaven awaits.
Liberty, like Love, needs no story
free
me
from the tyranny
of self-doubt.
from the oppression
of my ignorance.
liberate me
from the illiteracy
of my roots,
and
I will
set
you
free from your fear.
I will disabuse you
of your terror.
you will know
that I
am your salvation.
you will know
that my freedom
represents the end
of history,
and
the start
of
the now.
I am as free as I choose to be.
no law
no country
no god
can enslave me.
no,
not even you.
my independence day was the day I was born.
don’t try to prove me wrong.
just,
don’t.
freedom
means
your heart leads.
freedom means
love leads.
freedom means
never saying sorry-
to yourself.
freedom is not an illusion;
freedom
is
free.
freedom is your natural state.
freedom wears nothing,
but a smile..
-may the wings of liberty never lose a feather (J. Burton; 1986)
the caressing
cobwebs
of love’s fell reign
whisper huskily, of
dread fantasies.
yet,
there persists
a yearning
for the peaceful surrender
found
in nostalgia’s
sweet bosom’s
delightful embrace.
Moon’s light slips through
time
and night
to touch me
and to
touch you
with whispered answers
to the
questions asked
from a silent place.
over shadows
and
btwn
bristling bustle
he watches-
she watches
your next move.
will you arrive?
or
fall?
or roll over,
afraid?
they both are
rooting for home,
for the home team,
for the return
of you
to
me.
close your eyes child,
and come to me.
this dance
is yet
to commence.
smothered in winter’s bosom
one thrives in the cool perfection
till
one day,
freed from
her crystal beauty
there in the mud
is a heart
bruised
and torn,
but….
beating.
still beating.
do u see?
who
are
u?
do
u
feel
the
power,
of
Who
You
Are?
lost
sheep
&
sly jackals
nibble
and
munch
at your soul.
but there is
more to give,
always,
much more.
Who are you,
but
more
than
yesterday?
theDeprevation 