scribbled p o e m s . . .

________________________________
Stars birth and burst from the bliss of your thirsty heart.
Waves crash to the sound of chill grasping your lungs.
Clouds devour the glistening light behind your drowning eyes.
Souls collide as the Sun evolves into the touch of our lips.
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blank.
is a page that has been
forgotten. 
its words are
meaningless
without the 
eye to see or 
mouth to recite or 
ear to surround or 
soul to soak up or
heart 
to heal.

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there was a life(less) Tree that once bore fruit of Go(o)d.
but it was abandoned
by the (m a n)tality of 
g r e e d, 
c o r r u p t i o n, 
and i n s a n i t y . . .

_________________________________

shakespeare writes of man
frost writes of nature
cummings writes of nonsense
sondheim writes of craziness
meyer writes like shit
brown writes of conspiracy
matthew writes of redemption
conrad writes of darkness
ellison writes of vision
perhaps, too, my heart will write of love.