all that we see/seem is but a dream within a dream

We wait for the roses that bloom wait for the roses That bloom for the roses that bloom the roses that bloom bloom roses that bloom bloom bloom that bloom bloom bloom bloom and the roses that never bloom the roses that never bloom roses that never bloom that never bloom bloom never bloom bloom bloom do the roses in my dreams ? bloom roses in dreams ? bloom in dreams ? bloom bloom dreams ? bloom bloom while we sit in the shade they have built a sunflower that covers cities with ashes roses that cover cities while we sit in the shade they have built a sun bloom roses that bloom ash cities while we sit in the sun they have built a rose that never that roses bloom unbeleivable isn’t it roses that sat in the shade while we built dreams that never bloom we built dreams that bloom bloom bloom bloom cities of roses that bloom to ashes that turn shade to roses that we sit in sun light like roses that we turn into ashes like roses that dream never bloom wait roses

Helen Frankenthaler 1952 Mountains and Sea, Oil and charcoal on unsized, unprimed canvas, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

Their love was otherworldly, soulmates in every universe, a love so deep, they completed each other. But in a world full of cynics and bigots, their love was too fragile, too pure even for them. His love too intense, too passionate, a viper tail wrapped tightly around her. Her garden of roses pricking his calloused hands and bright light of hope blinding him. Too much too fast, the right person at the wrong time. They were too young to be in love but that was all they could think about. Romeo and Juliet had an ending and so did they. But she was his home and he was her paradise and even the lost nomad returns to right where they belong before sundown, always.

Brink of your vision

Eternal youth

Is the landscape of a lie

The cracks of my skin can prove

Posting secrets in 280 characters or less Screaming for help in the form of a joke More klonopin than necessary A case of beer Netflix A Spotify playlist of old songs on repeat Staring at the wall Pretending to be asleep Writing letters that will never be sent Watching the same movies Reading the same books Watching people’s faces as they speak but not hearing a word

make me dream of a time so golden and so rare that the lily-lipped children will sing and dance and cheer

make me dream of an age so good and just and bright all the glistening pink flowers will glow and create light

make me dream of an hour so imagined and rehearsed that each second i spend there throws me further towards the hearse