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You've asked me how can I see a future when love, in all
Its numinous beauty, is waning?
I reply, the immortal stars still shine above the veil of clouds.
You say, why are the salmon swimming to their pools of origin
Only to die as they spawn?  Only to die?
I tell you their love is unconditional, like mine.
You ask me did the giant sequoia know it was shelter for the burning grasses
When they walked from the seas?  I reply yes they knew.
You question me about the lofty snow cranes that fly over the Himalayas
And I reply by describing
How the priestly flocks, chanting on their mission, honk—
Announcing the mantle steps to the heavens.
You inquire about the elephantine manatees gracing the shallow banks
And wonder if the sea mermaids remember their lives beyond the latitudes
Of capricorn and cancer?
Or you’ve discovered in the wind a new reasoning as to why
The talons of the paired eagles lock in midair as they court?
You want to understand the nimbus garden, ocean slate, of lake Titicaca
Where resides the Andean sea horse gliding above the clouds?
The whales that circle dance in unison collecting krill?
The noetic display of the birds of paradise, the songs of nameless creatures
Playing in the wilderness like a forgotten melody only lovers lips remember?

I want to tell you that true love knows this, that life in its
Prismatic shimmer is all the myriad colours of infinite existence wrapped
In time to the sublime structure of white and bones.  I must tell you
That the flower is mighty in its opening, the humming bird is a sorcerer
Who needles ambrosia with vortex wings weaving his way to the Gods.

But I am nothing beside your disbelief which has arrived, before
I can even imagine the sweet awakening, like doom, my shell is the iridescent
Hollow of the one eyed Abalone, discarded in the deep fathoms
Of the ocean pressures.

I swim the tides as you do, investigating
The endless tendril seas,
And in my chest, during the night, I woke up empty,
The only thing treasured, a golden face
Trapped inside my dreams.

                                                        ­­­          
                                                             ­­                      *— after Neruda
Some nights I can't bring myself to turn on the bathroom light because I don't want to see the scars.

Some nights I can't sleep because the pain of the day is heavy on my shoulders.  

Some nights I cry and sob because I feel like I can't do it and I'm not enough.

Some nights I pick up the blade and I can't bring myself to put it back down again .

Some nights I just want to sleep and never wake back up.

Some nights I gasp and shake from the cold and fear.

Some nights I hum softly because I can't stand the silence.
I just felt like I needed to wright this down
It rains.
A truffled scent
glitters
in dead leaves,
naked trees.
Transudation
into the depths
of the night.
13.12.15
~~~
Thank you, deeply, to all the friends that so kindly read, liked and supported this poem! Here, to you all, at Hello Poetry, cheers, the prize is yours!
25.12.2015
Art
Forget what they tell you
About being a masterpiece
You are not art

You are not stagnate beauty,
Nor were you created for the pleasure of others

You were not meant to be marveled at
by the simple minded
Or ridiculed for your every flaw

You are not art

You are wind
Sending chills through the bones
of those in your presence

You are fire
Spitting embers with a coal-coated tongue

You are water
A bubbling stream of euphoric laughter

No, you are not art
You are so much more
I pour myself into
your glass each night,
a toxic taste, I beg
for you to choke on.

You drain our bottle
dry, drinking desert
laps but still thirsting
for Pacific oceans.

Delving into firework
taste-buds, savouring
how we spill so easily in
nights drunken palms.

Telling me I'm cheap
stuff, liquid eyes that
keep you sober, but are
still a tempting sip.
© copyright
Day gets naked,
While night wears
Darkness and
Conceals all
Dark Spots.
Night seems to be safe for shy hearts.
I am more concerned
About your starry eyes.
Lest the shiny moon,
Adds them to her
Own collection,
In confusion!
I am sitting in a dark room
in a corner,
As if I was in a pensive mood
from the days of yore

Accompanying me is a tiny
candle, with a swaying
Golden dim flame.
Candle smears hazy light
over the walls creating
My own shadow behind me.

A gigantic monster behind me
also swaying with the flame,
which is playing with the breeze.

Oh, a tiny flame blown all
the black darkness inside me
onto the wall in the form of a shadow
making me a pure breathing doll.

I came to know that the dim light
is not so dim, but shaking and
fighting the monster in me
is nothing but our gorgeous 'HP'
Thank you HP.
Even small things can create great things in life.  HP is so great that each poem is  a small flame purifying us.
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