It's 3 a.m.
Just like yesterday
dangling under the sword
of Damocles
Just wondering
Will it take a lifetime
for the thread
to break

Cardboard and concrete
The gutter dance
Poison slithers thru their veins
Comatose victims of pain

Public litter
Use to call him Dave
Detached distain
On public display

From the inside, out
Voices dither
Skeletons wither
Chaos soon will rain

***** dreams
Dumpster fein
Needle malaise

Unseen, invisible
A scab of existence
Bleak
Underbelly
Deranged

Demise
White
Porcelain
Overflowing
Unashame­d
Last vein

I've been watching patterns in nature lately, savoring their beauty.
We are born,
unfolding,
into the world's natural grid,
painting the infinite canvas.

I finally see that we are one and the same in this cycle,
interconnected.
So different,
yet so familiar.

The trees structured like our lungs,
our veins like the vast rivers.
Our hearts pulse,
and so do the shore waves.
I look into the stars swimming in the antimatter,
and they look back at me.
Among them I see your eyes,
like two suns,
radiating warmth onto my soul,
reaching evey corner of my being.

I will never forget the time we had,
how it colored my world's canvas.

They loved us until we fell,
Tumbled on a flaming wing.
They thought us smart, great,
Until we reached the fired sun.
We rose too high, too great.
Wax melted on our wings,
Formed by our friends and family.
We were great, once.

You might not approve of the action
The words might sting and hard to believe or difficult to digest
Acceptance takes awhile
Is it worth a sleepless night?
People change for better or worse
Mourning what was is futile
Move forward and if things are meant to be or improve
So be it
If not
Keep it to yourself and Journey on

Where's my rainbow after the rains,
Where's my calm after the storm,
Where's my light at the end of the tunnel,
Where's my peace after the war,
Where's my dawn after the darkness,
Where's my joy after the sorrow?
Where's my, "finally it's over"?

One more to add to the collection
Piled up in stacks
of memories ,
good, bad, indifferent.
They loom large like a hoarders playground..
Teetering on the edge of remembrance,
Akin to a child arcing  on the up curve of a swing in motion all joy and suspense...

The oldest of days
So compressed and worn they have become mere scraps
Postcards withe messages written
In ink  faded, jaded
Like ether riding a zephyr  they pass through your mind to tiny whirlwinds from days left behind.

This day different from any other, as are they al, closes now awaiting it's
place upon a pile
All so tall now
It was a gooday another one of love, laughter  action and rest, commonplace by many standards..

But we have  learnt
to take each day and polish it like gem.

And accept it as a blessing ..

Before resting
in order to walk
into yet another day