Stormy Passion

We were kids again

Jumping in the rain

While stripping our thoughts

Naked we stood at mercy storms.

Queued in desire

We held each other's hands

Staring past this world

Words slipping to impregnate silence.

I...I  love you!

Creasing the bed stands

While sheets tore in passion

Hold me close drenched...

Echoes in Oblivion

Glossing silence over my lips,

Staring into oblivion's bliss,

Trolled by creeping thoughts

Meandering through the cerebral hallways 

I watched time in disbelief.

Having painted a couple of words

Without a crown to endorse

Pouring a wishing well portion 

Hoping fairies to pull a Cinderella

Trumping the trolls incharge.

I spilled my poison into her ear

Hoping to recover my smitten heart

In doubt, of what was to be

As her beauty had me twisted in blues

Praying for the cupid arrow not to miss.

Piped into ground

Misstepping to the feast

My soul wondered in the wild

Seeking an anchor home

Waiting her reply to zone me in.

Reaped Heart Purple

I singing my fall

Every time I enter

Watching the clock unwind

To catch my fear in reverse.

Though my tongue

Pledge allegiance to chaos

It spills the heart

At the feet of the one.

Raised in questions

Only flowers petals know to well

Or the tip of the grass

Find tasty when questioned.

Melting at every tongue

Utterance

I wish for the ground to swallow me whole

Yet relief of the chaos waged.

Curious of the answer intended

I pawn my soul

Ready to castle up

Waiting for the purple robe

To grace my side.

Folklore

At the pinnacle of it all

We used to grow on tales

Ushered around the dancing amber

Lost in the smokes of reality.

Grandpa oozing wisdom

While we chuckle

To every twist of unity

After a sweaty day

Fields testifying of a dawn-dusk.

Engrossed clouds appeasing

As a distant roar come alive

Captured in a heavenly picture

Another smile for another season

Awaiting on grey

To blossom wisdom

And for strand to develop shot's.

Here we are

At the birth of another century

Lost in our ways

As the amber dance have turned to glow

Silenced by distant chirping

Left in disarray arid savannah dreams.

Past the lines!

So!

How many times should we remain victims?

Lost between the lines of one true self

Or reman a societal puppet on a shoe string.

Should we call ourselves free?

Or ringing a bell of admission

As all our steps are a mission 

Unquantifiable with reality.

Soaked deep in denial

While playing victims cards

To our own undoing

Yearn to equate ourselves to another.

While clearly different to one another ...