Small poems.

Happy Sunflower Smiles

Sunflowers grin, to share the comfort
Obtained from skies bleached with sun,
A symbiotic relationship so sadly unlike
The unwanted unification, between our
Feeble colonies, held together by
Only one adhesive; the fear of moving
Through life on one's own, waltzing into
An etheral forest of thorns blackened
And branches burned; we lock hands,
Dreading the end that is surely to come
Perhaps in a pleasant summer, flashing past
You like a cooling breeze; no one, surely no one
Will want to let go of the tree
To become the first fallen leaves.

Perhaps My Parents Are Related

To the sea you cast out a trembling line
To which you've tied all hope
In your favorite bottle, clear and crystalline.
Hoping that you'll find
Distant horizons with castles
Looming beyond the sunkissed sky.
Somewhere at the end of the string
Will be a future coated in cellophane,
Perfectly prim, sitting there, waiting.
You hope for such a conclusion.
Instead, we see you, our hero
Walking in shadows on failing knees
Buckling beneath your weight.
Night falls without revealing
The last gems of dayglow, the
Diamonds hidden in the brightest of lights.
Abnegating the idea of luck,
Denying yourself the idea that happiness will
Someday arrive.
You've hit the nail on the head, I'm afraid,
I'm afraid you're probably right.

Peau d' Ange

We children were
Reprimanded in such unfair fashions.
Listening to sad stories devised
To keep our hands to ourselves.
Preferably in captivity,
Shoved into the stuffy pockets
That never can we grow used to;
As time slithers by, wearing its usual grin,
The lines on our hands will twist
And spiral to expand, like
The last web a spider will make.
Do douse the fire upon the stairs
With a fine dose of gasoline;
An invaluable excuse
To flee this infernal place.
Feel what we've never before felt
And give a long toast to our belated freedom
With tall flutes of champagne.
Drink down the guilt.
Open the velvet curtains;
And look to a charming day.

Lemonade Stand

The sole standing reason for which we
Starve ourselves half to death
Is to obtain useless mental compensation
For gluttony, our fear, our dread.
Nothing gained, nothing lost.
Nothing new brought to light
And no words spoken aloud.
Hold over our faces the business cards
We have spent the whole of our lives
Devising each painstakingly fine
Detail; a fine replacement,
If I do say so myself, for awkward smiles
Stretched from ear to ear at
The worst of moments, with
Yellowing teeth as well. Pity
That time doesn't flow in the fashion
Of an hourglass with its fine grains of sand;
And yet once I assured you, the
Yellow snow was simply lemonade;
But despite all your regrets,
you were unwilling to take a chance.

How Do You Work A Camera?

Never in our dreams have we
Seen such indecency
But there they were, tearing down
Skies to pile upon skin and bone
Wearing their sicknesses with pride
So indignantly. Who are we to appreciate
A subjective sense of beauty?

I leave not my words with this place
But my essence does remain.

Hear the makeshift silence; the
Deafening void in our range of
Sensation; boundless, limitless to the day
That humans are incapable of
Producing tears.
Do not cry, darling dear;
The day will arrive too soon for your hopes,
I assure you; I can feel it in my skin.

All was golden; all was well.
Dated days kept frigid under
A magnificient collection of dust.

The bottle must be shattered;
What is stopping your hands from
Release? The story can begin only then
From that point on. A story to which
Both of us shall be immediately
Drawn.