And I write and I write and I write.
Then I write and I chant my verses, and my views, and the thoughts.
Like buds, from the tree of my soul, becoming leaves, glowing green, then becoming yellow and then falling.
Wind comes, and they fly,
unseen they rustle, unheard.
Is this important, or not?
No, it isn’t, yes, it is,
yet no, it is not,
yet, it is.
The sap of my heart will never stop them living,
blossoming every season passing season,
new snowdrops, and lilies, and shamrock leaves
and deep sorrow willow branches.
No, not important,
yes important,
The tree sees the other trees
and smiles.
Foralways
Such as wild flowers, the Ocean, white clouds
like the dew under the slant light of the new day,
like butterflies, or each and every breath
Like old photos of our dear ones,
or the reassuring sky vault, holding the stars
Those who are out there, and we can count on
lifting our hearts, with a single smile, by their bare existence
Never chanted enough, celebrated enough
yet loved endlessly, deeply
because mutually owning, existing
inexplicable,
holy
symphony
Tears
Slow
soul’s drops
pearls
falling stars,
l e t t e r s
d
o
w
n
one after the other
feelings
seeking their way
existence
coalescing tears
imbuing this paper
their last travel
this.
poem.
Our Sacred
We get into this world with wings.
There is holiness, kindness, beauty,
evil, sweetness, coldness,
the whole spectrum of feelings
the whole potential
within each of us.
It is up to us to cultivate what we want to cultivate,
what we are strong enough to cultivate,
what we choose and want to cultivate,
to be, to become.
No matter what the world gives us.
Life.
Life gives us inputs, wounds, flowers, whippings.
visible or not, thorn or not my wings will forever exist.
growing again and again, like those of a Phoenix.
They are me,
such as my pain,
my smile,
my love,
my life.
PeRrFfection
I believe in perfection.
In perfection not being a thornless rose.
In perfection as something that is personal, different for any of us.
I believe in perfectless perfection.
I believe in wrinkles and struggles, refining the aperfect perfection.
I believe in the perfection of walking a path in which we believe,
in perfection taking a road that’s not always the straight one.
I believe perfection is overrated, but dedication is not.
I believe perfection kills the mind while passion ignites.
I believe the rain, wind storms and time
might smear the “perfect” letters we write,
but it in the end,
they will only turn them into a masterpiece.
Something unique.
Something unrepeatable
Something perfect, as it was meant to be.
Like This
There is a special moment,
when i do miss You.
It is when i stop doing something
working,
writing,
playing the piano,
talking to someone,
working on a project
creating
doing something.
It is as if you were there,
beyond the temporary focus
of my concentration.
Every time this shift happens
i turn around,
i look for you
to tell you about me
to know about you
to feel you near
to give you nearness
to share my life
to gift you my day
to greet Yours.
More and more
You are the start of my any wish
my shelter
the daily medicine
I do ingest
to heal the mind vibrations
and sometimes
To heal my solitary soul
I Will
I will turn You into the blue of Oceans and Seas,
filled with light from Suns, Moon and Stars.
I will then turn myself into the sky vault,
smiling at the little lights,
the way you want.
Up in there You will always find me,
watching at You,
waiting for You.
A Lamp, A Pillar, An Evening
The evening is mild, yet cold
a man, under the street light,
whistles at the sound of a tune
it is an old song,
a tune that seems to come
from a distant time.
We do not even know why, but we stop,
our every thought slowly fades,
the ones we thought we couldn’t delay
the ones that seemed so important.
We stop,
we do pretend we are waiting for someone,
we smile at ourselves, so silly, but we stop.
Not a word, we do smile, stare, and listen.
We stand there and we watch the man:
a silhouette, his whistling,
it flies us in a distant world.
Breathing, inhaling, we feel small
there is a tear wanting to wet our eyes.
We do feel small, very small
small like those tears, reflecting the city lights.
We do feel that small
and it makes us feel like giants.
His music fades,
a girl approaches the man.
The young man stops whistling,
he stops singing, he smiles.
He takes her hand,
not a word,
but a smile and a kiss.
Like voyeurs we see them,
walking away, together.
We stay there, for a little while,
no words are needed.
We watch the pillar
the place where the man was.
We take our hands to each other’s eyes
and we caress the surfaced tears.
A smile, arise on both you and me
it draws on you like fresh brushes of life
We take each others tear on each others lips,
And we know the evening will be perfect.
Simply
She is a woman,
at times a dragon, a kitty or maybe a flower,
should I’ve said an Ocean, or rather the Sky?
White clouds perhaps, or rather a rainbow?
No. She’s much more than that,
she‘s a woman. Simply.
Impossible Love
It Exists
The Impossible Love.
It reveals itself with a simple thought,
baffling, unattainable, ripping Thy soul.
The non pretending Love,
unconditional, inevitable, resigned
contented by the simple thought of Thee.
Whenever you silence your conscience
bully it comes back
loud of its promises, its wishes
those flights that you only can quench
by singing it, crying it, dancing it
embracing it.
Kitty Michelle's Universe 