| An Autumn Run A runner in the fields
encircled by waves of emotions
the ending point is far away. Sand brushes dismissively against his skin
muttering words of misery
scratching the pale skin of his
painting the soft white canvas with strokes of redness. It's a long journey
the runner continues
on the highway of dangerous prophecy
sniffing dreams of hazels and sweet woods.
It's far away
the train of helpless agony persists to run
but that dream of hazel woods,
still far away,
enveloped in dark, unforeseeable mystery,
lives,
within those livid red,
bleeding,
patches of skin,
claiming rights of existence,
knowing that joyful freedom is not too far away. |
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It's a Quiet Night.
She sings well
it was the time of love,
the time which emotions speak
the golden age of life,
the prime of beautiful existence.
Petals dry in the drifting whiteness of snow
painting the color of the old,
the spirit of the lived.
Kiss the sound
indulge in the comedy of time
the dream of self in time's transition,
existence completes around the brightness of the moon
on a quiet night.
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Start Writing.
It's easy to stop.
It's easy to place a life in comma,
in the waking hours of life
walking in soil and a bubble crown.
It must be
It must be
this want
fervent desire
break the comma
walk into the sun rise
with my red flag in the air.
Victory.
it calls on me
for bravery
for life.
break the comma
speak life.
it's easy to stop.
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| The Paralyzed Soul Speaks of No Keen Ink.
Circling among ambiguity.
The warmest stranger in the city of Gotham.
Fighting between love and fear, will and fate.
The warm soul heats the coolness of the wind
The cool wind freezes the passion of the heart.
It's the compassionate killer,
the ruthless benefactor. |
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Harmful Influctuations.
Speedy Hugs of Desperation.
Seedy fields of Empty Confirmations.
There were kisses we fought not to give but gave.
Purge. |
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