You, see the world through the eyes of a child-
One who has contemplated the soft chirping of
The emerald crickets at midnight.
One who gathers the brown leaves of autumn together
...
When I journey on jade grass blades,
They harshly bend beneath my feet,
And though their tips and soil meet-
My footsteps do not make them stay.
...
I had a dream-
A dream that I’d lost you,
Amongst a fog of twisted hate.
And Then, I awake-
...
A northern wind and lighthouse,
Are arguing once more,
Their quarrel seems to be about,
Whom better keeps the shore.
...
Death seemed my servant upon the road,
Where every footstep echoed casually,
And no waylay would come unto my heart-
No frozen peaks of truth,
...
Dark vapor, twisted twilight.
Still nightfall - missing moonlight.
Quaint breeze, sluggish, cold.
Sky line- drooping, droll.
...
The wind wraps
White shadow
Around the rough,
Rocky marrow
...
My shadow leaps across the street,
And rests upon a slender tree.
It’s limbs are bent down in an ark,
By some wind song after dark.
...
The wind exhales;
Plucking pink petals from the trees,
Falling, Mounding, beneath a canopy,
Like amputated sparrow tails
...
If A be one and B be Two
And pattern does predict,
Then clearly just the letter Z
Would equal twenty six!
...
Skin of tarnished silver,
Arched forehead and
Welcoming handle,
His teeth, Four prongs,
...
When I rest, I dream of clay-
Towering mountains of unshaped human potential
Wet with the white rain
Of possibilities
...
Touched by the temporal clouds
Engrossed with Earth’s circular rhythm,
Thrilling! the dynamics of destiny.
...
The army ants march in a momentous percussion,
Keeping the timing of tenor toned sparrows.
The caustic, quivering chorus of tree cicadas
...
Dependent on imagination,
A harsh fluctuation,
Of fears linking, like
A firm handshake
...
I'm 18, and ready to take life (and poetry) by the horns. My AIM is thewho6lank, if you want to have a chat. May you never be lonely, Lazarus.)
A Chaser Of Mist
You, see the world through the eyes of a child-
One who has contemplated the soft chirping of
The emerald crickets at midnight.
One who gathers the brown leaves of autumn together
Simply to kick them away again.
One who smiles widely when called
By his mother.
One who weeps unashamed when he is alone
And lost.
One whom asks large questions,
And is given small replies.
A chaser of mist.
We’ve gained many things-
Yet lost all of these.
I have devoted my time
To growth,
Yet all I now wish is
To shrink.