Adorned by regal mantle

purple orchid reigns supreme

warm inside a cotton breath,

tendrils wrapping around

verdant tree of life, clinging,

symbiotic relationship

of awakening ardor.

Orchid quivers passionately

chilled before new dawn,

jasmine scent seeks relief.

Fantasies capturing clouds

of beguiling heartbeats,

fabric of my dreams

touching me with

teardrops of midnight.

Amethyst eyes

ambling down

lush periwinkle path

envelope me

in lingering aura,

moon’s silvered dreams.

Magenta queen of beauty

core of truth’s innocence

whispers my name

in silent peace.

The human race

Is like the feather

That flies.

Sometimes gliding

Graceful and brave

Sometimes spinning

Out of control.

Always delicate

The balance is,

Between the

Gentle breeze and the

Wind of death and destruction.

My thoughts

Are like the feather

That falls.

Hard to catch

They don't know me.

They only comprehend the

Beauty they want

To see.

Seemly caught in the

Drifting crowd

They don't see the desperation

Or the way it falls apart.

You

Are like the feather

That is handled.

Not knowing what

You've gotten into

Until

I catch you

And rip you apart like you did

To me.

Peering over the horizon, sneaking up and lying low

A soft, pale yellow begins to show

These first, shy rays project a subtle light 

And cast their penetrating glow out into the waning night

From deep within their resting places, shadows begin to yawn and stretch

They emerge in contrast like the graceful lines of an artist's sketch

Beams of light glint and gleam as from the dew they are reflected

In tiny drops that leaves and grass have silently collected

Rock. 

Rock. Paper. 

Rock. Paper. Scissors.

Rocks.

More rocks.

1, 2, 3...

Futile to count.

Rocks as far as the eye can see. 

And then some.

Rocks for miles.

And miles and miles.

Trees erupt here and there, seemingly out of place.

And shrubberies, for Monty Python fans.

Oh, and concrete.

Acres of concrete.

Rocks, lonely trees, assorted shrubberies, and concrete.

Welcome to Las Vegas.

Arid.

Desert.

Hotter than hell.

Although that is pure speculation.

Rock. Paper. Scissors.

Lizard. Spock.

The lizard would be happy.

We all rush through its streets and dream of natures trails,

we look upon and climb towers and yet we dream of trees,

we pass humans of all type and still we dream of animals.

We dream of passing time in nature yet we let time pass us in the city.

I wish everyone knew, the beauty of the city.

Outside?

No way!

I'm in a city,

what can I

Say?

All right,

I will get

on board

the open 

top bus 

and try not to

make too much

of a fuss.

What's the harm?

On my left:

'rather rational building 

not completely

devoid of charm'.

You whistle tiny teardrops with the wind that blows my way,

and tell me of the sorrow that you face from day to day.

The peonies yawn then listen closely to your mournful violin,

and I think of every death you've seen then take a sip of gin.

You whisper of the tree that you've fed time and time again,

though just to see her fall whilst new sap's carried by the crane.

The veery sings her hymn, and the daisy slaps her wrist

for every joy she may remember now is faded in the mist.

You wonder why your hair's no longer green and thick as rope,

then remember your own children had to eat and had to hope.

The willow wipes her tears from her rugged, salty face

for she now knows that weeping just for her is nothing if not base.

When you cradle your new child in your arms you must not sweep

heavy holds on her for soon she will be Death's, not yours to keep.

So wither 'way now as we ride you 'round the sun and don't look back,

just ignoring that when we see light all you can see is black.