Sunday, June 19, 2011


You want your life to be meaningful.
It should have colors, pinks, and blues.
There have to be others, trivial and significant,
For times of folly and times of need.

It is an arduous task collecting the pinks.
The blues are always in a squeeze.
Their predicaments should be disregarded.
Isn't a life without colors just prosaic?

There are those that will withdraw,
And others who will desert, strand, and jilt.
So prepare and be wary of the grey.
How is one to show affection for these?

Their mixing and forming different blends,
Can confound the brightest of them all.
One after the other creating an absurd concoction
What was added when and how did it become so?

Soon the palette will be washed off clean,
And you will have newer colors to work with.
It may please you to have another chance.
Will you seize the yellow and reset the canvas?

But show your work before the rain comes,
For it will run down all the colors into one.
To a blur the depiction will begin to become,
And to grey may turn your life again.

Monday, June 13, 2011


Faster now as you try to get away,
there is consistent slowing you down.
Airwaves barricade your path as you persist.
And they all try fleeing the denouement.

But you can't seem to move.

Sluggish now as you view the aperture,
doggedly dragging the weight in fear.
You look back over your shoulder.
And hope that you have escaped the worst.

But the door just won't open.

Stagnant now as your heart outraces your being,
helplessly shaking and the final cri de coeur.
You break the wall and let it all out.
And breath in the ameliorated escape.

But the roads have no signs.

Floating now as you realise their duplicity,
their transience perturbs you ceaselessly.
You want to wake out of the torment.
And forget the days of sand and glass.

But silence is a black adversary.
So you conjure it all away.
And run.