it has come to me

every wish granted

life says, have i not given you all?

you are alive

you breath in the clear night air

yes, every right to live is here

cradled in my hands

a child of the dunes and the moon

blow at me and i will be set free

free of will

free of life

i will look to the horizon and question no more

my life is mine to care

i am not of others but of myself

time dips

lowering the setting sun

toes in the water front

waves of cool green and blue

intercept with the darkest black

an ocean of time has passed

and left a dying sun

the world is long gone

and the eyes that see

are no more

We may be able to exist without music, art and culture – but do we live?

they say your life is your own

but there are invisible strings tying it elsewhere

strings that pull at your heart

and your conscience

telling you not to let go

to not cut off

to not regret

before its too late

what am i going to do with all this quietude?

whatever you love

let it stay true

the girl in the image

who looked back

was her and not her

she had been her

had carried herself like that

once

smiled like that

frozen in time

captured by a foreign image

she was no longer

she was there and not here

another had taken over

inhabited the same rhythms

built upon her older self

molded her into something else

she was one and the same

and yet everything apart

she did not recognize

the girl in the image

more than any month

August seems at the cusp of

something else

cold morning dew reaching across

the summer warmth of yesterday

to clasp hands with breezy evenings

the heath blooming pinkish purple

when leaves start to brown

fruit clinging to the drooping stems

weighed down by their offerings

beckoning to be plucked

smearing fingers and lips

for August is distant and tender

full of promises

and extinguishing of light

I await its early demise into fall

the last summer month of the year

there are moments when i feel particularly poetic

soft and hazy and in tune with every soul vibrating

and days when my skin hardens and peels off like a cold-blooded animal’s

exposing a rough and beastly creature to the world and its sensibilities

There’s something in him that stitches itself together, bit by bit.