when it is

F
a
l
s
e
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     a
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         l
 f
  a
    l
    (l)
    s
(e)

enabler

two years it seems has been too long;

can this sincerity be felt
or
l ean
d   w
        a
          you
            ?

cloy

the sun and moon can never be
though they glance at each other
longingly
oh she, she so fair and pure
the sun she calls to, implores
to drop his robes of white hot strength
to join her flowing, ebbing ways
but he as well to her suggests
to spurn the stars on which she rests
or better yet, mortal do rejoice!
for their union could raise your voice
in wails of terror, in wails of fear
at the union which turns earth's gears

paralysis

the sun that blinds the bird
once gently illuminated
its path, once showered
rays so gently on its wings
once gave it life and breath
yet morning grew to noon
and now it beats upon its back
flares its glare into its eyes
blinds its rescuers
and lures them into
retro-stasis

revision

inside joke poem.

one day i walked alone, forlorn
into the swirling mists of morn
to keep my heart, this i'd forsworn
but on a flower's evergreen thorn
i pricked my finger, i gasped with scorn
saw then i through those mists of morn
a long lost lover, now reborn!
and on his crown he bore a horn
my very own lovely unicorn!

osmosis

do goodwill and morality
feel the tendrils of desire
innocuous need to absorb
engulf such straight narrows?

empty

must we forge on
despite the inviting
aspect of nothing
forever nothing
what possible end
must we attempt to
attain
when nothing would
cause the least sorrow?

misnomer

when virtuosity exists
while no virtue be its base
of what does it consist
and what should be its face?

unfathomed

my intentions are but ships
floating on the waters
of undiscovered depths
and each blowing breeze
changes the undertow
the ships, o captain!
o captain, seize the
looking glass
and tell your men
which way to aim
their course

a present ill-used

oh i've learned to hate this bow
the present said to me one night
it's come to only bring me woe
despite -- nay, for! -- its pretty sight.
the child who toddles up to me
expecting shallow fun will pick
my shining bow with jubilee
and joy with judging me so quick.
would i had been encased in brine!
would i had been in battered trunk!
would i had carried my own sign!
would untrue notions I debunk?
alas, here i sit within the hands
of one whose eyes so swiftly judge
and all my carefully laid plans
laid bare for one i do begrudge.
or should i blame my end to this
unsightly piece of ribbon twist
for spurning those who would see through
the rosy-colored, pinky hue?

collide or scope

Look -- there he sits -- that little boy
Satisfied to recline all day
With head bent down upon his toy
And making observations -- stay!
Look how he marvels at the sight
Awaits each changing fractal light
And notes each detail with delight
But ne'er noticing his own blights
As day quickly turns into night.

would that i were

who has your heart's affections dear
what nymph of light glints in thine eye
whose mind do you esteem--
whose purity so clean
to catch your burning star so bright
who captures, holds your ideals tight
would only were it me instead
who danced and pranced about your head

to one for which anything could happen

a woman
swept back from
her desires
--time--
swept back into her hair,
french braided emblem
of a desire--
repressed--
femininity--
eyes smeared with
black lined desire
to come into her
sex--
out of her blue pleated form
to unfurl
the flower
long since wilted
--a gentle look
--a tender word
--she grasps
--desperately--hopefully
--as if in her
budding days
--to cling to a desire
--an endless wish
to climb upwards
as ivy