Reflections Refracted

The bus passes by

reflecting my visage in its windows.

My countenance shifts and changes

as though on a pond

disturbed by a pebble.

Yet the fish are still and placid.

The Beauty in Music

In every song I hear your name,

a melliflous frisson.

I pray that it's not just a refrain

but a life-defining reason.

For I feel that I have found my key
and that this harmony will not change
in all the notes of soft Ebony
together we have found our range.

Autumn's Brevity

Autumn seems incredibly
                                                                                                    ABRUPT.
A
     b     r     i     d     g     e                  b     e     t     w     e     e     n
life
                                               and                                               death.

Hospitals

Sterilised and stifling;

Bleach soaked and hot.

I leave your arms with ailments

That before I knew I'd not.

The air continues to surround

I'm squandering all the strength I've got

So I stand in the entrance for a minute

Where others' lungs can rot.

Anther

To a slither of broken moon

fragile half-wrist

small polished fragment

of bone

archaeologist universe

dusting off his aged timepiece.

Folacious Memories

A life is measured

not by its number of years

but the number of souls that it has touched,

and just as a tree

may lose the verdure of its leaves

the soothing influence of its magnificent frame remains.

So folacious memories

will flower fondly even in Winter

with a deep flocculation of variegated love,

and those deep roots

that made such a strong impression, will long

outlast the Southern virason with the opening of each neanic knosp.

Of your Light...

That I should not find you as a mirage of the mind, 

a figment of my fancy

is a phantom of the finely fathomable.

You are a phosphorescent light

that undeniably gives both credence and confidence 

in the direction all paths must lead

through the blackest of nights.

To say that your radiance is a fallacy

created by my dark isolation

would be dim indeed,

and would disregard the iridescence

that outshines both the Sun and Moon in equal measure,

and has no need for parting shift nor break

for your light has no desire to spurn

half of its shine in shadow.

Evening Elation

Whistling winds wander throughout the cracks,

the crevices,

the in-betweens, in that of a wisp.

A wisp, a wisp of locks, your hair which lies above you;

possibly the only thing which does,

streams a beautiful brown,

baring your soul

and catching my eye.

They are gates to the great, gorgeous soul within you;

at times graceful, others golden,

but always in some way glorious,

and they bear the burden of temptation towards belief, which buries me.

If bright, white lights are to be expected at time's end,

they are to travel through your hair.

And I,

trembling,

near broken

and cold, stand in awe of the smile surrounding.

Morning Coffee Breath

A morning of caffeine and reflection

helped to dampen my dejection

and stain my fingertips and teeth. 

But the tip of my tongue still blunders

 when my mind meanders and wonders

to a blighted and beleaguered belief.

Invalid

Mild-mannered and morose; close to comatose.

 The only thing I could convey 

was a lack of confidence; and you your dismay.

Und wieder werden es nicht am gehen 

wenn nichts ab mein will konnte geschehen. 

So muss es sein; dieses worten mein nur sorgen.