The me you see is not new or improved; not better or renewed.
The me you see was always meant to be; the me always meant for you.

Though many leaders calmly rest, another morning weeps, another night sky mourns, and we imagine breathing peace

Don’t mock the mirror if you’ve become the reflection.

Imagine a bird Flying far across the sky
Pretend you are there

There are billions of planets. Picture one of you on each. Are you the same?

Imagine someone you love. Feel their smile. Send them a smile. They feel your love.

From every crimson wine made of hurt the sea claims higher ground

Darkest, most precious inner contradictions from my heart shall know a river when your hands rumple the wet daisies

Through every breath away from your finger-tips, i wonder what manner of night blooms beyond recall where beauty shines brighter.

Climbing up the hill
through thorny thicket and weed
to taste the blue sky

Within the thin line of the horizon
The future sounds its chime
from that enchanted place
begins the impatient wait for once upon a time

That intimate moment of surrender
silencing the reality
digressing into the metronome rhythm of inspiration
expressing the enthusiastic desires of the soul

Walking the fine line between timeline and fantasy
Blindfolded by desire
Shackled by circumstance.

Within smokeless embers a spark of recognition warms to understanding igniting the blaze of connection.

You blow my ego
To inflate your own
Then poke me tiny pricks
That you may suck my pride

Float downstream in rivers queue
Relax your mind in summers skew
Within the paralaxing view of vivid memory.

Hold your fire
For a solitary twin flame burns
With a pyre in their heart
Equal to the blaze in yours
Desperate for your spark

Geography was not our menace
but rather the stretching road within  
a far cry from what we dreamed

You are the disease in my blood
Ingrained like cocaine
And I, your willing addict

Imagine someone you love. Feel their smile. Send them a smile. They feel your love.

Continued on Micropoetry II

4 thoughts on “Micropoetry

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