I hadn't been there in ages, hadn't visited, I had no reason to
But then the Covid virus struck and Dublin where I was working was put into quarantine
I wasn't allowed to go up there anymore to work,
And I had no computer at home and no broadband/ WiFi at the time
So they sent me down to the Old Town
It was nice driving down the motorway, it was Autumn and the leaves they were all changing colour
The different shades of red, brown green and yellow
With the sun shining on the mountains and on the bay
It felt almost like I was going on my holidays,
The Old Town it had changed so much, there were all these new buildings,
Retail parks on the outskirts, hotels, new schools, civic buildings... coffee shops
It was lovely and clean and tidy
Like those living there were really proud of it,
The old town I'd known it was there also, in the background, a bit dusty now
There was the big old gothic church my Dad used take us to, to Mass some Sundays
There was the Port and the big ships along the Quay
There was the secondary school I was meant to go to... had we stayed...it looked old, a bit dilapidated now
I wondered was it still being used as a school,
In the Main Street there were still old names of shops that I recognized
The shoe shop where my Mom used buy us shoes
The chemist where my brother got his glasses... the Bakery
The cinema where we seen our first movie "The Magnificent Seven", it was all done up now... all different...
In the office things were... well...weird! ghostly!
A big modern office and some days I was the only one there, just me all on my own
Was like something out of a Sci-fi movie
Other days maybe two or three might come in to join me
All the others of course, they were all working from home,
Often I'd find my mind just filling with old memories and nostalgia...
I could hear the old ghosts calling, calling me to go back
I knew... I knew I had to go back there
Back to where it had all begun for me
The little seaside village where I was born.

So going home I took the coastal road not the motorway
Just the sight of the headland and the blue mountains sloping down to the sea
With the lighthouse there at the end
Just seeing them again gave me an old feeling of my father, my Dad
And then the village itself, the seafront... all the colourfully painted shops,
Sweet shops & novelty shops, the amusement arcade, pubs and hotels and B&B's  (Bed and Breakfasts)
After being away for nearly fifty years, it still looked...it still looked pretty much the same, was hard to believe
I stopped my car and went into a little supermarket shop to get a sandwich for the next day
As I looked around, I seen these two mature ladies there, they were around my own age
I thought to myself 'I might have gone to school with you once many years ago, one of you might even have been my wife had we stayed here and not moved away
I might have lived a more normal, a different life'
But then I thought 'Life is never that simple, is it'.
Outside I decided to go for a walk, to look around and reminisce.

There was the path, the pavement I used go to school on with my brothers
It was like returning to the scene of a crime
How I used to dread going to school sometimes
There was a teacher, a lady teacher that used scare me a lot, she terrified me so
I remember I got sick in class on several occasions
She put me outside once sitting on an upturned bin
I can still remember sitting there on that bin in the sun, feeling so lost and that I was a really bad boy, wishing I was home
I remember I used to get hives, itches on my skin
My Mom used keep me at home
She was afraid, she thought I'd give them to the other kids
I missed the addition and subtraction tables at school because of this
To this day I still don't know what 7 + 5 is, instead I bring it to 10, I know 5 is 3 + 2, so I say 7 + 3 is 10 and 2 is 12
And I know all the doubles, 7 + 6 is 6 + 6 is 12 and 1 is 13, funny that
How I used to dread going to school
Until that was... until one day I did well at something and I received some praise
Then things seemed to change after that, I wasn't as bothered anymore, I think then I realized I was doing better than some of the others in my class and that seemed to make a difference
I remembered sitting beside pretty little girls who used have lovely pink pencil cases with lots of fancy colourful things
Whereas me I barely had a pencil, a rubber (eraser) and a ruler
They were strange lovely creatures, the Girls with their lovely long hair and their cute little faces...
I remembered walking home on my own, with my little schoolbag on my back with all my books in it
It was such a beautiful place, the view with the beach and the sea and the faraway blue mountains
And yet, I used to worry about so many things
It's like even then it was all about...all about survival...
There was the big Chapel on the hill
Once before the Summer holidays they were looking for altar boys and someone put my name forward
Then on the first morning back to school after the Summer holidays
The teacher said you better get down to the church right away, like fast!! you're on the altar this morning !!!
I was terrified, I didn't know what I had to do, no one told me anything
So there I was on my own kneeling on this cold hard marble altar and it was hurting my knees something terrible
And the priest he's talking about God and the Devil and Evil or Hell or whatever
And all these people, the whole congregation their all staring up at us
And I'm petrified, and I started to get faint and nauseas
The priest had to stop the Mass
I can't remember if I got sick or passed out
I was so embarrassed and thought afterwards I was such a terrible bad person, I knew it'd be all around the school the story.

I walked on...our house was gone, knocked down, where there used to be three houses together attached, now there was only the end house
Our house used to be the middle house
It didn't look right now, the symmetry looked all wrong
It was like there was two missing teeth
Why did they have to knock it down ? I wondered. It saddened me a bit...

At another house I stopped, this used to have a shop, a small shop,  the shop was no longer there
This was my Best Friend's house, all the days we used to play football together in the back garden
Kicking the ball to each other
With our jumpers/ sweaters as goalposts
The first to score ten would win the game
I...I usually won
I always found you easy to read, it's like you only ran in straight lines,
I think you were a bit in awe of me for some reason
Maybe you wouldn't have been my friend if you'd beaten me
How did we become friends anyway, I wondered
I suppose coming home from school
We lived on the same road and were in the same class, we'd have met each other
I had two older brothers whereas you were the oldest
So our families would have had a different dynamic
I remember you had a delightfully silly younger brother
I remember your Mom, she was very pretty, she was a lot younger than my Mom
You used bring me in and give me a meal sometimes, we'd all sit and watch TV
There was a different feeling when I was in your house...a different atmosphere
But when your Dad would come home, he was a bit scary
And I knew it was then time for me to go home
You'd wonder afterwards what the lovely Mom saw in the scary Dad, adults they were a bit peculiar.

We were inseparable in those days, many mornings you'd hear the knock on the door
And the familiar greeting
"Hello Mrs B---, Is G---- in, is he coming out to play?"
We were always playing soccer up the garden
Or down on the beach, going out for miles to meet the tide, catching *****, looking under  stones to see what we might find
I remember we were very entrepreneurial
In the Summer we used collect returnable glass mineral bottles, Orange and Lemonade and Coca Cola
And we'd bring them back to the shop and get money back for them
And then we'd have a royal feast, we'd buy bottles of Orange and bags of crisps and ice cream pops and chocolate bars,
Remember all the different Ice pops there used to be, Choc Ices and Brunches and Orange splits, 99's... Ice cream cones
Chocolate bars, Smarties and Malteasers, Milky Bars and Milky Ways, Dairy Milk chocolate bars, fruit gums and Love hearts with little love messages written on them
We used hang around the amusement arcade, play the slot machines, maybe help some old lady collect her winnings, she might give us a tip
There was the bumper cars and the swingboats and music playing all the time on the jukeboxes
It was the seventies (the 70's) and glam rock was all the rage
Marc Bolan and T-Rex, and Slade and The Sweet and a million others
So many great songs, we couldn't wait to grow up and become one of those amazing creatures we saw on the telly
I'd never lived since as intensely as I did back then,
We'd stay out till late
We were like young hustlers going around,
It seemed the days they were never long enough, all the things we got up to,
We'd Caddy in the local golf course
And retrieve lost ***** from the ditches...
Heh! Remember... remember that time... the Brennan sisters, we were up one day near the school
There was building work going on
And there was this big high mound of clay
So we climbed to the top to take in the view
And then the two Brennan sisters came over
They lived nearby
They were in our class at school, we knew them only to see
They were smiling and laughing and giggling
They beckoned for us to come and follow them
We went wondering what was going on here
They led us back to their house, I think their parents must have been out
One of them came up to us and smiled
And then she pulled down her pants and showed it to us in all its wonderful glorious splendour
It was amazing... incredible... such a sight
Her beautiful...her splendid... her lovely... bare Bottom!
I remember thinking it was like a lovely ripe pear
One of Life's great mysteries had just been unveiled
And her there with this huge impish grin,
When we were going home we promised each other we'd not tell anyone, our parents, not even the priest in confession
About that great vision we'd just witnessed
It was the height of naughtiness
Yea! Those were the days...

I wondered, 'Whatever became of you Old Friend ?
I looked you up online but couldn't find your name anywhere, couldn't find anything about you
Were you even still alive ?
50 years was a long time, I'd barely made it this far myself, and I had a lot of scars to show for it
I thought rather amusingly that I should knock on your door
Maybe you were still living there,
But what was I hoping to find ? I wondered...
"Whose at the door ?", a woman's Voice inside might say,
"Just... just some crazy guy talking about 50 years ago" her dutiful husband would reply
That's probably how it would go
I felt like I was Rip Van Winkle awakening after being asleep for 100 years or in my case 50 years
What did I hope to find
What did I hope to see, an old man now just like myself
And I bet you'd tell me your opinions on the government and the economy
And how the village had changed over the years and how other old schoolmates of ours had got on in life
But No! that's not what I wanted to hear or see
I wanted to see you there again just like you were as a little kid
Your lovely youthful face smiling back at me
And you'd say, "I'll get the ball and we'll have a game, the first to ten wins"
This was what I was looking for, this was what I wanted to hear.

We were very close, were going to grow up together, go to the same schools...college
We'd always be friends
We'd meet all the trials of life together....
I hope Life worked out well for you, my friend
In a way...in a way I almost didn't want to know
If I learned you did well in Life I'd probably only get jealous
I'd start to think I was better than you and that I should have had those things you had
Life, this world it makes enemies of us all... eventually
It divides, is all about competing and comparing... and beating (I suppose).

I still remember that last night before I left forever
We were down on the beach, it was twilight, the tide was coming in... the waves slowly advancing
Just like in life I had no power to stop it, to change things,
I had no say, I didn't want to go and leave you Old Friend
No! I didn't want to go....

Thank you...thank you for being my friend, for being there
For all the time you gave me, I hope I didn't hurt you in any way.

I have a photograph, one solitary old black and white photo of the two of us
We're sitting on a barrel in our back garden on either side of my Dad whose in the middle
You look a bit uncertain, unsure of yourself, probably lost in the dynamic of my family,
I look at you and I think
"Whatever happened to you.... Beautiful Friend, whatever became of you"
And then I look at myself as well, and I think, I whisper
"Whatever became of me as well".

We think we're so different.

because we have piercings
                                                  or an iphone/blackberry
wear jeans not skirts, skirts not jeans
only shop at local markets, only buy the brands
eat organic
                       or vegan
                                           or total junk
wash our hair with what's cheap
                                                           or environmentally friendly
                                                        ­                                                      or not at all
because we listen to folk, not rap
ska, not rock
                                                            ­          talk a certain way
                                                             ­         or partake in certain hobbies
have skin, instead of fur or bark
see more colourfully, but have **** nightvision

because we have warm blood
because we are human.




We think that this is individuality, but it's really all a lie.
A lie to keep us docile and passive..
                                                       ­                                                   To keep us buying **** we don't need,
                                                           ­                                                but making us believe
                                                         ­                                                  that we do
Guarding us from that destructive                unpredictable                       mother
of ours
until we don't even think of ourselves as animals anymore.
Until we think we're Kings.




To be you, you just have to be you.
Scratch that.
You just have to be
Because what is "you" anyway?
                                                         ­            A pronoun
                                                         ­            to keep you
                                                             ­        away from me
                                                              ­       and we
                                                              ­       and us
                                                              ­                                          together.

To force you into the lie of language,
because we all know that what truly speaks is our hearts
but we would never admit it
because then we would be too emotional
too sensitive
not cold or impersonal enough
to fit in.
                                                             ­                  And that's all we really want, right?
                                                          ­                     To belong?
Well, I'll tell you something:
there is a way to fit
to belong
to live.
And that is to not fit.

                                                           ­          Don't define yourself by these labels
                                                          ­           or this music
                                                           ­          or that boyfriend.

                                                     ­                Define yourself through your ideas
                                                           ­          your ambitions
                                                       ­              your immaterial desires.

Take out the you and become a we,
                                                             ­    and we will be,
                                                             ­                                      just be,
together.

The cat lies on the table. She is keeping her own council, a philosophical feline. It is mid afternoon, an hour before the possibility of tea and cake. Already the room is retreating from the lamp's light into a dusky gloom. Outside the winter garden lies still, damp and cold and still.

Rain comes. A winter rain, almost snow, spreads itself across the window.  Ice-full it is a drum with tiny particles rolling across a taut skin of glass. The cat stirs, turns on his side exposing a tummy of white fur. An old cat this, a silent presence now, hardly a purr on a waiting lap.

Books. Piles of books. A book open to reveal pencilled annotations. Several arrangements of papers paper-clipped together, colourfully highlighted. There's a scholarly journal 'borrowed' with a concert programme marking a ‘required’ read. Telemann and Bach infiltrate an investigation of Jewishness in George Eliot's Daniel Deronda.

A framed photograph stands companionably amongst today's letters and the coloured cards of Christmas to come. There's a red-haired girl, a portrait against old roses., a child in a school-blue dress, freckled with green eyes she is smiling carefully, as though not convinced taking this photo is a good thing.

As darkness encroaches, the stories in this space circle the lamp like moths. They rise from the table, detach themselves from the walls (like bats) and float in their own form. Catching leaves, wish-making in a September wood; the fierce tide pouring across the Lindisfarne causeway; small children picnicking by a cricket field. The recent thrill of Jerusalem. Taverner's Mass –

Oh Western Wind,
when will thou blow,
the small rain down can rain?
Christ! If my love were in my arms,
and I in my bed again!

Here in this small suburban room there comes together a past; a life reverberates in a temporary peace, a truce in the long campaign of family, ageing, ****** discomfort, obligation, regret (always regret), passion unspent, books unread, poems still to write. And this waiting for a clear answer yet to come, a promise yet to be fulfilled? All is contained here as the alarm clock's digits move towards 16.30 and it is time for tea and cake. Time to rise from the table and feed the cat.

Happy thing -
Come fiercely.
Bend me like a tulip at midnight,
Make something out of me,
Smoke out my *****
And saddle it in gemstones,
Gallop me like a tongue-twisted
Traveller into the
Whole globe’s bedrooms.

Happy happy thing -
Push me!
Make something out of me!
Kid me,
Front me,
Strike me dancing like a hot
Stone,
Hand me cigarettes that I’ll light
From the last one,
And the second to last one,
And the next one.

Happy thing!
Ohhh come colourfully!
Make the world all-a-bright,
Make red as red as a big red love
Or a spitsuckled cherry gumdrop
Of red-red-red-red-red,
Make yellow smear itself
like crushed cats eyes,
Make pastels all pennysweets
And green so luminous that
Clock hands can’t even dream of it.

You beautiful
*******
Happy
Thing!
You happy happy happy thing…!
Songs are burning!
And planets are droaning!
And London is sleeeeeeping,
And the morning is leaping at me!
Is it leaping at you?

My happy thing,
Come noisily.
Sit with me jabbering,
******* with me,
Snog me,
Pull apart my face and
Absolutely ******* drench me
In come.

Happy thing,
Pierce me,
Make me a Sebastian,
Riddle me with spears and watch me
Laugh out the blood,

Happy thing,
Come quickly.
Take my hand and run with me.
They’re shooting at us,
Making saints of us,
And they’ll get us y’know, they’ll get us, they’ll get us –

Happy thing
Come on now dear,
I know the watercolours are running but
Don’t they look pretty
dropping as keenly as our tears –
being caught is just another reason to escape!

Happy thing,
Don’t swallow that.
Are we lowering ourselves?
Are they poking holes in us?
Oh no,
Are they sinking us?

Happy thing,
I hope you always
Come fiercely,
Colours aren’t the same now
And ******* is just a drone of biology.
I promise that
next time we'll be immortal.
Next time we’ll have learned
How to really, really run.

Everyone gets sad every now and then; gloomy, down in the dumps. But like rainbow after storm we find the light again and move on from our sadness, allowing ourselves to live beautifully and colourfully.

For some, this does not apply. There is no rainbow after the storm for their storm never ends. It's a thickness that dwells deeper than bone marrow, a sadness attached to the core of their chests. A longing for a relief that will never be granted. This sadness is deadly.

So how does one love those who refuse to be loved? How do you look them in their clouded eyes and tell them they mean the world to you? How do you watch them hate everything about themselves and have no way of showing them how perfect they are in your eyes? How do you make it stop?

You can't, it's not that simple. This sadness is not a light switch that can be flicked on and off. You'll never fully save them from it (this will hurt you almost as much as them), but you can try to make it easier.

Listen to what they have to say, don't force them to be like you,
Love them for whate'er they are, their coping mechanisms too.
Hold them closely to your chest and always let go last,
Teach them to live in the moment instead of dwelling on the past.

There is no perfect way to love someone who doesn't love themselves.  There will always be down days, relapses, set backs, but none are intentional. Do not be angry with the one you love for not being able to leave the house for a day. Do not scold them for crying over spilled milk - literally. Do not make them feel like this uncontrollable sadness is entirely their fault - if you do this, you are not worthy of their love to begin with.

Loving someone sad is never easy, it can take some work, but you must remember how much work it takes for them to accept the love that they believe
They are not worthy of.

- p. winter

When I risk a thought of you, all I can see is:

A heart of warmth

The lips containing the key to seduction

A smile holding the recipe to happiness

Fingers extracting the magic of kindness

A brain imagining the unimaginable

The effect of one person can seem so little on the outside to you

But could be all they've got on the inside

I couldn't remember the last minute gone by where I haven't thought of you

Not a night where I haven't cried from my eyes all the way through

A dream, colourfully torn. full of deceiving images of our love, of what it could have been

This is not a memory of us, this is just what I've seen

A few months ago,
I met a man, but not just any ordinary man.
A colourfully, depressed man;
Who has beautiful designs on his body.
A main key to unlocking the door that hold his demons.
Now I only have a visual and auditory idea of what's going inside his mind.
From what he told me, but I know he leaves out so much more.

The tattooed man is exhausted,
Depression holds him hostage;
A mistress of misery
He found a comfort in her grasps,
He sleeps in her palms, tossing and turning for hours on end,
Restless coma.
He was always so sleepy.
Her lips whispering venomous yet addictive words into his ear.
Planting seeds of doubt and harmful flowers,
He adores his damaging garden, with objects scattered there and here.

The tattooed man is so very tired of breathing,
I can hear it within his stern voice
I can reminisce his fatigue glance, inside his dark brown orbs;
Suicide tempts him.
Every minute of the day,
every breath he takes
Suicide tempts him like a hunter baiting it's prey

Clawing and searching desperately for an exit.

The tattooed man told me, he why he covers himself in tattoos.
The irritating sting of the needle is way better than satisfying the desire to guide a knife across his skin.
Colors and designs imprinted everywhere on his body,
His face, arms, legs, hands and neck.
And let me tell you, he is beautiful to me.

He told me he’s always scared,
During the twilight of the night, on the drive home from our 2 day road trip.
And I’ve never heard so much serenity inside his voice before.
His eyes lower, but they almost seem to shine
in the moons illuminating glimpse
“I hate making new friends,” he said,
“Because that means I’ll have more ties and bonds to this life.
If the relationship is there, I can’t die.”
And dying is something he really wants to achieve.
Just as much as Olympians want their gold medals.

The tattoo man grew a liking to I, and he is very precious to me.
(Vice versa)
I grew very fond of him, like two gnarled trees entwining together.
And now i’ve become very selfish
And I don’t want let him give in to suicide.

Unsuitable,
they declared,
and then
banished her.

Exiled to silence,
inhabitating
the moisture
of bluish mists,
she unknitted
her thoughts
and let them go.

We all saw it,
that holograph,
ribbons
colourfully bending
in thin air.

Acapulco, the 1950's jet set age
of glamour and allure
a bay of high rise flats
edged along the shore

A golden bay of sandy grains
the longest beach it's famed
with glistening lights upon the shore
reflecting window panes

I find a puffer on the beach
and dive for large pink shells
my soul is filled with adoration
for this city gels

At night the city is on fire
with mariachi sounds
silver blue sombrero hats
colourfully spinning round

The soul is beating loud and wild
inside there is pulse
I feel it pressing me inside
true and never false

The colour hits you like a bolt
vibrant in it's treasure
a spicy flavour on my tongue
Acapulco's been a pleasure

Part I: My Temple

The house has been burgled,
The furniture rearranged,
The bookcase is burning,
The contents in flames.

The ground is not stable,
The stairs are not steady,
It’s time to go they said,
But I am not ready.

It is safe inside,
Warm and detached,
The fire is raging,
But I can’t move I’m attached.

They took what was mine,
They stole who I was,
We tried to find reasons,
But just because…

The weight of my world
Rises up with the smoke,
The rooms hold the lies,
That secrets provoke.

It’s fading away,
Consumed by the flame,
It’s lost itself
But who can I blame?

The house is eaten,
The fire licks it clean,
I tell myself I will wake up,
That this is just a bad dream.

I didn’t think they’d notice,
My house burning down,
But little did I know,
It was the talk of the town.

I stand at the door,
All that’s left is the frame,
The inside is wreckage,
The exterior is the same.

Its heart is slowing down,
Brittle bones are breaking
Skeletal and fractured
It falls apart, shaking.

Part II: The Wilderness

Out here
On the road,
I’m completely
Lost
Signs telling me where to go,
But I trust myself most
The alarm rings of disillusionment and denial
That wakes up my neighbours,
Yet I don’t notice.

I turn down pleasure pathways,
Each one connected to another,
They stimulate desire.
The road backwards is blocked,
I concentrate on what's ahead
My only way is forwards,
So I can begin to run.

Part III: Rebirth

My house is being rebuilt and ever so slowly the bricks are stacked,
The windows are replaced and the cement is set.

But some damage is permanent.
There’s cracks,
And there’s scars.
Electricity rewired
Forcing life where there is none,
Repairing the circuit,
Pumping blood through the veins,
So I can live in the house again
Temporarily affecting the artificial happiness.

The flower grow and makeup the trees
I paint on the outside a sunshine yellow,
I open the curtains to enjoy the view
I restack the shelves with new books
With fresh bindings and different stories.

Yet it can’t help but remind me of the past,
All that has been and has gone,
At last it is almost done.

Part IV: Divine Intervention

A year has circled,
Memories in every alley and lane,
I’m back to the days when it all began,
My past normal is my present insane.

I ran further than I realised,
I wanted to leave my town,
I buried myself in sadness
Further and further down.

Many don’t want to visit,
They’re afraid of all that has been,
Afraid that my house is unstable,
They can’t see what I’ve seen.

But I came back to look clearly,
To live out my days in my home,
My family visit me,
I am back from being alone.

It all feels more homely,
The garden colourfully thrives,
I have redecorated it completely,
Only goodness survives.

My temple could be inherited,
Maybe by a child or two,
But I won’t let them fall,
I know exactly what to do.

So the decay of the house will always be with me,
Despite ashes swept away,
But now that I am back again,
I am here always to stay.

I can't help myself -
I'm attracted to Intelligence:
Women, Men; Boys, Girls -
I can see the predatory
Hunger behind the eyes -
I gravitate darkly hovering,
Protective-like, awaiting
A stimulating engagement.
It's f**ked, but not ******;
Well, not always - aesthetic!
This Living Death -
Another PrimeOrdeal Blackness -
Vividly, colourfully plumed,
Dancing uniquely for Her
Attention, although it scares
The potential Danger
Obviously overwhelming
All but the Solid-Staters.

I am sill here...
And I still sound through the muddy plies of your illusion.

Still, even now, do I resound
through the crooked void of your presence...
I am the change!

And you, dearest mine, still so unbound,
so colourfully, you resound,
through the mundane madness of the hour.
You are the war I wage.

We are the frailty of desolation...
We are the winds that blow...
You, and I,
are the god we bestow.

We are the abstracts of absolution... We are the dancing hymn of death.
We are the raging scorn of delusion, we are society's failing breath.
I am change, I am the bringer of doom.
You're the war I wage, and the coming bloom.

And here we are again...
The wilder me,
storms the colder folder planes...
Across the distance that separates all that is between us.

Where do we go from here...

A.r. Bazian
*Written in 2012

Trees shed seasons look
Leaves do colourfully dance
Still upon cold ground

Amidst poisonous purlieu
I'm up in the clouds
Dare I care not and
sail on my flight of fancy.
White patches of dull clouds
on the pale face of sky
envy my glow,
can figure not
the root of the flow.
Slaughterous suspicions
conspire to drown the ship
in recurring torrential rain.
Colourfully calm, I'm
under the blazing Sun. Others
would never know, love lies in
my core for guiding me
to the shore.

Nothing is supposed to last.
The most colourfully electric feelings are supposed to flow through us and only be remembered in afterglow.
Then we can prepare for the new,
the alternative is trying to clasp the lightning bolts inside us that inevitably slip through our fingers.
Leaving us blindly clasping onto nothing yet terrified to let it go,
and in the distraction hauntingly missing,
the most glorious moments of our lives.

She is aware that she has only been a dash of colour, a tad dull lately. Soon she will be bright and bold.

Soon she will be filled with all of the colours that she use to be..

Its just taking her a while to retrieve all of the gold that got scattered everywhere back into the *** this time round.

And once every piece of gold that was scattered is found and all together.
Only then she will shine as colourfully like the rainbow that she was before.

- JGMC•¥• ©

After the rain's cold has faded,
Clouds still floating away,
I begin to witness
What blindening tumult
The rain had
Cast and strewn upon me...

Congealing on the surface of my
Glass petals; fresh and thick
Colourful drab paint
Coating the layers of my
Fragile inner self, and I
Could only leave it there
To protect me against weathering
Until I
Forgot it was there and I was drowning...
You can only hold your breath for so long

In the warmth of my bed,
In the cold of the rain filled clouds,
I sit in expectation,
Waiting for petals to replace my
Colourfully dripping glass
Again

Why does the conscious mind delve amidst a dream ? where anything is possible from not what it does seem.. fantasizing fabrication, conjuring concoctions..
mixed up meditations with Oh so many options

Our over-sleeping, rapid eye-movement of forty winks whilst we are lost within our imagination of flickering blinks..A rainbow of reveries so colourfully bright.. as we lie snuggled up in our beds comfortable at night..that fine line between a nightmare and pleasure.. all aghast betwixt our reveries or chimeras to treasure

Those eyes,
as unforgettable as sun getting down the hills,
a step closer to the next day while,
best memories yet to be made..
hand in hand below spring trees and
colourfully colourless sunset.

A drop of rain from dawn to dusk while
mysteries remain unsolved of..
flood of happiness, droughts of tears and
we’ll smile, happy together forever.

-in exchange for her beautiful heart