Art, a creation of a piece of soul; released into the world…for a whole soul to admire, aspire to and inspire to.
Art, love expressed with words, paint, food, light or feelings…joy spreads from one to another through simple hearing, touch, taste, smell, sight or emotion.
Art, forgiven when truth is brutally blunt, hated when it hides the lies… capturing moments that remain memorable for eternity.
Art, a safe haven for those who know the inflexibility of life’s role of complexity…rescuing the lost and keeping the hurt until it protects the strong no more and blue cloudless skies hold control over hope and divinity.

IM DEEPER IN THAN I THOUGHT I WAS...
A BLOW TO MY HEART,
OVER IT IN A MINUTE
BUT THEN LATCHING BACK ON WITHIN A SECOND

YOU LOOK GOOD COMPARED TO ME...
I KNOW YOU'VE SEEN ME HURT
BUT COVERING IT THIS TIME
HAS TAKEN A TOLL ON ME!!

A PULL AWAY THIS TIME,
DRASTIC OR NOT,
IT MUST BE PREMANENT
...
I WANTED A HOLD ON YOU FOREVER,
WHAT I KNOW NOW IS THAT YOU
HOLD MY PRECIOUS GIFT
...
BUT THEN AGAIN SO DO I

what am I?

To explain my loneliness to you would be like trying to explain the birds and bees to a child uncorrupt.

I long for one will sire my evil, the one who’d capture my fluttering heart and contain it to a small inched box; only opening it to whom the capturer intended to show his prize to. In a way being isolated, controlled and classified goes against all my social means. However if I long for such a thing so cruel – should I be denied it?

Do you see the complicated script of my soul being played out for you? Of course you, let alone any other would not understand nor be able to translate it, as I am alone in my despair. My desperate need or more an urge to seek such a torture pleasured being

What am I?

a judgement

My life is a jumble, a strange one; it shouldn't’t be so hard for everyone to just get on with it. Like a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle, don’t leave it unfinished, keep adding, keep adding, and keep adding.
I know I try, it’s tough to know who you are, but you don’t ignore a bad jigsaw piece with a clipped end or hide it under the carpet. Expression is sometimes the best way to actually remain inconspicuous. Living with it openly is the best way to overcome suffering. And so the puzzle slowly completes itself.

Today I was hurt, but it’s something I can always get over as time passes by… I want to get back at this hurt but I did that once before and hated it, regretted it, couldn't’t even control it…. …I knew it was wrong and I wonder why anger leads me to do such things. The ramification was terrible, I see now how it affects others; it’s definitely harder to get over it when you got the whole lot in on it.
If I try get back at it now I know it’ll hurt somebody else…but is my happiness conquering my own hurt what is the best for me? What the doctor ordered exactly?

THE WANTING

Biting, Fighting
Crying, Dying
Shutting, Cutting
Cunning, Running

Looking, Booking
Showing, Knowing
Trying, Lying
Buying, Tying

Fishing, Wishing
Belonging, Longing
Turning, Burning

singing little finch

A little singing finch rests on a perch.
Gold speckled and delightful,
The little birdie croons,
Wind chimes tink tonk in tune with the sweet melody,
And sunshine streams in through the gaps of the bamboo cage.

The little finch hops gleefully from perch to perch,
Waiting so patiently: for the small boy to sit on the stone stool,
Next to the finch’s barred enclosure.

The small boy with brown eyes and cheeky smile opens the tiny window of the cage and puts his hand in; he feeds the finch and leaves water. He strokes the little bird and loves her so.

The little finch that is gold speckled and relishing in spilt love,
Bathes happily, in affection and attention,
Till the day of waiting and patience is not met.

No more food, no more water,
The bamboo grows and takes away the sunshine too.
Wind chimes are not heard through the hedge.
And the little singing finch sits in a silent tone.