Luck

But words they fly, as daggers,
arrows through the sky. Until they reach,
and strike the heart, unsuspecting
of the string of luck. The luck
you need to see things clear
the luck you need

to keep things dear.

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Setting

Stolen words
like flowers gray

Upon the mantle
made of clay

Like strings connecting
me, and you

The shadows setting,
words untrue

The World Around

Standing dazed,
and confused

All in all
there’s nothing
to lose

Standing in front,
my feelings clues

All in all
blazed, turning,
and fused

With the world
around,
and inside of me

Nothing
you’ve found,
let the mystery be

Only one thing
to choose

To touch,
or to see.

A Poet

A master of disguise,
master of deceipt

A poet,
every one,
the good at least.

Dress,
a million lies
in truth with wit

The poet,
all alone,
thinks himself a beast.

Press,
and funny dyes,
all the shame of it

The poet,
he is done,
his words a crypt.

Covers

Another day,
another mask

To cover the face,
and all the past
long gone,
and gone again
with every sun,
and rise

‘Till darkness comes,
and eats the eyes
the covers gone,
with it disguise

When you can’t see,
how will you hide?

All at once

All the stories
ever told

In a single word
they fold

Where the waters
in the oceans meet

Two strangers each
another greet

Just once,
in eyes alone

That persistent,
quiet tone

All gone then
in a single breath

No one follows,
not even death.

Endless

Another couple
thousand miles

Left for me
to roam

And countless more
those lonely eyes

Just waiting
for their home

Another day
without the smiles,

Anger,
drowning in the foam

Following
the night’s old whispers,

Calling
through the cold

Embrace
those ghostly sisters,

From the margins
of our world

Away,
in swirling twisters,

Let your story
to unfold

In Bloom

At that place,
on the cross
– of white, and gray

Oh, that face,
and eyes
– so blue in may

All that grace,
and awkward laughter
– just a breath away

In that space,
of deep connection
– can I stay?

The Machine

The pointless flights
of empty,
weathered words

Charms,
and fancy
of our lords

Dreaming only
of our flights
in cold insanity

Dancing lonely
at the plights
for lost humanity

For all the souls,
who lost their minds

Towers fallen,
broken swords

All the kinds,
of empty words

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