Slithering down the tip, rain gathers on a leaf.
Rush.
A splatter left on the thirsty earth.

A pair of plastic dice hang in the air.
Cigarette smoke lingers in the air with the sounds of people talking, laughing, braying, and every other noise we can make. Of course there's the sounds of the carnival slots, playing their merry-go-round tune with each wager on a button. A fortune gained in a second, lost in hours. hopes and fears culminating in the moment of release, when the dice leave your hand. Fear of the unknown, just as powerful as the fear of knowing. And in there a rush of chemicals. Loss of self, release of social bonds, freedom. Found around, but never without chance.

A character of granite,

sculpted and unmoving.

Hard shell,

giving hell

to mind and thought.

His perfection screams,

til the eyes split.

Nevermore.

Polished hair,

chiseled teeth,

shoulders to carry boulders,

hands of sand paper,

and a gentle smile.

Some lilies bloom only at night,
when the day
slows and drips
down.
A candle melting
marks the time.
Lost in thought,
as the world loses itself
to dreams.

Take a trip to the woods, where the sugar cranes lie, and the the gnomes play hide-and-seek all day. The mushrooms grow slimy and huge. The slugs are friendly, and always have time to stop and chat (in their monocles and top-hats). The ferns adorned in the finest dew drops, like crystals upon a gorgeous face, have fancy balls. They dance with the wind, and bask in the creeping sunlight. At night they snuggle into their frost suits and snore quite obnoxiously. The creek is where the bands of frogs are singing, accompanied of course, by the fiddling grass hoppers and chirping cicadas. The water spiders orchestrate such fanciful maneuvers upon the surface of flowing stream. The dearth of any rush or worry only perpetuates the calm in the air. The trees who sleepily yawn, can hardly be bothered for a spot of conversation. And the salamanders crawling among the wet damp rocks, are too under-bellied to trust.

Take up arms in powerful conjunction.
Let cities fall, to be replaced with fields.
Our weapons of war will be seeds,
of flowers and weeds,
to up root the foundations
of destructive nations.
Let's be the bees
to pollinate these ideas.
Let's beat the the vultures
that rip apart cultures.
If you be you
and I be I,
with acceptance of perspective,
together we'll lie
in a grassy field where buildings once stood.

Fuzzy Rugs

A richness, so thick,
it carpets your tongue in velvet,
and drips down your throat like choclate.
A puddle of emotions vs
an ocean of...
of...?
expierence vs
lifetimes of space.
Endless,
boundless,
free to roam for an eternity
and then some.
Still too small for that which is
life.

Who needs titles?

Escape the dream
to reality,
but find yourself
in another dream.
The truth obscured
by thoughts that shine
too bright to see.
The hidden hold
is not bold
enough for your taste
but that is where the
truth sleeps.
Can you travel across time?
Will you take that step?
To go upon the greatest quest
that life ever knew.

Atone of forgotten sorrows
ring in my ear.
I can not remember,
the origin of this
poignant sadness,
that overshadows
this hazy world.
The memory has left,
but the spirit resides.
A ghost in the mind,
stalks me from
beyond comprehension.
A time that is long past
lingers by my side.

Birth first, then fear of the ever consuming darkness that follows. Embraced like a long lost friend. Put aside in the thoughts of men. For if it cannot be changed, what use to dwell upon it? A sadness tags along. We think we know what happens after it greets us, but none can be sure. And there is the reason melancholy lies with it. For what is it worth, that we should; struggle, overcome obstacles, triumph, have statues built in our image, or create lasting inspiration in the minds of men? In the end, it all comes to naught. A hollow victory, if ever one existed. To not know and never learn, until it is too late. What a waste of time. What a waste of breath. What a waste of everything til the death.