A sprinkle of blue sparkle
off the lapis lazuli sky.
A throw of stars
from the full moon night.
We will take in abundance
while rowing the waves
once in the River Nile.

Hear! The crave of oars
breaching the shore.
Reaching out and close
to the pyramid foundation.
That’s scientia is pure rigid
yet so open loose.
One dozen milky ways
can hover in rhythm
over this stony knot!

That doesn’t mean
the Mintaka stars will give
up their shares at all
They will sit on the top.
Without the pyramid moving
a step from the true north.

Between this relative sublunary
and over the moon mural
if and when one spaces up.
The silent Moon takes a pause
humming the prehistoric lullabies.
With a patch of the blue sky
and a starry sprinkle from the night.  
Maybe then we will take a break in
behind the closed doors of the great pyramid!

Foundation of existence
an exponential presence.
Gravity’s graceful hand
glues us together
like wet sand.
Presses us into spheres and
let’s us fall where we may.

Molded from mud and clay
Born of the Earth and falling
along the bend of space,
lulled by the face of the sun
and dizzy by the spin of the Earth,
we fall in love
along its starry string.

The foundation of existence.
we fall and then
fall again. Dropped along
gravity’s bending string
we fall and spin
Faster and faster
Desperately searching for meaning
until.
Some part of that string to holds onto
us and calls us their own.

We fall in love.
Tying ourselves to that fleeting string
so it may stay.
So it won’t fall away.
So caught up
We glue our muddied hands
to disappearing strands.

So caught up
we lose ourselves to gravity
and fall at the speed of life
so fast we forget to slow down
and look around.
So fast that we might miss it.

Do you sometimes feel like a pillar

Like you are the last thing holding everything and everyone up

Like you are the last thread preventing everything from unraveling

So much so that you are not allowed to rest

That if you do
The hairline fractures in your foundation might widen

Might become cracks that are no longer safe

That anymore pressure will cause it all to collapse

And that at the end of the day
You are the only one eroding

The only one who no longer can stand tall and true

Can no longer be a pillar for you

To slowly become dust

Picked up by the wind
Swept away and forgotten

white wall patch on the floor a lonely broom in a corner, two
ft. from a crooked door. 

the foundation's cracked and slowly sinking. 110, hot, yet the sun has set & here I sit, alone,
just thinking.

the saying goes there's reason for all... missed my flight perhaps to answer some cosmic call.

these moments of solitude are golden ...my hand beckons me to procure pen and paper. the walls are all prepped no more need for a scraper.

so out pour the words, like a can of paint, flowing onto the
paper smoothly, with no restraint.

By this logic,
**** is also beautiful.
A stunning mixture,
Of every color that entered your mouth
Of every food you eventually let out.

But more seriously,

Maybe they thought their eyes were plain,
Because they’re a realist?
Brown eyes are the most common eye color on Earth.
Clocking in at 55%.

“But let’s compare their aesthetic traits,
To something more unique,
In order to give the impression,
That we are deep!”

“Oh!
I know!
Mahogany!
Because wood is brown!”

Uhg.

I get it’s about perspective.
You want to appear to see something in them
That they don’t see in themselves.
To make them feel special.
And I’m sure they’ll like the poem.
And I’m sure other people will too.
And no one will think twice, or criticize you.

But your poem is boring.
And average at best.
Just like this rhyming scheme,
I use for the rest,

of my poem.

But that’s okay.
Practice’ll make perfect.
Maybe next time, write about the person?
And not just their eyes.
The relationship you want to express, is why their eyes are special.
Emphasis on “their.”
And why they make them special.
Emphasis on “they.”
Stop writing generic poems that fit everyone.
Write for the person whose eyes you lose yourself in.

I met a girl in high school.
She had brown eyes, with little specks.
As if genetics graced her with an aesthetic, that befit her the best.
She sailed from topic to topic,
Gracefully.
While I was lost in the islands in her eyes,
that cartographed the geography my mind began to see.

I’m glad her eyes did her justice,
Because her name didn’t.
Two syllables,
the latter a misspelling of coal:
Hands black after holding,
Soot filled lungs after smelling,
Bad kids’ reward for insolence.
She’s nothing close to that since,
She’s herself;
A country woman from a little town no one talks about.

We’d talk for hours.
We always could.
Until that bell rang,
And she stood,
up to leave.

Was the foundation not good enough,
The make-up not strong enough,
To hide what I’d been going through?
Were the bruises too large,
The cuts too deep,
To ever possibly conceal?
Was my mask of happiness too thin,
My cheerful voice too fake,
To convince them of my stability?
I knew it was all for naught,
Yet I hoped I could stay strong.
I knew nothing would protect me,
From this world where I don’t belong.
Their accusing looks, their quiet gasps,
Were enough to tell me what their hearts contained.
I’m broken, imperfect, and selfish;
And they knew.

She unrolled the blueprints
that she had designed.
Building from the wreck that was left behind.

She salvaged the rubble and ruins
and cement of broken promises
granulating and churning it to nothing more than sand;
allowing it to form the foundation of her own future.

She raised one naked agony brick after the other,
cementing it with love and care.

Planting seeds of melancholy,
she watered them with her tears
and watched as the sun's warmth let them bloom
and the moon that let them rest.

She weaved curtains
and plastered the ruins.

She became the gardener,
the architect
and the nurse
of her own self and life.

- Beautiful Sensitive Soul

Holding on to past Recollection  of happiness

Itching to gain back the people that we were

at Some point, no save  point , we lost where we were

We had dreams and made schemes for our future endeavors together

Like erosion our foundation became weathered

With time, Will we rebuild each other or will this ship perish and sink beneath the vision  of unforgotten finish line.