The Wood

The wood smiles back a hoary color
And as I pretend to look past the charms it has cast
The shavings turn up an intricate contour
And yields me the face that I once deemed, forgotten

Again I mar the face with old rotten wax
Hoping it would go away, back into woods midst
But something, as always, remains amiss
The wood melts, but the face remains
And all the hoary contours, that once were intricate
But I move on

Cherry blossoms, locusts and weeds
All in a moment, even one yet-to-sprout seed
Forest around me, Sky above,
Nearby a pool, and some moths beside
I rise without wings, with only the sun in sight
Not looking below, nor beside,
Only at the sun above

I hope to be his apprentice
Mediocre student or otherwise
But he has only one lesson to share
Shine….
The rest is up to me

Frozen

Frozen

The Rawness that is my blood
Hardened every morn, by the impertinent wind
And the tinsel hold that Separates me from within
Wreaking Havoc, once at sun’s presence

The darkness that the heart craves,
Diminished to singularity,
Leaves a pulse drifting in the wind
Blood be hard, blood be red
For all that once followed flow, now maintains stasis
Stagnation
A sculpture, of times dead and past
Buried alive, dead to motion
The necessity of flow,
Sole link to change, to transience
Compromised
In hope for eternity
The eternity that was forever confined
In the uncertainty of a heartbeat

It’s too late now
We live forever
As sculptures
Neither feeling, nor breathing
But still, hopelessly alive
Prevented from the deliverance of death
Frozen in time
Though time moves on
We remain Frozen….