a faded blue
when the sun sets
west over
there by the bridge in the back
round of the photograph
i framed long ago
burned in a fire
of rage and fury
ash -
like dust in the wind-
and the blue does fade into black
to only prove that darkness will return again

i count the stars above me now
in the midst of silence
my thoughts are countless
drowning out the washing in of waves
and there i close my eyes beside the beach
i photographed
a moment when the summer wind did blow
the calm onto the shores
where chaos had no chance
because of my serenity
oh what a time

and so my memory does fade
like the blues
where day does turn to night
i fear the dark
for i have yet to dream
of that perfect blue
i photographed with you-
a sky that i could only pray
to dream about
and fall.
...
asleep

i fade away

for i witnessed this death myself-and it brought my soul to life
“My painting is dead” he spoke
in all but falling to his very death
in hopes that the hour ends
painting beauty from such pain
where i see a man there up above  
as i do walk these floors beneath the ceiling
footprints soon shall walk the earth-the first time
she comes from rock-his expertise-forte
there in the sculptor's work
see what’s hidden
so study closer
only to the very genius of the painter
seemingly complete
and the story comes to life
like words on a page
whose creations escape surface
by a sculptor
a miracle complete
when the very eyes of Julius did witness
and i marvel at the moment there it time
? i wonder
what do they think of this
yet filled with existence-abundant
the room so silent-so still
holy, holy, holy, lord
the heart that fills with spirit
and so grasps the divine of depth within
the hands feel more than simply flesh
i see in clarity
the first time
of man
whose hand does touch the hand
so loudly to proclaim the word of God
with more than vibrant hues and tones
the craftsman there at work he spoke

spoke he
“I am not a painter”

a time
when i sat in a garden
observing the significance of the flower
the being of beauty
in simplistic of terms
no terms in actuality
for what was the purpose of the dictionary
i made up words on my own
that only i could hear
as i sat alone in the garden
my elementary playground
full of flowers
like me
a time of reality
for my elementary mind
shaped by the elementary lessons
my insides had twisted and turned
tangled like a vine
that cling upon the park bench
i do there sit upon
with wonder and new found questions
that i ponder as of now
a flower
resting delicate in the palm
silent
and i promise myself that i will too, become so vibrant
to paint the world a garden
with words
a time where i sat on a bench alone and all but lonesome
with the many voices there surrounding me
i named my voice an outlier among the numbers
for the picture i did paint was not that of people
but of flowers
and there i sat among them  
a mind all  but elementary

the woke up in a world
fixated within each other's eyes
soul full tears
falling-each one to the earth
at an instant-sprirts emerging from the core
became an orphic jungle
and so they spoke imagination
became a single leaf-leaves of life
upon the trees
most soulfully speaking-hymns
and so they walked the path-creation

when solving for x:

the answer is absent in the question
therefore...
the process becomes a complication
do not fear the complication...
for x is the factor
of life
the unknown...
substance of the questions
that trigger the brain
a mental illusion of matter
of what matters
of what must matter to answer the mark of mystery
if x can not be found
do not disregard the possibility
for what is lost shall be found once again
completeness
in defining the solution
the circle
in perfect circumference
unlike the others
for what goes around does come around
to meet
at one point  
pure significance
without any points at all
for edges do not exist
yet the points are clearly stated
3 specific
for the angles represent a connection
of truth
so complicated in occasion
like that of the alchemist
the fire the air the water and the earth
transform geometry into geography
views
from another angle
look beyond the numbers

now solve for x:

i drove 154 miles this week.
It's April and the rain seems to be depicting my sensations.
i think it to be crazy to feel so alone in a world full of people.
Billions.
Maybe I am crazy.

I may have met them all, but I have known no one
except for the conscience of myself
a friendly foe.
because the truth is:
we are prisoners of our own minds.

and i am locked behind bars in the mindset of my own
attempting to escape the walls
i reach through into the reality and grasp the key
between my fingers
cold
i have the power
in my fingers i hold it to tightly
only to loosen the grip and let it go

they fall to the floor
i fall to the floor

A single person rarely asks me how my day is going,
for the image of which the strangers look is far too peculiar
weird
strange
and simply not worth the waste of breath.
A human being may take around 25,000 breaths per day
without even a slight consideration in the energy inside
and instead the energy around them
kinetic in communication
yet abstracted in my own perception
through the rearview
of the car
of which I drive
the miles
154 this very week
the infamous streets of the city
so sullen
yet so brilliant
illuminated

so i drive
and do not speak a word
besides "hello" in the beginning
and "have a nice day"
in the end
because these people I shall never meet again
a nice day
one with laughter I hope
so much for these people

and I hope that they will see the world
and learn so much about so much
about themselves
like I have
and have not

the wisest man i met was on the subway
around 4 am
i took this time for myself
and took a trip to the underworld
because sometimes the world's most incredible treasures and truths are the ones we can't see
intangible

like a song
so many yet to discover
to create
let me tell you about my favorite

I started gauging my drives in the number of songs rather than the number of miles

his heart
wasn't like the others
it didn't just beat in sync with anyone
because he had never truly been in love,

and so the many maidens, so beautiful, believed to convince him
of their love
for the boy
and for his heart

until the night came for each of them
so beautiful, the maidens
and so he sat and spoke
"do look into my heart, and tell me what you see, for I am unsure of what fate my feelings confess"
So each of the girls had looked into his heart.

The first had looked upon the surface, for her love was weak
and all she saw was the face of the boy
walking hand in hand with another whose face was shaded
hidden and unable to discover.
"I see nothing" she said,
and with this the boy knew his heart did not beat for her.

The next did look deep into the heart,
for her passion for the the boy did exist
and she had only hoped for the relief of his love for her
so deep into his heart she cast her eyes
only to find him holding in his arms
someone other than herself
the portrait blurry
and so she knew now that this love she must let go
a fiction
because she does not have the heart for which he craves

the rest of them had looked even deeper, and all saw similar images
of the boy and the mystery of persona. Of a girl.

And so the boy felt discouraged. His heart grew tired of the analysis, and the abundance of hope had diminished to mere existence. Despair had begun to cry upon his shoulder, and so he turned to the one who never failed him. He believed that she, in fact, could help him and his heart.

This one.
She had seen his heartbreak over and over, for the times he forced himself to fall in love with the past, this one would watch him fall to fall with him herself. She cared for him like no one else, and he was ever grateful for someone like this. She promised to assist him in searching for the mystery, and so after seeing how close to giving up the boy was, she thought about looking into his heart for herself. There must be something the others may have missed.
"Please look" he said, "Tell me who it is my very heart does let me live for. You must tell me of the girl I do love. Her face I must know."

And so the girl's eyes made contact with the core of his heart
his soul desire
and at the initial glimpse she saw

nothing like the others...
not the boy, nor the shadowed figure of another girl

but a face
in clear description

she looked into the heart of the boy whom she had loved forever
into the mirror of fate
the reason his heart now beat in sync
with hers
at that very moment
of fate's own reflection

the boy felt his heart beat in perfect rhythm
of love