Her face; like the moon, a golden summer hue
But I prefer her dressed in blues
Like ocean waves; or Stevie Ray
𝐵𝒶𝒷𝓎, 𝐼’𝓂 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓎

Her body; like a plume, of feathered emeralds
Elegant, and gentle
Like cursive script; or a wind-swept kiss
𝐵𝒶𝒷𝓎, 𝒾𝓉’𝓈 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝐼 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈

Her soul; like a treasure trove, of good intentions
And one too many exceptions
Like one more last dance; or shotgun romance
𝐵𝒶𝒷𝓎, 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓇𝓋𝑒 𝒶 𝓈𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒

Only here till’ morning, so the night’s an open road and,
the beaten path only leads to mourning. An off-road traveler,
who escapes the chase of a pursuant sun.

Slow walking through river reeds.
A cupped handful of running water reinforces his state of being;
all but free.

Marathon of miles between, the first date on his gravestone and
the last number his mother reads at the bottom of his eulogy.
The hyphen shorthand for life and,

Missing the meaning through the seams, that connect his first day
to the day he leaves. An often-bereaved purveyor of shattered dreams,

Who stops to smile at every waving tree because,
even in despair he found belief beneath
the bared teeth of the machine trying to syphon from his peace.

A flower born from concrete.
Escaping through the cracked city streets;
out past the horizon line.

I hope the supple touch
          Of all the women I have ever loved
Cascades like rain
          Over every inch of this Earth’s terrain
Let the sunrise kiss from her crescent lips
          Chase away the nights gangly grip
Turning barren fields
          To blooming bastions
Of roots and seeds, nurtured into
          The smile underneath a weeping willow tree
Raise the bones of change
          From their dusty graves of grief
Discard your flesh and,
          Bare to me only what lies beneath

The wick is fading, and I have no matches left
In this dark abyss where I sit depressed
My valiant heart has become a perch for crows
Smile shaped in stone
Each embrace stiff and cold from my marbled soul
My arms depict a grasping hand
Reaching for a world these etched eyes will never know
Trapped in the heart of a withered artist
His mad dealings mold and make me
A victim of his musings
Crafted in a candlelit madness
Delicate delusions and vague allusions
To courage in the many veiled faces of death
Carved and set at the base of the steps
Statuesque

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, have a great July!


goodness is virtue
rage is essence when realization is new
hearts entrenched
them those called sensations melted a bench

memories tainted in dark
reminiscent somewhere in the background park
violins ached for the winter sky
on a hope it would just snow the ghosted July

their flesh burnt
mercurial whispers churned a hurt
dilapidates already fallen
feels of away returned from the stolen

wise in me I confess
to not believe a belong is a bless
visions confuse
perplexed deprived of a twinkle muse

my pen writes
then paper welcomes once and thrice
orchestra chimes
in time to spill the wine

                                                                                           ------ravenfeels

In this wasteland of avarice, I struggle to pull silver threads
From this gray cover of smog. The sound of brittle bones aching,
Drowned out by the quaking footsteps of titans.
Men, who would be gods, push for you to play your hand.
Knowing from their fingers, have you been dealt the cards.
A deck of diamonds, devoid of Kings with hearts.
Honor has been dead, since Pride married Malice and,
Greed shacked up with strife. 21st century freedom.
A modest monetary price,
For ownership stake of your life.

Breath of air, feels through strings of my hair,
dancing monkey, aren't you pretty?
The way you move your feet to the sound of the beat.
Let's play a game, a game called living while we
look at our pictures, when times were better, we were laughing and sharing a sweet lick of our favorite treat.
A sticky kiss is all we need to feel love again underneath the heat.
Surrender to me and let's laugh through the orchards chasing valleys and valleys amongst our horizon...a horizon of love and warmth.
Now we're left broken, but what mends pieces back together is the memories of of hearts...

O slaves of Allah Almighty!
When you purify yourselves for Salah with Wudu,
Don't only pay heed to your covers.
Pay heed to the filth hidden deep,
Deep Inside of you.
For Allah, The King of all kings,
loves
purified hearts...

Quite evident, broken hearts tend
not to love again.
Loves in the air,
question is, will you breathe it in again?
Evident in those past experiences,
we hope this time it will be real to the very end.

Tis with a broken heart,
you fear so much to love.
But don't leave it to chance,
those not willing to find love, how do you
know it's time to give up?
The pain of such, is quite deep.
But as much as it hurts, out there is your missing piece.

It's all but a moment of hurt,
which feels endless, especially if
they were your first.
But you don't find the sparks of love without a few times of getting burnt.

To all the broken hearts in the world,
out there in this lonesome earth is
someone you deserve.

Don't be afraid to, SEARCH!