Walk

Walk on the sands,
With dreams undecided;
Mind that understands,
A reason that's divided.
Feelings of freedom,
Inside every shell;
When night's infinitum,
Into winter's spell.

Flowing of the tides,
With clouds going by;
Summer feelings asides,
Far from bird's eye.
Wintry's blowing blow,
Frost in the coldness;
Icy glowingly glow,
Always new and fresh.

Walk on by the dreams,
Realities and stars;
Faraway now all seems,
Some glisten isobars.
Flowers on a window,
Frosty and white;
Outside cold to grow,
More into dim night.

There is a Dream that Comes

There is a dream that comes,
In like the new rose;
With the leaves of cerebrums,
When you hold it up close.
From treats of its flower,
Half open to the eyes;
Fragrance and willpower,
To realities disguise.

Never rooted to the ground,
Each stem it gives;
Only in dreams it's found,
And within it - it lives.
The book of my song,
On clouds that drift by;
All and each I long,
Like amplitude of the sky.

There's a dream that's there,
With pages to write;
Of stories we may share,
If they are within eyesight.
A book of each belonging,
Bread of life it's too;
Ways might be absconding,
Never seen clearly through.

Without Moving

Without moving to anywhere,
Sweetness comes like a gift;
Sharing joy here and there,
Inspirational sight uplift.
The pleasures in the waves,
Bolts of blood and sky;
What's hidden in conclaves,
And the moments beautify.

Like the ocean in autumn,
And shells that go on shore;
The past is desideratum,
Without knowing what it's for.
It comes in steps return,
Close and sometimes twisted;
From it we must then learn,
For why it is so persisted.

Without moving we'll find,
What's touched time's breast;
Today's the roadway blind,
And to near futures the least.
Waterfall and the blooming,
In what your heart might sing;
The times are now resuming,
Before there comes new spring.

Remember

Remember the dreams we had,
From yesteryears summer mood;
Rays from some colors we add,
That from our morning allude.
Initials of the deep earth wear,
Jagged with waves and rivers;
Blue dress of summer fanfare,
What the fresh streams delivers.

All that in memory forever is,
Like horizon pictures in the afar;
That glows but is lost like a wish,
The falling dim wintry way star.
Wild of the pummeled sands,
Footsteps that gave forth again;
What the feelings understands,
No one can search but in vain.

Remember the gust that grows,
Above every root that breaths;
Morn without name that shows,
All variations and its shibboleths.
Earth in its sound and silence,
Thoughts of your love and share;
All of your dearest acquaintance,
That no one else is to compare.

Night Time

Night time I welcome you,
With dark from door to door;
Reborn shadows or the new,
All that is drifting here ashore.
Name of those still unborn,
Sparkling mirror like a glass;
Souls of shores wet and torn,
Living repeatedly life's bypass.

Each beaten guest of decipher,
Immortal lights of stars shine;
Those that are raw or yeastier,
Between the others and asinine.
Wallflowers that never will be,
Broken every minute this death;
Who kills innocent illegitimately,
Mothers in black their breath.

Night time grass in the morning,
Things of things without names;
The dreams each of my yearning,
Twilight of dawn broken flames.
Those that are in somber park,
Hurrying before springs of time;
Songs of the autumn dying lark,
All those rosebuds in life's rime.

This Day is Young

This day is young,
And always sweet and always free.
So much to long,
And find out for you and me;
Of things to be eternally.

A blooming glows,
In a time and within every wish.
And as it grows,
To each splendor accomplish;
For all the world to astonish.

The night is there,
With full of wondering deep skies.
And stars so blare,
That dark to dark diversifies:
Like firelight and dragonflies.

For some will fail,
In their time and within their heart.
Each countervail
Is in them with bottomless swart,
Which a thoughtless thought will impart.

Certainty

Oh summer birds are going now
with longings and dreams,
from autumn forest lowbrow
withering moments beseems.

My words, what's it I write?
in vanishing thoughts and lamp;
whiles of summer's last flight,
preparing new winter's encamp.

Every Word is a Way

Every word is a way,
To the unsought moods of pleasure;
Meet the new coming day,
That fills the earth with more treasure.
Bring the gift and joy,
With every inmost care;
There are some moods to destroy,
Each coming up affair.

My thoughts are with the traffic,
The roads that move in time;
All the poisoning words acidic,
That climb up like a begrime.
The horizon deep and sky,
That falls from mood to mood;
All thoughts that can not die,
For they're everywhere bestrewed.

The road and its destination,
The place that goes to anywhere;
Fickles of your inspirations,
Going from moments here and there.
Thoughts that don't get through,
For they have been all over;
And it's all up to me and you,
To find that certain random rover.

2 Poems

There is night in the day sometimes,
Scattered selves again and again;
Going around in their dark begrimes,
Laying their traps for their den.

There are clouds in the sky rushing,
Through hours of blue and to dark;
With breeze of their ways gushing,
In the hills with mischievous lark.

**

Time will come again,
With beauty of all things;
Simple things and plain,
In the heart then sings.

When summer will rise,
In the blue and the green;
And each day diversifies,
What you haven't yet seen.

Through The Dreams That Are Gone

Through the dreams that are gone,
In the light of none to-night;
There is swift in each their aileron,
Through the darkening of light.
War and wounds of sorrel dreams,
Blooming fields that grow on near;
Everything into the rustle seems,
When again the daybreaks appear.

The fantasies ruling within reach,
A single task like a prisoner's diet;
Accurate by far lonely to teach,
Logic between a try to be quiet.
Grows of walls of blank thoughts,
Within bared windows of no view;
Emancipated reason of a bowknot,
Without more unanswerable argue.

Like the roses and the dark daisies,
Poet's spring is drawing here on;
In close keep of sleeping coveys,
Till each the demurrage's fully done.
Transformed delights once more,
Coming through the summer's ray;
Opening hue to the colorful door,
In the clearings of a beautiful day.

The Day Is Clear In The Blue

The day is clear in the blue,
Prevailing the drifting wind;
Sky in the gray and hue,
Covering the earth's tinned.

Forward look of the glen,
And forest in branches green;
All in the summer again,
Once where winter had been.

Love comes and sometimes go,
Through the sullen day lost;
Everything's from a while ago,
Into a time frame tossed.

Answers you did not find,
Walking through and plays;
Memories to some assigned,
Into gone thoughts pathways.

Beginning comes like an end,
The prime of our uncertainness;
Fancies crossing in the blend,
Clouds so light and frivolous.

Moods snapping ties to hold,
From the looks now going by;
Once so new and then all old,
In the clearings of blue sky.

It Is Late For The Day To Be Young

It is late for the day to be young,
All the feelings that are coming new;
Like a day that begins in a song,
And sometimes only heard by the few.
In the time that is here at this stage,
Growing themes from the silence;
and shall plow its magnitude with age,
When it is within reach of acceptance.

I was born to sing of tomorrows,
That is surrounded by infinities ways;
What of feeling each time borrows,
And how colors come from grays.
I have chosen a theme that is near,
To my heart and of island serenade;
In the many waters that flow here,
And to the ocean again is conveyed.

Days that were young come and go,
With feelings of those that were once;
Surrounded by the infinities that grow,
From the memories of candescence.
In the time where the thoughts travel,
With the clearness where all begins;
We will have the incarcerated marvel,
Magnitude of late the state that spins.

Autumn's In The Air

Autumn's in the air,
and days of memories;
it's this time of year,
in all gathering unities.
Flowers are withering,
to the colours of dark;
for summer is anchoring,
its vigour and spark.

The roads to new dreams,
in twilight now are;
and everything seems,
in a mood swing afar.
The silence are prolonged,
in travail voice foretold;
that sully moments pronged,
before winter's behold.

Autumn swings in moods,
from day to day that come;
world of different attitudes,
standing near and solemn.
Like the summer started,
patently now going through;
the autumn heavyhearted,
before its hue time is due.