Growing up

I walked
on the street.
There were
tall trees around me. The leaves
were bright green under the sunshine.

By listening to the music
from my ear phones,
I felt a moment of
peace and joy.

A kid was learning how to ride a bike
on the sidewalk.
His brother besides
Lost his patience,
And finally left him alone. He couldn’t get on the bike.

I stopped at a cross
and waiting for the traffic light to turn green.
All kinds of cars were
rushing by towards somewhere.

I looked up
at the sky.
It was light blue with a few clouds.
Today is a good day, I thought.
I stared at the sky
and witnessed a group of birds flying ahead.
Leaving the wires
They used to stand on.

The brightness of the sun
hurts my eyes, so I lowered my head.
Suddenly,
the music stopped
– it was in the period of changing to another song.

The traffic light turned green.
I started walking to
the other side.
As I walked,
I noticed that
the marks under my feet
were faded.

Garden

The bright lights from Venus stand stark
against the soft twilight.
And above it, the dark oblivion rests
above the top of the trees.
The stars form perfect clusters,
illuminating the garden.

A single star shoots
across the sky,
burning and hurling its way
through the cosmos above,
promising a poisoned demise
to some other planet.

But that is another planet,
another swirling galaxy,
another twilight.
Rest beneath the willows
and listen to the trickling brooks
and sleep.

This garden has no room for poisoned thoughts,
only the soft petals of reassurance.
Leave your fate behind you
and rest.
Come and let the weariness
and weight of your soul
leave you.

Silverneck

Red blotted on pale cheeks,
a young face
unmarked, still lovely.

Roses, in red,
blossoming in lush gardens
and swans gliding on a lake,
black eyes filled with charm.

Pale men with black hair and
colored glass eyes, born
with silver and gold
and
ignorant to their actions
and their terrible beauty.

Vain and pearled
sat the young child,
red still blotted on pale cheeks
and a bony neck with silver pouring from
its lips as it falls to the mooring swans,
eyes black as trout

Curiosity of a Space

Traveling along with prickly spikes around its body,
the creature makes its way around the room. Feeling
of all things claustrophobic, it explores the lonely space
which is anything but lonely during the beginning and
end of the day. Spending enough time to remember the
cycles of every day on this property, it goes along to learn
more about the habitat. Coming along to a spinning chair,
Enacting such a motion by the perpetrator who comes upon
The furniture. A glass full of utensils seems to be filled
with a sort of liquid, which are the same colors as the
canvas that appears to have been written on. Yet through
all of these new sights, come no confirmed answers, but
observations for one.

Always at Hand

The time we have is wasted
Upon pillars of hours spent
Suffocated by piles upon piles of tedious work
Our days exceedingly locked away
Our hands never stopping to delay

Slowly drowning in the depths of open sea
Air taken away from struggling lungs
Arms flailing around trying to grasp something solid
Fighting for the breath stolen

It’s a coffin keeping us trapped
Snuffing out any life
A candle who burned bright
Being doused in water
Quicksand sucking at your soul
Tugging away your freedom

It’s the work that we receive
Locked away in our hole of despair
Gasping for breath we heave our chests
And yet the work remains