the thunder growls in your ears

and lightning dances in your eyes

close your eyes and breathe

in out, one two, inhale exhale

the sky snarls, but don’t be afraid

wild things only hurt you if you hurt them first

let yourself breathe

in out, three four, inhale exhale

let the rain clear your head

pitter patter, pitter patter

forget all the everyday burdens

just breathe

in out, five six, inhale exhale

let the lightning erase your mind

blinding white bursts behind your eyes

forget the worries creeping up on you

just breathe

in out, seven eight, inhale exhale

let the thunder fill your ears

bang bang bang

forget all you have to do today tomorrow 

next week next year, let them come as they will

in out, nine ten, inhale exhale

ten nine eight seven six five four three two one

scream

scream until you can’t hear the thunder anymore

scream until you lose yourself

scream until you find yourself underneath all the masks

scream

until you’ve tamed the storm

If I were the wind:

I’d run - flee from the ground,

whisper mischievously in passenger's hair,

blow birds about the sky and toss kites

high in the sky.

If I were a tree:

I’d adorn my hair with crowns

made from garlands of a robin’s nest.

Stand boldly as the cheeky winds rustle me,

and lift my leafy arms 

high in the sky.

If I were a flower:

I’d bloom tenaciously like rainbow silk

where dreams can be weaved from.

I’d bask in the sunlight filtering through the lattice of tree leaves

as I face my silky petals

high in the sky.

If I were a butterfly:

I’d dance in a whirl of colour, swimming

in the air, curling in the sweetest of swirls.

I’d charm rose petals with butterfly kisses 

as I, with fluttering wings, fly

high in the sky.

If I were the sun:

I’d rise, pouring my cascades of amber and honey rays

into the earth like a pot of molten lava.

I’d caress my children with scintillating golden lights

while hanging, like crystal orbs

high in the sky.

But I am me. The only thing I can do

is frolic with the wind. . .

lean on the proud trees. . .

praise the dancing flowers. . .

relish the velvety touch of a butterfly’s kisses,

Or 

I could look -

look very hard and dear,

with my fondly squinted eyes

high in the sky.

To a whole new world, the light of my first Spring,

I wake up from my cozy, warm den of ten months,

having fallen asleep to my mother’s steady heartbeat and peaceful breath

Alongside the blossoming blooms, I unlatched my petals.

The breeze swept my baby face,

carrying a fresh and happy beginning

Look up there! A butterfly!

My little legs pumping as fast as a twirling pinwheel under the sky

Unburdened, carefree, with a big world waiting for a child’s wide eye

Free like the wings of chirping birds, discoveries hiding around every bend,

the wind greeting me like an old friend

The world is growing, but shrinking at the same time,

as I mature along with the fiery leaves in the air mime

Day and night are perfectly split in the equinox,

The charm of Autumn is in its balance

My constraints and struggles,

my freedom and snuggles

I found improper is not only limited to fractions,

but I also found Prime is rife,

both in numbers and in the moments of life

I’m interested in the subjects I learn at school, covering the nucleus, cytoplasm,and photosynthesis,

but I still like Harry Potter, apple pie, and pumpkins

Flakes dancing outside halcyon winters by the fireplace,

I wonder what awaits me under this pure wonderland maze

Riding my sleds past fairy tales of chimneys and the North Pole,

dreaming beyond hot chocolate with marshmallow

Skiing down the huge surge of change

Oh, how far I will be

How far I will go

Over the hills and mountains of snow

I imagine a glowing room, down a rustic street.

The old street is not appealing, though it gives me a cozy feeling.

There is dirt that scatters across the street.

I lay down in the dirt, imagining a forest sprouting ahead

The forest leads me through a path.

Hope fills my heart.  I reach my hand out.

But there is nothing.

So I sit back down, and travel back to the street.

Looking towards the glowing room.

I feel uneasy and dangerous, threatened by the forest.

But the glowing room gives me comfort.

Nudging me to walk towards it.

I don't move, but the glowing room spreads and surrounds me, taking me in.

Warm, cozy and safe

Are the thoughts that come to my mind.

And then the word finally appears,

Home.

The faint, darkish hues 

arise from the desolation, darkness, of my mind. 

Blotches of black ink,

disoriented, lifeless 

etchings on crude surfaces of paper.

Dissonant chords written by the clearly absent-minded composer. 

The hues darken, mixing with complementary colors--

Paints, pastels, a pastorale playing in the distance. 

A painting is drawn, a story. 

The lethargy lost from my face

Chord progressions of the heavens sing to me! 

—————————————————————

Allegro Inquieto: Restlessness, Nervous. 

The winter foliage crushes, 

disintegrates into shards of glass. 

Branches of trees 

drown under the snow’s tides.

Men’s muttered voices are 

devoured by snow’s symphony.

A cacophony of guns and laughter in the distance,

Staccato, staccato, crescendo! The short steps of the devil’s march 

approach. 

The orchestra’s reverberations moan, 

Weary with fatigue and disease.  

Hanging on the loose thread of life, 

they grab the splintering stocks of their rifles.

—————————————————————

Doloroso: Sorrow. 

The fermata continues, a sedentary silence. 

It is all but a bleak, black 

night that shadows over the white snow. 

His companions suffer from insomnia’s 

laughter and torture. 

They scream when the branches break, 

maybe the footsteps of the animals, in the far distance.

His eyes twitch, 

the few droplets beneath his eyelids transcending to an accelerando

of tears. 

Recollection of his angel’s bosom 

veneering his body.

The legato and smooth welcome by warmth and love, 

Absent in the depths of ill trees.

—————————————————————

Accelerando Con Agitato: Accelerating with Agitation

They grab the rifles under the purple sky, 

Night is frail, his arms are crushed against 

sunrise’s  grasp. 

MARCATISSIMO! The accented sound of bullets through the air,

ricocheting from one 

man to the other, 

The snow’s white flesh 

covered with bloody phlegm. 

The jarring  chords, the screaming cries of his fellow men. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Moderato con dolore: Moderately, with Sadness.

He is all but paper 

skin sagging over loose, copper wires. 

His cracked lips quiver to make a sound. 

He drags his mutilated, bone-protruding leg.

Marcatissimo. Marcatissimo. Marcatissimo. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Blotches of black print on the surfaces of paper.

Discordant sounds from the instrument that creaks with weariness. 

No, they are groups of notes and phrases, 

like beautiful syntax within a poem. 

Soulful chords. 

Fermata. Legato. Accelerando. Marcatissimo. Staccato. 

written with heavy weights by the composer. 

The beginning chords of Allegro Inquieto, 

I think of him

the cacophony of guns and laughter in the distance. 

Cruel pity--

his soul filled with fearsome frustration--

The beauty of dissonance. 

A trio of friends, hungry for adventure,

wander into a cavern, unbeknownst to others.

Sealing runes amass, cover the walls,

glowing an array of colors, lighting up the halls.

Eyes wide with excitement, a curious mage pries the stone.

A sudden rumble emits, and darkness unfolds.

At the end of the cavern, a lapis lazuli lagoon sits,

the once still water, now pulsating, it splits.

Waves crashing, a great sea serpent emerges, its head adorned with glittery jewels.

Scars mark it’s reflective turquoise scales, proudly marking its many duels.

The serpentine roars a mighty roar, the young adventurers shaken to their bones.

Echoing throughout the chambers, vibrations crack the walls of stone.

The leader of the jolly group, a swordsman clad with armor,

shakes of the unnerving fear and regains his posture.

He unsheathes his holy sword, a shining light in the dark,

and points it unwaveringly at the monster, eyes hardened, making their mark.

His magician friend besides him and cleric to the left,

hold up their enchanted staffs, prepared to defend.

Against the serpent ahead of them, glowing yellow slits,

it launches towards them, teeth made to rip.

The holy knight crosses his sword, sparks flying through the musty air.

Bits of light soaring, through the darkness, they tear.

Eyes filled with determination, the group ascends,

SLASH! a linear cut causes the serpent’s end.

Heaving and panting, the young heroes prevail,

The glorious serpentine, it’s attacks to no avail,

Our youthful adventurers cut the beast’s head,

rejoicing finally at the serpent’s death.

A trio of friends hungry for adventure,

exit a cavern unbeknownst to others.

Sealing runes shattered, the once lit cave gone,

the leftover serpent body, now a predator to none.

It is my first time enveloped in branches.

Vines trickle up my ankle, grasping each pore for survival,

Veneering my layer of skin

Parasitic premonitions penetrated placid phantasmagoria 

The scalding clash of two textures- friction fanning fire

To onlookers, detritus- a combustible deathbed- but you

Disguise the forest floor a divine dream 

Your embrace euthanizes animalistic attributes 

Hypnotized by the pendulum of your stare, 

I don’t recognize Reality running with an axe 

Ready to hew straight down the middle for kindling use

And thus we separate 

I, the left half stacked in a storeroom 

You, the right half ablaze with licks of flame exploring the crevices of your bark 

An open viewing of my lover’s cremation decorated with toasted marshmallows 

And squealing toddlers unfazed by their murderous act 

Please, burn me too

But fireplaces now obsolete and outdoor fires a forced activity to distract kids from their iPhones 

I’m hidden beneath my fellow stacks left forgotten 

And all I can remember is my first time enveloped in branches 

I am wide awake,

  Yet I am asleep.

Though the day is still bright,

  Into dreams I seep.

Great fancies I make.

  So Dreamer, dream on!

Dreams are hopeful,

  Colorful creations;

Beautiful and much more;

  Imaginations

That calm the stressful.

  So Dreamer, dream on!

God has a reason

  For why we have these.

He gave them to us, so

  We chase them and seize

The chance to praise Him.

  So Dreamer, dream on!

What I mean is this:

  Each dream is a chance

To spread God’s love about.

  So Dreamer, dream on!

In my head I'm a cowboy,

A real western gunslinger;

Cool hat and leather boots

With a taste for Bauhaus architecture and fine liquor.

I ride in like I ride out;

Unknown yet adored,

Adored yet unloved;

Bad joke personified;

Long drags of a cigarette,

Bona fide Bogart

Born on the back of a brumby,

My one friend and trusty steed;

Companion in my race against time;

And just as I,

pursued by curses of lovers left behind–

Always close,

But not quite caught up.

A perfume and bourbon sort of aura

Feral and wild and unruly,

And emotional too, maddened by love;

But not quite yet.

Now I'm just a cowboy,

A real western gunslinger;

Resting by the waterpost,

Pretending not to notice you pretending not to look at me

Looking at you just the same

Ready to start begging to kiss your shadow

Or ready to start wanting to–

Hours pass like seconds and 

Your voice is exotic,

Your words onomatopoeias

For bird calls, Für Elise in early morning;

From a radio, so a bit of static–

A childhood spent in timid wonder;

I open my mouth,

Bold to your italic,

You ask if I've ever been to Paris,

Mention the roll of my r's;

I'm not French I just have a speech impediment 

But that's cooler so I suppose no ma'am, but my dad has;

Bone sewer.

Tip of the hat and I'm gone,

Riding out into the night,

A cigarette from the corner of my mouth–

A promise going up into smoke.

Years later I'll remember this

As I wander through Moscow,

And every place of worship it's got to offer; 

Searching for a god in a snowstorm,

Until I find the perfect garden

To lay down and die in. 

In my head I'm a cowboy,

A real western gunslinger;

Cool hat and leather boots,

And enough pretentiousness for two.

But my body's in bed, 

Eyes locked to the ceiling; 

I've really got to stop ghosting people.

Yellow flowers turn to white cotton

before the return of the new moon,

A dandelion’s time is different from people’s.

To a mayfly

living life busily,

A day feels eternal.

And how to a luna moth,

Summer never seems to end.

To a lost child,

A day can go without end,

Time passing ever so slowly.

The seasons change seven times in a single moment

for the man searching,

His time passing faster.