poems

You deserve the love your soul craves for.Don't settle.

Don't worry_ you see, to some you are magic.

What a strange world. We trade our days for things.

Drugs to mehave always beena pretty girl with a sly smilebeckoning mewith a finger down the dark path of a fork in the road.

She found herselfover a long and treacherous roadand the more treacherous the road became,the more of herselfshe found.

I swear that girl was born with a pen in her hand, the moon in her hair and stars in her soul.

I drift like a cloud,Across these venerable eastern lands,A journey of unfathomable distances,An endless scroll of experiences...Lady Zhejiang here we must part,For the next province awaits my embrace.Sad wanderer, once you conquer the East,Where do you go?

I worry there is something broken in our generation,there are too many sad eyes on happy faces.

There is nothing to save, now all is lost,but a tiny core of stillness in the heartlike the eye of a violet.

Love what is simple and beautiful. These are the essentials.

I hope to arrive at my death, late, in love, and a little drunk._

When You See Millions of the Mouthless Dead"When you see millions of the mouthless deadAcross your dreams in pale battalions go,Say not soft things as other men have said,That you'll remember. For you need not so.Give them not praise. For, deaf, how should they knowIt is not curses heaped on each gashed head?Nor tears. Their blind eyes see not your tears flow.Nor honour. It is easy to be dead.Say only this, "They are dead." Then add thereto,"Yet many a better one has died before."Then, scanning all the o'ercrowded mass, should youPerceive one face that you loved heretofore,It is a spook. None wears the face you knew.Great death has made all his for evermore.

Two seeds destined to grow in concert, planted together in the field of love.__ She took in a lungful of air and continued. ___he sky cast wet buckets of dreams and desires, the roots took shape, and the leaves tangled as one.

I hide myself behind, a cloud of smoke; the smoke screen varies, dependent on the variable. The variable consists of: stress, anguish, boredom, madness, anger, depression, apathy, negativity, sex, violence & a little chunk of chaos.

THE WILD ROSE_ _ BY WENDELL BERRYSometimes, hidden from me in daily custom and in ritualI live by you unaware, as if by the beating of my heart.Suddenly you flare again in my sightA wild rose at the edge of the thicket where yesterday there was onlyshadeAnd I am blessed and choose again,That which I chose before.

[poems are] crystals deposited after the effervescent contact of the spirit with reality.(cristaux deposes apres l'effervescent contact de l'esprit avec la realite)

True poetry is embarrassing.

But I have seen the best of you and the worst of you, and I choose both