woven weaves

bead drenched dreads
sweet locks, hair-strand threads


new roots for you nestle


unknown visitor
requests - foreign and seems forlorn
but through this...
all seems to become untorn...


roots
new growth nurtured lengths
taken in by deep breathes
and hopes in yes...
no more of this suppressed


locks ground and rubbed through and between palms and finger tips
sculptured new essence in being's presence


weave each sleeve and slip on in serenity the ultimate deity


blessings, wound dressings.... through The Believe - this is achieved...

p a i n t e d s k y

in perfection and flight

blended and mended for mortal beings delight

pierced through un-tinted panes ... 

so light continues to persevere through tainted pains of old...

So the immaculate of soul is rendered 

and not in self-less acts that devour and envelop in cold...

as thin as air

cotton top horizons

teal streaked heavens

gusts of winds in change procalim to maintain amidstt anticipated storms the refrain

"I will reclaim"...

come what may

new rays

bright days

emulated by hearts desires to fly as the bird in own flight

un-oppressed in belly filled with demons

seated by rows of 6 running back to front and front to back

heavily held with baggage and crowd

ready to free fall to embrace the call

the other side of silence

free of hate-full self-inflicted indulgence 

untangable pains of hurts ... violence

first break

first morning break ...
a new day
she's awake...


mmmm  morning scratches and limb stretches;


floor creeks as rolled scrunched bum cheeks crinkle-cut warm sheets


air filled with mystique


outlook brings the most ... not-so-bleek


orange singed wings ignited for first flight


sweet soaring


souls roaring


bountiful beautiful surrender she pleas


delving into depths of dark to deflate death-filled pockets of despair 


 so ready to embrace the light....


 light redeemed air...


...first break...

she goes by the name patience

how dutifully her task accomplished...

does she know what her task's reaction be and the essence of her cause whence what sought is done...

her cause not afflicted by her personal affection for this game...

if it be by affection that she extend her 'gratitude' why during her experience are these that are felt of distraught and anguish


the bitter reeped coils of past return and creep


and creep


and hunt


and stalk


each purest action from Venus .... and all that is returned is that poison from Hades


how do we play this game


what reward do we seek


if it be with pain


anguish


turmoil


perpetual


deteromental habitual cycles of "YES MAN"... turn the other cheeck...


what, bleek being of rotting silence, do u yearn to speak...

a sitting tree

Do roots ground in moments of profound
and bind with river rushes and wind gushes 
to blossom a new bloom 
in urgency of the disappearance of gloom...


Do leaves rustle in bids of adieu to adventures passed and welcome discoveries of new


New bright shades of greens browns reds blues 


life... death... love... doomz


home is ventured from stalks to tipz


she waits and anticipates 


the embrace


a new face


perhaps her escape


Do these seasons with reasons emerge to submerge edges embedded in dreaded  - dead


dead


soul


dead


life


dead


belief


dead


sight


seasons and hands of round faces 


ticking and tocking


waiting....


waiting....


the clock and its inevitable calculating stop


insanity in each drip drip of dew drops.... 


culminating thunder showerz


she sits in Mother nature's Towerz


feel the time


feel the breeze of the longing devine


why not sweet fruits 


why not plump full of juice


sweet pain in overflowing anxed... yearning.... freeing of her being


little twigz from Earth resounded and new heights ascended


patient 
little
tiny
unnoticed 
insignificant 


promised
hoped
wished
dreamed


believed....


a sitting tree seeks liberty


in tainted ground roots
in fears and doubts showered 


Man on the Moon - do u see this sitting tree?


Does he know when Venus here in this tree once again Reigns?

dead

soul

dead

life

dead

belief

dead

sight

little twig she knows her plight

here in a sitting tree 

she waits and fights 

capillaries fueled bright in her pure inevitable .... she tastes the pending with delight

new dawns

new days

Maker of a sitting tree ... He knows a little twigz destiny...

... pffffffffft ....

...pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft....

{awkard silence} 

silent wofts from his and her whooopsie spots ...

...gasps! and ooopps ... 

silent but violent!!

discovered a new aroma  - not insence; not spice .... but fumez from the human device

bpwaaaaaaaarp!

 not so silent

blush-blush -

face red - 

faces flushed!!

...

..

.

..

...

OH NO! ... another sweet P0P; so unexpected! .... 

... giggle-giggle... hee-hee ...

RA-TA-TAT-TAT-TAT!!

            ... another -  HAHA!...      

 what was that?!

Oh body; why NOW!! ... we've kept our little secrets so well...

flesh invaded with crimzon shades ...

red red red

Flushed temples and urgent seek for invisible cloak to engulf her head...

The inevitable POOP of them - now Shared ...

He chuckles....

they stare.....                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

expozed in this here tainted air and scarlet cheecks - flared.....                                            

the lingering, lofting, wifts 

sweetly and quickly; instantly; like a bang -  forgotten, as she and he and them no longer through rose-coloured glasses stare...

sweet love; sweet sounds from place thought of as profound... the anticipated first wind-break

so much at stake... 

but once the Toot and Flute have passed ... the next and another will fly by and they would have laughed... 

deep down inside; nothing to hide

so she and he indulge and divulge

with his and her's intimate suprize

freely aired and the accepted with care

basked in ambiance; like a sweet serenading dance

sympathetic; apologetic... but most romantic....

 .  .  .pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft . . . 

dont lift the blankets