I sleep the sleep of white gentle clouds, pale blue sky, and eagles soaring across broad mountain peaks. I see myself standing atop the highest mountain, looking out onto a world yet untouched by human hands or their madness to tear down and recreate a mass of malls, homes and minons of people flocking about.

I sleep the sleep where fawns graze, a brook of silvery water flows, and trees rise to the heavens as if keeping the sky from falling, Birds flit from tree to tree, whistling, almost singing a gentle song.

I sleep the sleep where she comes to me, arms open wide, smiling, her eyes bright, alive and ernest and she dances before me without a care in the world other than pure happiness.

I sleep this sleep of perfection never found, and I never want to wake.

****************

(Look closely at the picture. Twin gleaming eyes stare back in curiosity. Photo taken 2006, Colorado Springs at the Garden of the Gods.)

Madness is not having any lines

to cross or draw between

no walls holding you in

safe away from the edge

Madness is the voice that comes

late at night, whispering seductively

how worthless you are

how wretched, how pitiful

Madness is two halves put together again

miraculously leaving a hole

a gaping bottomless chasm

always further to fall

Madness is expecting perfection

amidst mountains of failure

turning one's back to the stars

to scrounge in the dirt

Madness is a sweet poison

whose loathesome drops addict

until at last they overpower

the unsuspecting host

Madness is struggling against self

against nature, despite the odds

because of ideals like fate or duty

or gilt morals with tarnished backs

Madness is hating who you are

and yet loving another

for by giving love, one makes

one's self worthy to receive

Madness is humanity

and humans are mad

for we struggle on day by day

ever towards, sometimes from,

convinced today will be different

certain in our ego and self-importance

forgetting that others struggle too

that at the foundation we are all the same

that lines are drawn for us or by us

voices heard or spoken or sung

falling the start to climbing a new path

digging the way to find our roots

acknowledgement the route to conquer

toil the nature of life

love the nature of man

madness, all

We tread our fatèd path

each ensconced in his small world

forgetting that others are just as lost

unable to see within their hearts

"We are all here on Earth to help others; what on earth the others are here for I don't know." - W. H. Auden

Clawing, scratching at life, fingers cut to the bone,

hammering away at an existence even I forgot,

struggling, yet forging ahead little by little

until that part of me says,

"Finally!" I have come home.

Heartbeats rapidly~

Boom, Boom, Boom.....

So uncontrollably.....

Am I about to faint?

What’s happening to me?

Oh, it’s because of~

Ah, he’s moving closer....

Oh, those dreamy eyes....

Huh? He just said something

But I wasn’t paying attention

My mind wandered off...

I couldn’t help but smile...

Well, I can’t help it—

Whew, he makes me lose it.

I must say it’s not bad..

It is a good feeling..

#UnBonSentiment.

#AGoodFeeling.

At first I don’t realize that it’s coming, it’s happening. All is fine, until it’s not. Then It broils up inside me, bubbles up. Starts at my feet and paints my cheeks, turning my face different hues of embarrassment. The fire escapes, burning people with scolding threats. Fists clammed shut and jaw clenched taught, letting the burning rage devoure the sanity that’s left. Nostrils flare, eyes narrow. There’s no use from denying anger when it’s unstoppable.

Sometimes I think I’ve lived too long, these bones are whitewashed, the smell of bleach clings to them.

Sometimes I think I’ve lived too long, and my skin is a stretch of paper thin onion peel.

Sometimes I think I’ve lived too long, my memories are like Christmas photos on a mantelpiece; they are the experiences of some other woman. She. Never me.

#poetry, #challenge, #eternity

Time. The one thing everyone wants to speed up to get to where they want to be. Whether an hour in the future or a week or a month, And yet it's the one thing money cannot buy. When we run out, it's the only thing we wish we had. Would you honestly want to control it if you could? Knowing it all eventually ends, is what makes life so precious. Having control of this may make us use it carelessly, altering past events and ultimately changing our president lives. Would anyone really want that responsibilit?

*

I used to live a million lives

I used to step on soft clouds

I laughed with the sun

and cried with the rain,

the wings

that I spread wide

helped me fly over the night sky

I spoke with the moon

and embraced its glow

the Earth gave me shelter

but I wanted to flow

high above the stars

to see the twinkly lights,

I heard of the Milkyway

and wanted to fall in love with Venus

yet instead,

I landed on the smallest of planets

and called it home

because you were there

and so was my heart 

For everyone who likes to dream and dance among the stars.

make it happen

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oCLIJhFHMT8

The world looks like a series of blobs moving around in a bright, white space; it’s a blank space. And although we like to believe we fill it, we barely penetrate the surface. I suppose you could call us decorations — we look different but we all serve the same purpose.

I want to close my eyes, but humans are scarier than blobs and fuzzy shapes, and that’s all I’ll see once I open my eyes again. So, for perhaps a few seconds more, I’ll remain in this lightheaded, hazy state.