As Lovers Do…



A Fall


It is messy and rickety

Secret that saddens the heart

The wise also fall into thorns

A fall is every  fools’ a sanctuary


A fall is aching but shy

A friendly but frantic tumble

It is volatile, gnarled and old

The reason for frantic weeps and pleads


A fall forces one to smell the earth

In a curious but explosive melancholy

To the innocent soft mournful whisperings

Of the ground’s vermin’s sweat, storm and steam


A fall blows away wisps of clouds,

Bowing the faint strands of sunshine

Those carrying hints of overtaxed heart

Pain of a poisoned good reputation

Sifting lies from a bulk of truth


A fall can smoothen all thoughts

It is a gone moment before starting

The wise had spoken of the word before

Of a mirror that had never shown reflection

Fiery Love


Eyes had turned hollow

All glitter had vanished

Held neither curiosity

Nor iota of hope


Shadows subdued the sun

Tears warmed his laps

He felt guilty

And dirty



Strain and drain seeped

Into his flesh and bones

Reducing him into a corpse


He wished to burn all memories

Memories of his fertile mind

Those he hoped would flower

Now they hid behind his eyelids


He wished to let go of all the pain

Wished it to be so easy

Like opening eyes

But it wasn’t


Eyes shut, he conjured the image

Its presence wouldn’t fail him

Had never failed him

It steadied his senses


He recalled the image

It noticed him




Sound were soft




Lulled him into security





Liquid splendor,

Darkness ebb and flow


When he woke up today,

He saw threads of sunshine,

Slithering through bare-branches,

Swore the sun was winking at him


But he knew it carried no promise,

At least not for him,

He was forgotten,

And broken


The sun never gave him warmth,


Icy sly pry and whispers,

Blamed it for his inner scars


Hated staring eyes,

They were sharp blades,

Cutting right through his soul,

Rendering him dull and useless,


Nighttime called his dreams.

They were more alive

More vivid,

Coloring the dawn


Loved soaking in the rain,

It softened his skin,




He waited impatiently,

Darkness to settle in,

Noises to dwindle,

To draw him in,


He never had to feel small,

Nighttime was gentle,



The Portrait


Quietly it lay in its strangeness,

Appearing both flat and dead,

Speaking a myriad of dialects,

Neither lovely nor repulsive


The trees came out leafless,

With a spidery arrangement,

Hint of fury was carefully hidden,

By the surrounding still murky waters


A supple breeze hovered around,

It was hot and humid,

Carried neither odor nor perfume,

It was bizarre but oddly exciting


The fine gray sky carried a promise,

Also passed odd blinding longing,

A sickly sweet anticipation,

Of discovering and exploring anything anew,




All seemed evermore missing,

Or was it just self-fed illusion?




An Adornment


I am a creation of art,

An awe-inspiring beauty,

Filled with everlasting appeal,

But death was the price


I hang as an adornment,





Savoring the compliments,

The whoring evil genius,

Altered my being,

My joy


I’m lifeless,

I’m numb,

Feeling neither joy nor sadness,

Responding to the calls of my ancestor’s time


Bottling the desire to lead my days,

As I want,

Where I want,

How I want


I miss kissing the elastic breeze,

I miss dancing in the loving storm,

I miss the interminable sunrise quarrel,

From the colorful birds in half-lighted days


Apoplectic rage fills the air,

From the trees standing like a pack of mourners,

They bore witness as violence tumbled down,

Everything and everyone is battered down