Whisper of a Soul

A whisper scrapes my cheek,

a whisper of the night,

a whisper of a sunrise,

of pink, blue, white.

“Nice to see you,

            who are you?”

I don’t wear a nametag, for

what good would that

do?

it would become covered in Drops

of Moonlight and

Dust of Daylight that

would fade the lines, blur the ink, make me illegible,

And untrue.

These Drops of Moonlight and

Drops of Daylight, they sprinkle:

adding a glimmer to my soul.

I’ll smile, I’ll laugh,

I’ll do a little dance,

(the nobody-is-watching dance,)

I’m proud to play my role.

As I walk among the Night

things, crickets fill my ears with,

their sad song, their love song,

their all-night-every-night

kind of song:

reminding me they’re near.

The Music ignites an ember,

the ember ignites the flames.

soon enough my

entire body

sways with symphonies in my veins.

The colors fill my brain with the

universe's story,

I close my eyes, open my

mind,

take Life’s inventory.

And the Morning, it

becomes,

as all Nights must.

So begins the day, the

daylight dust.

It’s not the dirty dust, the

kind of cough and sneeze,

it’s the kind of glitter made to make

you wonder and wander the paths of your mind.

Never does it displease.

So I stand underneath the

sun when a

curious sound I hear,

it’s a gentle HUM, a soothing

HUM,

the kind of Music of

which flowers appear.

The HUM could only mean

one thing:

the universe is alive, entwined.

The thoughts of mine,

thoughts of yours,

this hum will cause the bind.

Paint a canvas in more than black sharpie, and when you run out of space, cover your bedroom walls with the Music of crickets and colors of voices, Dust of the sun, Drops of the moon, the way a HUM looks, and when you have finished,

Write on your heart.

I think you’ll find,

you and me,

we play a very

similar part. 

Fall Out Of Bed With One Shoe On.

A smile is just a smile
unless there's a reason behind it
and a reason is just a reason
unless there's a meaning behind it
and a meaning is just a meaning
unless there's a person behind it
and a person's just a person
unless there's a mirror behind them
and a mirror is just a mirror
unless you can see your heart in it
and your heart is just a heart
unless somebody else takes care of it.

Piano Solos

Trace the lines of my face in
pastel and pink
for I can't do it on my own and
trace my tears with drops of Neptune
for the ice in my heart has shown and
although my feet plant on this Earth
my head is high,
high where the wind blown.

Above the trees and above the birds,
my heart does soar
not even you could take me out this door,
this door of color, of light and sound,
I don't have money but not am I poor.

For I have you,
this is simple and true.
I hate poems that rhyme,
you bring it out in me,
you do.
you do.

(It's a last resort to prevent my heart from exploding something needs to get out and reach the air and my fingers can't type fast enough to make up for the vast emptiness in my head except for the three little words that start with a 143.)