I sigh a lot,
and my tears taste like the ocean,
and I don't talk very loud,
and I stutter a little,
and I am not very pretty,
and I am constantly tripping over air,
but,
I could love you with every bit
of my Awkward Little Self
if you would just give me the chance.

The mother cat is teaching her kittens fast
Leave them she must
In another few days.

Her babies are
Blindly following her
She knows her art of replays.*

Grow up baby till you have the caring hand
Grow fast to earn your place on this land
Not all you future can hold in embrace
Not all of you can survive find a place.

She teaches well her lessons are without flaw
She teaches you to use them well your tooth and claw
Yet not all can rise from fall make their way
Not all you can live up to the future day.

Learn fast child time runs wild don’t know when
You are grown and left alone with angst of pain
Learn it smart all her art of making it through
Know baby all her teachings are wise and true.

Thoughts don't keep tormenting my head
I have a job to do to earn my bread
I have hours of dipping my hands in the muck
juggle with the assigns that simply ****!

Poems don't come streaming in my head
let me not lose bread in your mesmeric thread
I have hours of pouring over dead files
wade in the mire in painted smiles!

Dreams don't perch on my stooped eyelids
let me take care of my earthly needs
I have hours of works to pay for the meals
stuck in a rut that slowly kills!

Wishes don't freely on my heart land
let it not be lost in your quicksand
I have hours to cope with the burning
walk the fire on your singed wings!

Whenever I go to the roof to spend some time my own
find the chunk of the past I left memories rusty grown
see there shadows of father hear his walking feet
if I strain my senses hard even hear his heart beat!

I hear there the lost footsteps in the wind faintly sighs
in the dark nooks imprints of years that quickly passed by
find there the ghost of dreams she and I had spun
their ashes now scattered from our memories long gone!

I see there the old me in the corner standing aloof
unaged ungrown my fossil on the roof
by the light of the fireflies he still searches me
rewrites in the moonglow long discarded poetry!

On the roof times are not dead they merely abscond
hide under the hyacinth of the night's silent pond
I find them lurking there sounds and sights of yore
for times once lived never go from us anymore!

My demon stays silent
He has nothing to say
If I allowed him to speak
You'd only run away
So when I'm asked "are you ok"
Silence is the stern reply.
Quiet, peace, dumb, mute
Blank, impassive, soundless a
Demon tamed by having nothing to say

I need one poem to take with to bed
I need one poem to stay in my head
I need one poem to read in dream light
One poem to survive when bows out the night.

There are times ...
when the dream seems so real
there are times..
when the dream appears  
like waking times ...
so... genuine

There are times
when the waking hours
are like a dream...
Real but unreal

Have you ever,
been or felt beyond both, a space?
there, the creator is always awake.
and listens and sees everything
while we are  asleep, dream or awake...