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The sky is the sea of the gods
The clouds, the snow of the angels

The trees are for us to do with as we like
and the sea, an open inquisition.
Still, you are confined within the
walls of yourself,
your desires and your steam.
The ragdolled child beside me
whimpers in reckless precision.
What an attention seeking whore I sigh inwardly as I pick the ragdoll up,
off the ground
and into my arms.
Of course it stops whimpering,
settles in and falls asleep.
Like I said, an attention seeking whore.
I look back, then
up at the sea of skies
and snowy clouds.
The army of birds spread out their wings
as they sun scotches my forehead.
It is at such moments I
think of you,
not as a whole
God no, certainly not,
just that piece of
perfect wrinkled-eye smile
and calming clichés,
I defer to believe.
Maybe you are disarrayed
Allow me to rephrase,
I think of you whenever I
look into the sea of the skies.
The ragdoll is still peacefully asleep,
what a contented little thing.
If only.
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need balance

there's some beauty in darkness:
something interesting about
the way the air would heavily light
an irony of perfect juxtaposition. there's some beauty in ugly:
something intriguing about the
huge grotesque scars that
seem to never want to go away. there's some beauty in evil:
un peu de la purité in
the heart of a condemned man,
an innocence buried beneath a blanket of
bottled up emotions. these little beauties we
choose to neglect
aren't they the very things that
make living bearable? who would be good without the existence
of evil?
who would be beautiful without ugliness?
or what story could ever be told without scars? need beauty and ugliness,
need scars and healing oils,
need good and evil,
need all the balance to remain
steady and sane in this
crazy crazy world. need balance:
then imbalance to
balance the human equation
now and again.