The lady with sea eyes

 

I sit in my room anticipating

the day laid out by the sun

Shadows in the corner stops me

But my chains are unlocked now

 

There’s a lady waiting at the door

Ash pale face looking down

Her dressed feet ready for the taking

“Where to now?”, she asks

 

Her eyes sparkling blue

reminds me of the sea

and the outside world

where I am meant to be

 

I stepped towards the door

Held her cold hands

To the unknown shores

where her blue eyes belong

* * *

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Tell your poem

Stand on the pulpit that is the earth,
Take off your clothes of shame;
Do not be afraid to step on the dust
For it shall be your resting place.

Look at the weeds teeming with life,
No one has watered nor cared for;
Learn and persevere like them, who
Patiently waits for the sun and rain.

Ponder on the beauty of a flower,
Reflect upon its silence and grandeur;
Do not hasten the changing seasons
All will start to wither after springtime.

Seek for the beginning of everything–
The garden of paradise ruined by the fall;
Then try to look for the tree of life
And there, you tell your poem.

What is love?

What is love?
A child heart asked–

is it not in the eyes that see
a ray of hope in all humanity;
or of gentle hearts that beat
for every weary soul that face defeat

What is love?
A curious one wonders–

is it not the touch of kindness
and any act that brings home gladness;
a simple curve of a smile even,
that mends some hearts broken

What is love?
The thinkers ponder–

is it not the quest to understand
the mystery that is out of our hand;
rather than reducing life to definition
expanding, enlightening our vision

IMG_20160925_204028* * *

sober whining

An intoxicating mix of happy and glum
looking for that silver lining…
I, pine for the moon and the sun!,
but eyes veering toward the deadening

These pavements lead me nowhere,
take me back to the dirty old road..
where the green grasses are realer
and our wretched souls aren’t sold

Half asleep in an apocalyptic malady
the trouble with the waking, my dear
is that dreams are a better rhapsody
than the awaiting realities here

Now the whines are out laden,
let the spirits be quenched;
break must hearts to be open,
and face life again with fists clenched