I'm burnt,
I've dwelt in the flames
These metaphors we choose to speak in
Well,
They're lies
I burn
No metaphor needed
Half moons consume my skin
As I crave
Heart beats
I lack one
And I know,
You dont believe
But they say
I'm pretty
In
Flames

Rain beats down on the window pane
As the flood gates of Heaven suddenly open
It is pouring out in torrential flow
Like a Reservoir, all at once, broken

It has come down as a welcome respite
To fan away the humid sweltering heat
It falls in drops and flows in rivulets
Washing the dust of summer drought

With a sudden burst from the weight laden clouds
It lashes down in steam and fury
Plummeting to form ripples in puddles
And filling pools and ponds in hurry

In slanting sheets, it almost pounds
Flooding roads and making puddle
Gushing through pipes and rushing down drains
Water floods, causing men to waddle

Rain has its abode in heavens so high
And hides behind clouds of mournful gloom
In silver strings, it spans the Earth
And cleanses the plants in resplendent gleam

Sudden is the wind, coming to shoo away the clouds
And the sky is once more cerulean blue
As the music stops and the humdrum stills
The water seeps, giving no evident clue.

After an angry couple’s furious fight,
As the house goes back to an uncanny calm,
The rain has vanished, leaving little trace
Cooling the Earth and causing no harm

walking between, along sights of seasonally scenic timber,
bare but budding tree tops shimmer and
divide my eyes from falling blind to springs sights,
filled full of advancing dawning light.
orbs glow of reds and blues, around and inside, the
internal and external rims
of successively smaller and larger orbs of golden rings;
appearing before my spectral vision
of delightful astral projections.
water slowly passes beneath my feet, connecting
sides dissected by light and
i know that you will see me
but just without your eyes.

birds flutter and clean their crested chests
of crawling, clinging life. feathers ruffle as
the breeze of dewey blue flanks my rose flesh
faced and white knuckled winter hands;
like a cluster of early, much too early, plucked but
ripening chardonnay grapes.
the smell of thaw emanates through drying bones
and decaying leaves and sprouting blades of grass.
the green breaks through the thawing brown
where ice and frost becomes the running force of life
and there, just there,
i know that you will see me,
but without your eyes.

it's not that i think of you.
it's not that you think of me
it's that i can feel the impressions i've made;
because i can feel your impression too.

the veins in your arms like
road maps to your heart,
i trace them with my eyes
from afar.
youve got an aura that people write songs about,
the way you shine and
the way i fade and fizzle out.
im the last thing youd remember
but youre the last thing id forget,
the way your eyes wander
and mine are dead-set.

i used to spend my time on you. talking to you, laughing with you, kissing you, laying with you, thinking about you. i used to wonder what it would be like if you ever left, i never could imagine the pain completely. it was just something i had never experienced, never desired to know. but i swear, the hole inside of me feels more empty than anything the world knows. the weather is getting warmer, but the cold lives within me now that youve gone. youve left nothing but the words you used to tell me. a hopelessness that i cling to, trying to reassure myself youll come back. or that i will soon wake up, but i never do.