removed due to publishing rights

Will repost at the end of contract term.

Thank you for reading

:-)

It’s good the world is not made to your dream
and people aren’t how you wished them to be
your needs are never satisfied to the brim
your wants keep growing endlessly.

It’s good you don’t get all you love to own
to your eyes all mysteries are not clearly shown
your questions are stuck and queries remain
your joy’s exuberance is diluted by pain.

It’s good uncertainties hinder your way
your lips can’t utter all you want to say
your plans go awry path fills with mess
hurdles keep coming to block your progress.

It’s good you ever feel far the distance
always hope there is a second chance
events don’t take the course you will
you retain a void that you yearn to fulfill.

Music written to
     the sound of rain,
patters of notes upon
    slick windowpanes                
mesmerizing a day
        of reminiscence,
when two hearts
    danced between drizzle

I lay in bed
My heart as heavy as lead
Breathe , in and out
Tomorrow will come, there is no doubt

Brokenness, soulfulness, woefulness

Today, the sun has risen
Such a contradiction
Darkness  surrounding
Leaving the story unwritten

Ferociousness, outspokeness, emotionless

Yesterday, looking for a do over
Constantly looking over ones shoulder
Trying to remember
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

She was going on
About something,
But the metaphor
Wasn't universal.
Not like,
The funeral was as sombre as Cohen.

When I heard, ... blah, blah, yada, yada,
My attention span snapped,
Started thinking about those born
With a golden voice.

Music... See music is me, and I am music. I am the notes that flow through my bloodstream and make my heart skip all kinds of beats. I am the sound of nature that meets it's melody. The river's stream that stream my consciousness.

We will sleep together
in my head tonight;
holding each other close
in arms of fantasy:
dream lovers,
made of imagination.

~mce

Above the keyboard are hands,
Working hands, trying to create something beautiful.
They can feel out the words,
But they cannot hear or see.

Above those hands are arms,
That can hold,
But they cannot see either.

Looking at you,
You are not just something beautiful.
You are beautiful, inside, outside,
Even if you can't see,
Even if you can't hear,
Or touch
Or smell
Or taste,
Your heart can.

And create something beautiful.

was
on the evening
of the harvest moon
neurotic tensions
whirling
everything just
stirring  
dreams as visions
come without sleep
and i fall deep
into a cesspool of
cerebration
and the grisly truth
that accompanies
thankful that only
the coyotes may hear
the loud cries
of a broken woman