if all of the pieces fell into place could we make it through time and through space?
if everything aligned in the sky like we deserved, could it end up being you and I?
if not.... hold me one more time, tell me that in another universe there's a perfect you and I.
kiss me slowly like we have all the time in the world, like when we first fell in love.
I know all we did was try, but some would say it's better this way.
everything was gone in a blink of an eye.
and I guess it just wasn't mean to be you and I.
not in this life, it's not the right time....

He’s seen the rise, he’s seen the fall,
The hands of fate, he’s touched them all.
Through love and loss, through war and peace,
His journey never finds release.
A wanderer with weary eyes,
Chasing moons in endless skies.
No start, no end, no final stand—
The Forever Man.
Through ages old and years unborn,
He walks the earth, weathered and worn.
A face untouched by time’s embrace,
Yet burdened by each fleeting place.
He’s watched the empires rise and burn,
Loved and lost with no return.
The hands he’s held have turned to dust,
Yet onward still—because he must.
The forever man.

"Each poem is a piece of manifestation writing."

Your smell is a warmth
I can’t touch
but feel in every breath.

The air carries your smell to me,
like a secret message
only I can understand.

In every breath,
I feel closer to you,
as if your essence
is the thread
that weaves us together,
stitching my soul to yours.

I want to smell you even more,
to breathe you in even closer,
to let your presence
fill every part of me.

I want to live in a world
where your scent is the atmosphere,
wrapping me in a love so deep,
where the universe itself
holds us together.

i was doing something
on the computer
it went blank
no my mind went blank
no the universe went blank
never mind all is back now

The stars do not fall
with our might,
the universe has motivation
of its very own:
possession is a mirage
that takes hold
we die when we die
but there will always be
an endless light
being fed to the living below

Where a mother just gave birth
in a dreary hospital room
filled with loved ones and flowers
next-door to a man who died
alone, in the peak of June
on that same day
with the same replenishing light
reflecting in a perfect sky:
meaning is an illusion
that we create

Why make sense of things
that are better left on the shelf?
Answers are bittersweet
figments of "truth"
akin to religion
and its unfruitful ruse
for it is no secret that language
plays a fickle tune,
each voice with its own sacrilege
to project as a catalyst
unknowingly for the downfall
where we all lose

To a bullish sense of self
deemed more important
as people shout and yell,
it's unbeknownst to them
that self-righteous anger
is also best left
on the shelf

Black, space, satiated void,
a meaty elixir, romanticised steroid,
a lens through which we see the heart,
a core, a seed where life shall start.

I hope in deepest darkest dreams,
that life shall come as godly fiends,
to shame us all and show us splendour,
our childhood may we then remember.

When stars were bright and mighty things,
more than flame in frost,
they inspired our hearts and dreams,
the gifts that we have lost.

I look up and I see them each,
looking down on me.
worlds and stories I'd like to see,
but sadly cannot reach.

My love will reach every atom of your being—
touching the physical with my lips,
the unseen with my heart.

And beyond the atoms,
my love will reach the mysterious force
that binds them,
the force that shaped you
into the soul I treasure.

With my soul,
I will connect to yours,
beyond the visible,
beyond the known.

There once was a martian from Mars
Named Alfț'drônþopo'gorgg'glìån'nars:
     He constructed a spaceship
     And went on a spacetrip
To the farthest, most alien stars.