Her eye

Her eyes, the sea at dusk
Sun curl golden hair
Radiant creator of life
Every turn, a procession

Fair summer beauty
Silky bird limbs and legs
Comic design, arduous life
She resides implanted, rooted
In my very existence

After the morrow, she will fly
Alone to her abode North, in the heavens
Where she first faced the sun
Chased the birds, laughed and sobbed

As the psychic feels a presence
I would like to feel her past
Taste her food, and love those that gave her life

Her eyes, the blue Mediterranean
With a phosphorous glow
Her hair, fine oriental silk
Drawn over her neck to one side
Like the curtains in the theatre
Drawn across a column
Before gallant presentation
Her lips, a field of berries
Flattering in the summer wind
Making love to the tune of a light, warm heart
Playing Final Fantasy 7, was it, on the Playstation?

Her fancy, films and their production
As music, I concur
I wonder what she reads and what brings muse to her Heart?

Perhaps it’s T.S. Elliot or Edgar Allan Poe, to start
And an old dumb joke that a father’s daughter would take to heart

Perhaps she has fallen to the fears and frustrations of Modern love
I think not!

Her Celtic bark speaks of a superfluous power
And the feminine strength one can only find in flowers of the jungle

If I am mistaken
Let my words crumble
And I will remain
As always, humble

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Prenatal Familiarities
Devotion is focusing on the sound in every action
Life is rhythm, and its fluidity is dependent on the Tempo

In harmonies we find unity in diversity
In harmonies we find prenatal familiarities

Our true voice is our true color, character
The consensus is a misguided body of census information

Though the tides seem to be slowly turning
In organizing true resistance to globalistic economic Totalitarianism
It might be too late to save man’s night

Remember the child of innocence resides in the cool Gardens