When ones who are close to us leave--The scent of flowers in the wind lessens,The taste of sugar on our tongues softens,The shapes of life on our fingertips turns vague,Sunlight fails to warm our frozen hearts,The rushing waves of our mind crawl over our shores,The love in us dims, We become scared of giving it … Continue reading Lost Ones
Does not every season prove That all leaves hit the ground? Does not every rocket launch show That what goes up must come down?The rope snaps, the pitcher falls,Trees, men -- they rise and decay.Nothing is endless, This is what nature teaches us, Yet, looking at her now, her long hair, her dark eyes-- I … Continue reading Neverending Season
Let the bees make love to their honey in peace, Do not poison them, do not chase them off, or destroy them. We disturbed them first. We trampled their flowers, and burned their nests. A sting is little a price to pay for a demolished home and massive unemployment.
I tried to get the stain of her lipstick out my mind,I failed.I stayed like a cup she had drank out of,I rubbed the rim of me, with a tissue, still the mark rests,deep-crimson.
When first I came across her path,I saw at once the soul o' that gold-haired lassIt was a soul of snow that I saw,And looking too long I grew coldAnd looking too long I grew oldWhen she came to rub against me thoughI could not hold against the falling of the snowMy grounds with all … Continue reading A Soul of Snow
Short poem on poetry
All this, everything that moves in this moving world,What is it in the face of YOU?Just erasable writing on a board,Just tears fallen in a pool.
It's a kiss I missed, a kiss I should have caught.But I let it slip, and I let the moment pass.And now all I've got is a memory of a path not takenAnd my mind, to imagine all it could have led to.
I must thank Night for the truths she whispers when she comesI must thank Day for showing me the error in all those thoughtsBut sometimes Night is right,And Day has only wrong to sayFor Night, when alone, is dreams, is freedom, unshackled thought,While Day is surrounded, crowded by other minds--ideas lashing in the air.