Soap Bubbles and Jagged edges

Strange spheres revolve through the depths of my visions

Of times gone past, and times to be

Many places I have gone to, many sights I have seen

But never enough

 

In the night, the spheres assail me with their visions,

Curled in bed, I see their lights shining prettily, and I touch them

Some of them sting, some of them soothe, some of them caress me softly

With dreams of bygone things and things to come

And things that may never be

 

Reality is a jagged edge of rusted metal,

Cutting, ripping, infecting pure spherical bliss

Hiding from it never helps, separating the spheres from the metal

Only shatters them

 

I fling them at the rusted knife, the concrete floor, the broken saw of reality

The only way I know to separate soap bubbles from solidity

And I will cry over the twisted shattered wreckage, picking through the pieces of my dreams

Something will survive,

won't it?

 

And I will treasure it, like a perfect marble, a universe to explore,

And hold it tight within my hands

And walk towards the rust

Waterborne

Two random poems about water, after a long lost love was rekindled.

 

Water forms like a puddle,

Pools, collects, in corners huddles,

Water soars and water flies,

Water pours down from the skies

 

Water washes down on us and forces us to look

at life anew

As all our veils of civility and refinement are

w a s h e d   a  w  a  y

And we are finally revealed,

either as sputtering cowards, who spit and fume and curse at the water and all the audacity of nature,

or creatures of the moment, who soar and rejoice in a chance to be cleansed.

 

 

Water winks at us out of azure peace

It calls us to fall to the sand

And worship

 

Water picks us up, like little children, and tosses us into the void,

the vacuum,

the unknown

For personal aeons we are lost within its warm cocoon,

Wrapped in turbulent current like an unborn child within a turbulent parental cocoon

And then, when we emerge,

Spit out like so many watermelon seeds,

Our bodies bruised and scratched and torn

We emerge reborn, like phoenix children

 

The waves wash against us for hours afterwards, and our heads are filled with the rush of the currents