wisdom of the faithful widow

founttasia far lands

wolves of the lone are never happy in a home,

a sorry soul

and we are draped in the sentiment of a seasonal flower,

flowing frailty in bloom..

pressed amidst the timelessness of history books for a fleeting sense of nostalgia'

whirlwind of wonders and woes

o lilac, a pressed petal memory.. a plastic flowered heart

when your heart needs a forest,

A wandering willow endures the soft strength of the wind

but the wind is natural and inevitable.

A wandering man walks sternly into the wind and his soul parts ways with him,
two shadow lengths behind,

how far into the wind can a wandering soul walk before it can never be whole,

all time considers consideration

Saint Augustine sings the seventh

"I am not afraid of anything anymore,
it's all concrete - flesh and flowers"

because of you,

She begged an opinion of found love at a rosed-cheeked age,

As this was all she knelt for,

her kin had fell deeply, maddeningly in the arms of there soul’s sunken halve.

Arise therefore..

How big was there universe?

Hold your wiry words

Perhaps it better to create a smaller universe that way there is not so much space to fill, so much emptiness.

Hyacinth Prince.

A kaleidoscope of graphite embellished the pores within his skin marring his expression with a ceaseless Medusans’ grin.

He wore an array of flowers that he would drape upon his figure as if ashamed of the lucid flesh that permeated beneath the flora & fauna..

Skin crafting the air with heralded hormones..
foresting a scented mirage of fervour

This caused me to great him each time with both hands out stretched like a beggar, I would gesture towards his face and enfold it with both hands.

Those damned grand thorns.

monument

she deserved a little living too

Hollow King

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us - if at all - not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
........

Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

TS ELLIOT.

Moody Moon

timeless machines;

eye rivers

Aishiteruyo.

found a soul, left her..

utter transparent sanity, utter incoherent confidence