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There is no sound-
like the movement of waves.
Graceful. Gentle. Soothing.

There is no noise-
as harsh as the clatter of thoughts
Eager. Angry. Consuming.

There is no surprise-
like a sudden rain shower from a clear sky.
It tickles the senses.

The waves come closer as the sun sets-
a hint of a future, expected.

Photo courtesy of  pedrosimoes7

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Don’t you want to say goodbye, but never leave?
Don’t you want to embrace a sad smile and keep it hidden?
Don’t you want to look at the memories,
when you find out that the forever that was promised was only a dream?

Don’t you want to pick up broken memories and fix them again?
Don’t you want to open a bottle of stories and randomly laugh or cry?
Don’t you want to walk with a friend in the silence of a moon lit night,
when there are no words that could describe the feelings from within.

Don’t you want to weep from all the hurt, but breathe in healing?
Don’t you want to figure out the reasons why we imprint a part of ourselves?
Don’t you want to listen to the gentle rustle of the leaves of melancholy,
when all your worries linger and fill a bitter tasting well?

Don’t you want to confide your hopes and wishes?
Don’t you want to fulfill them one by one and all at the same time?
Don’t you want to stay?
It’s almost time to stop asking questions. There may never be second chances.

Photo courtesy of Sequoia Hughes

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This twisted fate endures sorrow,

contemplating on a lonely shadow.

That brought hope to a blind desperate,

searching for happiness, searching for faith.

The silent fury of a weary heart,

struggling to free itself to set apart.

What power could surpass, the will –

of a simple man with nerves of steel.

Enlightened by the thought of tomorrow,

of a wish entangled on a hill’s brow.

Castigating with furious rambles,

a half beaten wrestler’s final battle.

All in the name of a dream,

to rise up where laborers stream.

Of sweat, of time, and of youth,

a journey to rekindle this mischievous truth.

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Kolonia may never be the same,
without a cruise in the white car.
Into the evenings of every day,
even through the light of a distant star.

Midas’ touch maybe felt
like steel bars; cruel and cold.
Riches and things could all melt,
from a true heart made of gold.

Oceans stretched out to divide,
a simple hello echoed out loud.
Clocks of time zones set aside,
dear voices without rumor nor doubt.

Kindness from a baby’s smile,
all too simple, yet too much to deny.
Sanity drawn from a paintbrush and a pen,
turned collages of life into a place called Eden.

Photo courtesy of Richard Cock

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Monday morning rush

Augments a week of surprise

The alarm clock was late

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Infatuation

overwhelms a lonely heart

A brief excitement

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Bottle of regrets,

filled by woe in abstract dreams.

Rusty lid, popped out.