Like bells they hear this ringing
Not of Christmas but of orange goodness.
This Irish voice walks past on balled up green,
her hair red as the warmth in early March spring.
The voice speaks of prickled roses that lie at my feet,
she reminisces on the tacky green and welcomes
the seaweed green.

It's baffling the up and down in her voice
Like a paper crown it could tumble,
My eyes dare look left.
She's skipping now, down to the town hall
to walk off the corners edge.

A tattered, torn,
                  old journal
Holds echos
                   of a love once past
Words like imprints
                   on the brain
Press through
                    from one page to another
Two hearts once held each other

You,

I regretted knowing you, though I don't regret our memories. I regretted knowing you at a wrong time, at a time where both of us ain't the best for each other but then again, if fate ain't on our side then I guess there's really ain't any perfect time. Well, what can I say, I'm still stuck with this agony of a feeling, if I would play a scene and rewind it over and over again like a broken tape, the title would be "when I met you".

Me

O to be prejudice between the visible
and invisible Baha'u'llah.
When moving out of nature becomes moving by the Will.
Therefore, divinity becomes a shuffling of
the attention away from all things, words, senses,
forms, and starts to receive instructions from
the personages that visit me.
She stared at me as if I was the sole
expression of her day,
tossed the blouse covering her beauty.
Her waist was perfect and made
mine perfect while sitting.
She caught sight of Baha'u'llah,
and her spirit dispersed.
Angels of Prophets parted ways,
by means of Names.
He unfolds a general saying
to tell me of His hidden power.
That woman, Rey, of the Force
looks at me with tears in her eyes.
Baha'u'llah always leaves me
to have no sign or description
of the divine.
He came and left, and though seen and felt, left no remaining
evidence
of His
Self.

You had no right to talk to me the way you did. No right to take ownership over me.

No right to tell me how to dress or even how to smile,
no right babe you were so sinister and vile. You crossed the line when you told me who I could talk to or what I could say after we were done. You master manipulator and I your puppeteer.
Said you’d always be here but you were the first to run.

You pulled me by the strings of my own heart and you didn’t even care about the hurting that would cause.

to read my past journal entries is
to walk on an intimately familiar path,
one in which I know the major landmarks,
the steep mountains, and the deep valleys.

even though I can walk on this path
with my eyes closed and get through,
I don't. I slow down on the way,
noticing flowers I didn't see before.

I pluck a leaf off every flower stem,
and keep it safely between my palms.
the leaves remind me of the flowers
that grew despite the harsh conditions.

whenever I wish for a new beginning,
I blow on a leaf and let it guide me.
I smile, exhale, and walk forward.
behind me, new flowers are blooming.

surreal landscapes                                             

juxtaposed;
       ­                         tellurian sentiments
                      
                               ­  along ethereal lines

tell me,

does lavender bloom

betwixt stars?