rae

whoa
happy day
is writer block day
when the midnight disease
fades fast away
when words once
swept you off your feet
two lovers flying to the
moon in their dreams
yes, the visions have
gone away, but I wonder
what to do, to fill my time
when I am not writing, my purpose
seems utterly vanished, my mind
wanders, I’ve forgotten the
divine truth.

{the sigh of sky}

does it make me crazy
to be so insane
to be so alone
in the early morning
the wind blowing across
my burning longing
the silver lining of
gray clouds of the sky
earth floating in her
black, empty pocket of space
mother nature holding her
like an egg

she can Dream,
but she can never see
the line between
we’re dying, dying to be set free

space to breathe
space to be crazy
stretched up my spine
extended into nirvana
like a snake, I shed my scales
fly away, and dream of
any other day from the end
where the world explodes
and my beast’s exposed
our faces, our eyes
white as ghosts

jack’s lament
had a certain charming
sorrowful sadness, which is faced
in the darkness of a howling night
music trip-slipped, tick wit tongue tied
the wind follows me up to the sea
along the hill side spills my sanity
tranquility held hostage
among the stone graves
where lightening strikes
at random.

we can Dream,
but we can never see
the line between
She’s dying, dying to be set free