Illusions

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You’re the brightest of the star,
far from my reach.

In the illusions you cause
that you descend all the way
from up there
just to rescue the hillbilly me,
are the times I feel most alive in.

Rest of the time is real, but dead.
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Immaculate

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In just about everything, there’s intrinsic beauty
that’s nothing but immaculate.

Like the freshness in blossoming flowers’ petals,
or the kind colors of the setting sun permitting the gazing.
Like the tenderness in the told love,
or the depth of the untold love.

Perhaps all it takes is the willingness to see.

Lone Wanderer

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I wonder what you seek in those
lone wanderers you come across
as you take rounds
gazing all the way into the
dark corners of their hearts
that lit up by the brilliance of your beauty
as they reclaim, and reveal theirs
to their forgotten selves;
beauty that lasts for moments as they
lose themselves to you in
moments that’re willfully vulnerable,
and full of love they seek;
the same love they once were fortunate enough
to have received,
or have had the greater luck of finding one who could
find meaning in the love that was given.

Is that what you seek, too,
you lone wanderer?

The Fall

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“Who would I tell how much it hurts
watching the branches go bare
as they let go of the leaves that they
once held so dear, so tight,
and I’m to be labelled
‘The Fall, that finds its glory in the leaves falling dead.’
while, I, indeed, am among the fallen leaves that lie lifeless,
hoping they rise them from dead,
for one last time, just so I can
tell them that it was the
very breeze that once taught them to
swing, and dance, and fly;
left, and right, up, and down;
and the very tree that cared, and held them
from falling, are the ones that abandoned
and took their lives, watched them die,
threw them dead to ground,
and that I’m just a scapegoat
they are accustomed to..
year after year, every year..”`,
weeps “The Fall” into a man
walking on the yellow leaves
lying all over, beautiful even in death,
turning their graveyard underneath into a serene sight.