As
you hold
a story in your mind

the world
be fleshing it out

Origin of life's hues,
wading through times
                         contemplations.
Her hair was a rainbow of
                            deliberation.

Every strand empathy of natures
                             yearning to grow.
Maturing  beyond the seed,
                                   reaching higher.
Rings  showing the marriage of
                                         life and growth.

Vitality was her yearning
for everything
             was her breath.
Mother to all that that walked
                          upon her creation.

The whisper of a gentle breeze
makes me stand still and feel at ease
The call of a morning bird
music to my ears it may sound absurd
The rays of a setting sun
is when I know my day is done
The beam of the lunar light
is all part of His Heavenly delight
The ever insuring waves from the motion of the sea
and all this He created for little old me
The colossal clouds in the heavens above
this He commands is an act of my love
The whisper, the call, the ray, the beam
it's reality in our earthly dream
The Father speaks in so many ways
you've only got to look to see what He says
This is the wonder that He created
water, land, and mountain tops jagged, and serrated
He is in everything we see
and all this..for you and for me

this pressure to do something great,
its not something other people create,
its one's heart that craves for feeling victory.
This crave makes us do nasty things,
its really creepy.
why cant we control it, ever thought about that,
well its simple! no person in the world,
would like to create no impression of itself on this earth,
a common man follows same routine, breakfast, night in.
but my mind doesnt want that, yours shouldnt too,
this monotonous life is nothing but a disaster,
we should find our ability and remember everybody has one,
just try and master, a mediocre never prevails, prevails is the king,
just give this a thought, just think.

All wording not overly conveyed,
              I'm no dictionary.

My pen is my shield and my words
             my armour.

Sometimes dented, ridiculed,
            so not as lustrous as your

vocabulary giving,

but every symbolism
          I give in jest.

I can be a clown, watch my words prance on
              the page in fruitful

colouring of metaphor.

But other times I'm in the size seven
of another's outlook not my own,
emotion grazing my subconscious.

         For that fraction of eternity I'm them, you
I live there fears,  hopes wishes that die after I put the
                                                                ­             pen down.

Don't judge a piece of paper that has nothing on it,
           for will have a doodle, a thought..

A drawing of emotion entwined within its fabric.

   But you just ridicule, turn the page not knowing
                     the pain or joyful happiness
that went to create this...

Yes its not in your taste, but its there's, mine.

Were just artists of our own little world,
             and if you happen to land here.

Please be green..


   Recycle what you think,
and be positive,
    really do reflect on what others foresee.