The Ruins

The wind wrestles the waves, rocking a lonely ship.
The tide created, will never touch the moon.

As sly as silk the wind dove under,
All her pressures captured below land.

She fought to become an anchor
To the only ship accompanying devoted, swimming waters.

Two forces, which battle and serge.

Silk, like ribbon will tie their hands. Interlocking.
Nature beats, arising a storm.

We'll come in sheets.

But chains rust the defeat.

The Air Is Clean

I never knew you could touch grace,
Feel, hold and understand her.

The way you have spoken to the Universe,
The way you let the wind tangle your hair,
While listening to nature's speech.

Do you find grace or do you choose it?

I've lost my yearning appetite
I lost my urge to finish a fight.

Starvation mode - an addiction to feel.

Once you fall off the branch of that tree,
I can't assure you'll land among another.

Take grace, and grab hold of these strings.
Everything fragile, may tear apart.

But here, with her. You'll just float away.

The Pennies We Wished Upon

The mountains were waiting,
When their water had evaporated.

Like a silk twister entering the skies.

Invisible and harmless particles whither and combine.

Condensation, candlelight.
Nature lives the cycle we fight.

Circular motions to continue a breathing Earth.
Suffocating fumes of innocence lost long ago..

Beneath the soil, among the trees,
The absolute panoramic liberties.

Dream on violent winds.
Run on paper ground.

Rain runs the crevasses of the mountains that were told,
To end in a fountain of providence where wishes sold.

Nature Toned Soul

Green and drifting,
Your branches reached and rotted.

Sifting, drifting
Your cloud expanding and filling.

Swaying arms to swim,
Your aspiration is the sun.

Swimming in mid daylight,
You found the rays that guide you.

Climbing, falling no more parachutes,
Land among the branch you evolved from.

The wind spiralled into dust.
But here your oasis has been found.

Detached in Imagination

Rolling waves, and staggering seas.
Wind being inhaled and exhaled out of me.
Fire twisting, igniting burning light.

Stars and planets to look up to through the night.

Thoughts in broken pieces and loss of memory or explanation.

All I feel is a pang. A sting. A burn. That continues to pulse through my entire being.

Taken up by beating sorrows captured in my heart.
Unwilling to let go and be released through my brittle veins.

A pen in my hand can't move, a thought in my mind can't breathe.
An eye in the dark cannot see.

Demand to be shot through a forest and lose your way home.
Contained with useful actions and communication.
So you won't have to think or learn
Just how to bear
everything you want ignored.

Im outside of my body, detached from the world.
And I am incapable of giving you an answer to anything of what it is in the world that is certain.
Or what is real.

The whistle of the wind, being wind.
I wish it were a friend.
That could tell me just what I am.