Reflection of the Light

Sing to me the beautiful lies of the world

Dance with me till our toes touch the sky

Inside I hold precious thoughts, precious dreams

Afraid of sharing what I love and who I see

Faces blend together, like paint on a canvas,

Like the years that never end, or the time that

Doesn’t stop

 Been here for hundreds of years

I’ve danced with fire till my eyes started to burn

I’ve loved a man with many, many sins

To the bottom of my heart, the bottom of my soul

Touch the weakness within, to be afraid of the light

The fire will burn your darkness if you don’t give in

Touch of a rain drop upon the skin, a light feather

Rub across your lips. Let us love once more, before

The Winter takes you and cracks your bones, before

The Sun steals you and eats your heart.

I’ve been here for hundreds of years

Hundreds of years        

I will hold you again.

When you feel the words your mind eats, your mind seeks. When you steal the melodies from the bluebirds, and you think. When you drink the honey from their roses, when you explore the mountains. When the peach sun rises, I will hold you again.

Three Line Pocket Poem.

The death of our Earth, which is upon us as the nights roll into years and my mirror cracks.

Where the angels dance in the silent memories of us, the stars shine brighter than blue.

The taste of the wolf moon, the blood of our loved ones, where love once lived, alive. 

Tuesday Tongues.

You can give your girl a little sugar for her

Attitude that is out of this world

Where I want to go with you before we

Die tonight or tomorrow I don’t care

Anymore where my ashes go as long

As you have time for the sunset and the

Sunrise, where I will meet you for our

Morning date with the park bench and

Coffee that tastes older than a hundred

Years, time which I’ve been waiting for you.

And the day that we watch the death of the sun
That the cloud and the cold and those jeans you have on
That you gaze unafraid as they saw from the city ruins

Hozier

I HAVE AN AGLET 4 SALE.

Finding time between papers and cigarettes

Take a slice of my mind, and a piece of pie.

Dirty finger nails bother me, just as much as

Off centered clocks.

FIX

FIX

FIX.

Keyboards with toes, an old man nose and

Classified ads. Where will time go when

Print dies? Will the writers still write?

Will their words reach the sky or meet

On white paper? Printers print the sad

News, daily. When the crossword puzzles

Talk, and the pen starts dancing, the walls

Will melt and you can see people’s feelings.