Images dance before these oriental eyes,
Frown awhile and whisper good-bye-
To these plastic smiling twirls of wayward desire,
Swirls of titian and cobalt burn in fire.
Cry a little louder sweet child,
Empathy in this world is so mild,
Run through skin deep wounds of pain,
Fold a pearl white origami crane.
Smile a little to your heart of clovers,
Meander through your bronze inked shoulders,
In swirls of ink marks through your soul,
Every line mumbles stories once told.
Watch through this glazed window of clovers,
Smear your ink-laced eyes till they smoulder,
Keep your teardrops in pretty pink jar,
Bask in fields of clovers nested so far.
Mundane Parodies
In fields of four-leafed clovers
they form hearts of purity,
where luminous stars trickle down
like teardrops of diamonds-
from sadistic clowns.
Find this pretty place of parodies,
find it within oneself-
in your heart of clovers,
in your mudane facades-
dream it might be over.
Waltz into a world of tainted purity
where dreamers worship idealism,
hearts peer with their eyes
open but so blind-
samsara can be so unkind.
Eyes on the Tree of Hearts
Blind with eyes wide open
They cascade into a state of delusion
Where dreamers meet,
To hide under pink sheets.
Shield black wounds of pain,
Lie it wont happen again,
Hearts of glory seem so worthy
Everyone reads the same story.
Infinate love that never fades,
Search for the branches that we have made,
These facades tear us apart,
All eyes on the tree of hearts.
The Colour Ebony
In these dreams through crimson eyes -
Drown in melancholy lullabies
Fall into oceans of ebony seas
Read a book under a Bodhi tree.
Smile at Eros as he bids goodbye
Stare away at lucid silent cries
Swing under the tree of hearts
Lose that piece to place a part.
Behind Aoede’s Castle walls
Hear nothing but empty calls
Find a mind away at that place
Teeter away without a trace.
Crimson eyes awake here and now
Close the curtain and take a bow
Paper hearts rain from ebony skies
Wilted clovers catch their cries.
A Ribbon in Fields of Clovers
The pretty violet ribbon twirls in the wind
Entwining itself into silk knots of melancholy,
As it collapses into a field of lush green clovers
Under titian painted skies
And each knot begins to untie.
Whilst the titian sky turns a dark crimson shade
Clovers morph from green to ebony,
Shades of ebony and crimson entwine
The ribbon is lost in this new place
Fallen into filthy bleak waste.
The ebony sky cracks a small line of ivory stars
A crimson clover turns a soft shade of pink,
Each silk infused knot begins to slowly untie
A crumpled ribbon floats in the wind
Landing so elegantly on her brown skin.
Circles of Black Clovers
In her room of dark solitude
So very bleak and dreary,
She lies wide awake in a lucid state
Refraining from things that will sedate –
And numb the looming crimson tears,
Dampen her melancholy fears.
All these pretty facades that tend to fade,
They eloquently decay with age –
With wear and tear,
It’s so hard to stay there –
In her plastic world of planned parodies,
Mundane days and jaded ironies.
In a field of multi-façade clovers
Each clover whispers its own melancholy woe,
Stop all the pleasant stage-shows -
They’re so jaded and incomplete,
As they glow under pseudo-ivory sheets –
So delicate, yet incomplete.
Aching smiles that yearn to sedate –
Themselves into subconscious overdrive,
Where they need not hide –
From these crimson tears,
Their looming melancholy woes,
Find her lucid mind to grow.
As she stares into the mirror,
Back at the girl with blank features –
As this place is nothing but a vague memory –
Of a utopian state of looming parodies,
It’s all so surreal and haunting –
These black clovers are so daunting.
Crave
As she lies with eyes wide opened
Tossing and turning in her field of dark clovers,
That place so rarely visited -
Haunting her when the sun goes down.
Lying awake and the clock ticks to 6am,
Her mind runs for miles –
As she falls into a lucid state,
Craving for aids to sedate.
She left that place of ebony clovers for a while,
But they seem to be haunting her –
Looming in her eyes glazed deep crimson,
A dystopian state of mild delusion.
As ruby stars trickle from her purple painted skies,
Soft whispers mutter faux goodbyes –
Nestled in a field of ebony clovers,
She lies with eyes wide opened.
Antique Hearts of Clovers.
Staring into her heart of clovers
Each petal welds with crimson tears
But only when you come near.
A muse has found me, sitting over there
These antique hearts try not to stare -
At the reflection of clovers with 4 facades
Trapped in a whirlwind of your mirage.
Reach behind my left ear
Draw out all I've kept away
My muse, I hear you play.
Etch a clover behind my left ear
Antique hearts tremble with fear -
Rolling their eyes at Eros tonight
As they retire and bid a solemn goodnight.
Erato’s Ghost
As she sat under purple painted skies
Whispering eloquent lullabies
All so pretty and so very quaint
Twirling in circles she’s a little faint.
Her lucid eyes weld in crimson tears
As the ghost of Erato vaguely appears –
Falling into a bed of lush ivory clovers
And she whispers sweetly, ‘it’s not over.’
She blows kisses under purple painted skies
Only to, finally say good-bye –
To the ebony stars that cast a dark light
And keep them so very out of sight.
Sitting under the tree of hearts –
An ivory unicorn makes its mark
Glimmers of hope and Eros smiles
She’ll sit under the tree a while.
The field of clovers she’s grown to love
House a flock of Picasso’s doves –
As they fall into sweet slumber on peach trees
Under purple painted skies they’re free.
In my world
Everything’s a blank canvas for me to paint on.
I can etch a tree of hearts with purple crayons
And paint a field of clovers in pearl white ivory.
I’d build a crimson waterfall,
To wash away melancholy memories
And keep it hidden in a secret garden.
If ebony stars were to cascade down from purple painted skies
Winds permeating the earthy scent of Frankincense –
Would blow them out of harms way
Into ivory fallen hearts in the crimson lake.
I’d toast myself under purple painted skies
Beside an ocean glimmering under the warm comforting sun
The soft and fine rainbow sand cradling my feet
A place where lovers and dreamers meet.
White Gardenias would lace my pathway home
And scent the air with an ambience of solace,
I’d fall asleep in a bed of soft pink clovers
And wrap myself with a blanket of ivory clouds.
In my world.
Under the Blue Striped Moon
Watch her sing this haunting melodic tune
Strolling along concrete sand dunes–
The place she calls her sweet warm home
A place where she can be all alone.
Peering out the window pane –
All that glitters in plastic shame,
Melancholy drama tends always to loom
Paint a smile under the blue striped moon.
Stupid boy stupid scar
Glad you’re finally that far,
Lame excuses and silly lies
Finally, she’s severed ties.
Wilted clovers and ebony stars
Recently parted ways, so far
The blue striped moon forces a weak smile
Bleak ironies and parodies chase for miles.
Eros falls from purple painted skies
Leaves without even saying goodbye,
Retreats away to foreign land
He’s no God, just only a man.
Soar around in purple painted skies
She paints an array of melancholy eyes
Take a bow under the blue striped moon
Burn Cleopatra’s candle in an empty room.
