Victim of a system
Voices of a broken
Values falling then
Volume invalid ten
Violation or vulture
Valleys on ventures
Vessel of vagabonds
Volition valium land
Vindication, lo again
Verses veiled spoken.
1.) Your mind is boiling bleeding bending screaming and that motherfucker is doing nothing but saving your watercolour tears in a crystalline vial and using it to paint your evocative portrait in his dollar store canvas.
2.) Your heart is cursing complaining coronary sedating and those bastards are doing nothing but taking your severed arteries for the next transplant performance to entertain surgeons, scaramouches, and curious sickos.
3.) Your soul is pulsing pirouetting paralysing sacrificing and this asshole is doing nothing but pasting your flattened cardboard spine into an unused oak guitar and singing hypocritically about his next hit tragedy.
4.) You are woeful whimsical winning simply synesthetic and the critics did nothing but make you infamous and indomitable as you rose against their vehement volatile tidal waves and triumphantly held your billowing flag on the blue moon.
Ocean blue, what have I done to you?
Cut so deep, yet growing through and through—
I built a hive, became one with the bees
But we fell like rain, got lost into the sea
If I don’t know, the wind will carry me
So just hold tight…
Poured cups of brewed coffee and steeped steaming darjeeling
The warmth in my soul swift spreading, quite a satisfying feeling
Cotton clouds burst, sudden downpour of trickling shallow streams
Spray shower knocking against my windowsill, eluding my daydreams
Northeast zephyr blowing unexpected fast without a spoken warning
The benevolent chill down my spine slowly starts descending
Weaker willow weeping and tougher tree trunks all succumbing
To the playful wind’s lighter affections and its wispy waltzing
Mirrored epiphanies witnessed, saw washed up mirages of entities
Lost in imagination, exhale on the glass and doodle small fantasies
Adventures occurring on the tip of my fingers, yet sadly easily fading
Before I return to my poetry book, cozy wool socks and duvet hanging
A sfumatic skyline, like a halogen haze of pastel paints swirled nonsensically
Hues stark blending, shades violent clashing, but all synthesising perfectly
Shier sun rays cautiously peek out from beneath their fluffy hiding places
Nuanced kisses for lost lingering sunseekers, little vervet golden traces
Thumping beats echoing deep from abstract outlines of distant drumlins
Symphony of Sinatra’s crooning coda, ladies and his love serenading
Interlacing silken mists of whispered fog, a show of softer interludes
To accompany the falling twinkle of sapphire raindrops and liquid diamonds
Today I’ll be making merry on flowing flumes and floating folded-up paper boats
Won’t you see it sailing under the bridge of rainbow, down the puddle’s one-way course
Today I’m frolicking without a care and having a blissful round of playground games
Indulge and enjoy with sweet-lipped sanguine drizzles and choleric calypso hurricanes.
Over and over many setting suns
I have run, I have waited for the rain to come
When through that mist, I see the shape of you
And I know, and I know that I’m in love with you…
Seashells scattered on the warm sand;
Striped, strange, slippery, spiralling
Black conches and buttercup lucines,
Purple ceriths and gastropods spinning
Seashells scintillating by the seashore
Showering specks of small chromaticity
Showing to our sanguine souls that
Sheer beauty comes in packages of fragility.