A love that flew away

Swans once flew,
Over blossoming red roses
And their tainted white feathers,
On broken wings of marriage

The bruises of a first love,
A fall in a summertime
On springs of frozen tears

The lover’s castle by the river of memories
And buried emotions of a past,
Covered in a large painting by the hallway

That hearts bled,
Eyes watered, and skins, sweaty,
Our pathetic efforts to mend the burning bridge

So now, strained by the wrinkles of age,
We stare through these broken glasses,
Our wishful thoughts, carried by the mountain winds
To the land of the never was

That epitomes of our youthful fantasies, 
Lying under olive trees
Living among the stars,
We may savour,
The last smiles, and breath


The saint on a milky way

You trade trust for a heart
The white colour of your eyes,
And the dark lenses,
That reflect the wondrous silhouette of your soul

Honesty comes forth from your mouth
With vibrant words of kindness
Breathing life to the wilting spirits

Your ears listen to the reflecting sound,
From the corners of each word,
In the room of hidden troubles

You raise your hands,
Supporting them that are feeble,
The heavy baggage of a big heart
And smile as you stride confidently

Can’t deny,
That you rest upon walls of integrity
High and mighty,
Guarding your city of character

That many travel through your gates,
And yes,
Their souls rejuvenated,

To once again set foot,
Upon their variant paths to a better living

And u, my dear
The saint on a milky way

Fatal vengeance

Reality unravells like a new day
Bright enough to admire the overwhelming beauty

And then, watching in detail,

Your hellish nightmares breath fire onto your soul
Engraving images on the walls of your mind

Trapping thyself in a ruined past

The conflicting present,  to that future you yearned for
As your feet are buried in the ground

By a moving sand erasing your tomorrow

The huge storm and ripples,
From your unjustly actions
When greed reigned in thy heart


Pain,  the wrinkles of the heart,
Masks of sadden faces,
Moaning the souls within

To fight battles invisible
Building that to be pulled down,
And owning that which never was

I call it brokenness,
A shattered mirror reflecting,
Pieces of our tattered spirits

We choke on our own tears,
Drowning in pools of laughter
By angry faces that wish to burry us

So, tonight, our eyes shall then shut,
Our minds replaying their wicked smiles,
And our ears looped on their spites

For the battle is lost,
A blackened sun behind veils of sorrow
Sold into chains of our enemies

Who’s there to love?

Standing on this street,
Anonymous shadows fading out of sight
Indistinctive voices waving in and out

I become silent to the many heart beats,
But my own,  skipping between seconds,
A frozen time, a conscious self finally awoken

I look at a moving cloud,
An awareness of lightness,
To see that am floating through space

Below I see, a man in a black suit
My unmoving body within time,
Oblivious to the passing blurry faces

And so, he speaks to me, asking,
“Who’s there to love?”
“Who’s there to care?”

That suddenly, I fall fast,
Back into my flesh and bones,
Just before the lights hit green

Across I see, an elderly lady,
In the road, just before she is sent flying,
By an SUV, to the other world of silence

And then, distinctive whispers,
“Who’s there to love?”
“Who’s there to care?”

A young heart

She runs fast to my open arms,
Her embrace, warm in the early morning

Delighting my weary heart,
After the long night at sea

That offered me not meat of scales and fins
But a heavy net of sea weed

She whispers into my ear,
“Papa, the moon shall rise tomorrow”

“And you will catch a biiig fish,
That we shall eat and be hungry no more”

“And you will never have to leave mummy and I, “
“Ever again,”
“unto these lonely nights, so cold and scary.”

The dusty books and furnished paintings

Shadows of bold letters
Anchored in hard covers
A writer’s ship in a sea of thoughts
Blown at by the winds of muse
To tell a story, memory, an idea
The fantastical world of ink on paper,
Detailing sounds and imagery,
The dusty books of the attic

But strokes of coloured ink,
Life painted on sky canvases,
Beautiful sunrise, scary twilights
Amusing faces of admirers
So they hang in the halls of fame
That souls through time,
Shall forever remember

The masters

Rivers of sorrow
Valleys of shattered souls
Stolen childhoods, 
Self interests of the masters

Beastly hunger,
Rewarded narcissism
Luncheons of meat and wine,
Decaying flesh and blood

Tainted,  fine fabric,
Disgusting games of folly
Echoes of hypocritical laughter,
On neatly furnished wood

And hidden gold daggers,
Windowless stone houses
An assassination burglary,
Lone dark nights, long

And clothed in honor,
veiled in arrogance
Despicable faces,
Masked with expensive makeup

suffocating perfumes,
A rising air across the gold mines
The soulless humans
The slave masters of the century

Through a glass of wine

The world through a glass of wine,
A ruby refraction of her curvy bosom
Round like twin apples,
Luscious and so inviting
Man’s undying hunger,
To suck once again on firm tits

Tender skin, soft,
An adventurous hand,  down her belly
Lightly mapping the navel
Before feeling the thread of silk around her waist,
On the hip side, raised slightly as my fingers run,
First slowly, and then quick, to the back of her knee

She moans briefly,
Abit surprised, or excited
the tingling feeling,  sending a million neurons,
To her mind, to the heart,
Racing, a rise in body temperature
As I breath, warmly on her stretched neck

She then whispers,
In a language of the two,
Her eyes rolling, lips wet,
“Sire, we are closing”
“You can’t sleep here again,
Taking with her, my glass of imagination rise

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