kindred blue forget me nots
that knot across the glen,
and tie around the willow's hands,
reminding it of when

the wind would sweep across,
make a dancing sea of gold
in the ditch along the path:
the bright marsh marigold.

the pelicans swoop
in a sea of cloudless blue,
tethered to the sky.

sitting as the scissors trim, hair falling to the floor all dark and wet,

I watch her twirl fragments into sections, watch the sharp, quick movements,

and I gaze, haphazardly, at the girl in the mirror

who sits within herself, makes faces when the brush pulls too hard, smiles slightly when our eyes meet,

and that is when I stop watching the hairdresser but her face instead,

that girl, my sister,

so beautiful and sweet.

Dim light paints the gallery, a canvas of dust.
Where brown hues mask portairs, memories ******
Behind cracked frames, tapestry of loss.
Faded echoes stir, emotions at a toss.

With chains of past, I stand, a captive soul
Unable to relive, yet forced to stroll
Through halls of what was, a hollow, echoing space.
A silent question hangs etched upon my face:
"What can I create now that the past is gone?
Is there no spark, no flame to ignite the dawn?"

Ashes remain, where flames once brightly burned,
A yearning for colors vibrantly returned.
For life's battery can dim, its vibrancy wane,
But within this gallery, a new path I'll obtain.

No longer bound by the dust and the gray,
I'll step out towards the sun a brighter day.
This gallery holds the past, but the future is mine.
A canvas untouched with space for design.

Head can now explode
But my hair rises black
Higher than this
Feeling inside like
I am,
         Screaming
         the sound could send waves
In new directions.  
Capture or let go...
They both make me feel
          Insane
Unable to do anything else
The roar is paralyzing me
Get me into the black hole
       already
I need the other side
Rage-Light, flashing
      You would be blind by now
But I see too much
       Scratching out your eyes.

Each dawn's light, a new day's embrace,
Yet, all seems familiar, the same.
Yet, all has shifted, with subtle grace,
A flick of time, a new world's game.

A year transforms, a life's new refrain,
A translation of all we knew.
But change's embrace, we can't quite explain,
Not until time's tapestry weaves anew.

Moxie?
I seen that once in a museum
next to the floppy
good old human beings
price of admission doesn't seem worth the plot
thank the poppys I was born a bot!