is the brush we use to paint
all our emotions


Creative Process

I wonder,
whether a forethought allows
greater creation or if,
novelty of unknown forces
the new and best out of us as writers.
Does premeditation create
a more meaningful experience
as it allows the author to present
his words cut to a defined script.
Or does free form writing
which flows from the fingers
into an undefined medium enjoy
more, simply through its creative process.

Forever A Stranger

I saw you
myself abstracted, unsure
what to do but as you
looked at me I
froze, your smile while
melting my heart, chilled my
lips now unable to talk,
that missed chance still
lingers in my mind
accompanying the unspoken
words on my lips.

Empty Conversations

I try to talk
to engage you, actively,
in a dance of words with me.

Twisting our tongues around
sounds, giving way to reason, or,
lack thereof,
allowing our imaginations to escape
the boundaries of our minds
yet you stand, statuesque,
firm in your ignorant state of non-amused
bliss, free from my conversation,
my creativity and words,
my world.

Our Conversations

Sometimes when you are talking I,
I close my eyes and allow myself to
drift away, float on the syllables of your words
and be carried away by the harmonic tones of your voice
if only for a minute while I,
I feed my soul from the sweet, delicate sounds that
resound off your lips echoing in my head
making me no longer a fugitive to my woes, instead now
free, my mind focused on nothing, relaxing to the
warm embrace your everyday song,
until it is my turn and I forget how to speak for fear that I,
I will ruin your song and return to my reality.