Scent of the roses.

Remember me as the flower you plucked,
And not the one who you trod upon.
Though the scent of the roses becomes stronger.
The dew that fell in the early hours of the morning
Has dried up, shriveling some petals here and there.
The scent of the roses swirl in the maddening wind,
As petals slowly drift away, in a sorry slow motion.
The scent of roses has become so much stronger,
When you trod so carelessly upon the very flower.
Crushing the petals underneath your foot,
But woe the scent does not die and fade.


When I come home

When the sky turns pink and orange,
The river swells its angry bosom.
The wind dances to its own mad tune,
Whirling leaves and dust merrily like dancers.
The trees nodding their heads to the invisible tune.
The cool wind lifts my hair, lifts my very soul.
Dousing out the fire within--a kiss of peace.
When the rains lash the outskirts of the city,
Rippling waves on grass and water alike.
As the wind rips and the water washes.
Tears flow free finally and I come home.


Retail Therapy

I took a walk down the sale,
I didn't like what was on offer.
So I tripped and traipsed all along.
And when the day is over, the mix of colors and light.
In the shopping bag, does not fill up the hole in my soul.
With all the psychedelic thoughts in my head,
Bursting like stars in the atmosphere of my brain.
Trying to capture the sun in my mind.
For one star-burst in my head will make it alright.
And getting one is so goddamned hard.
I laugh deliriously with the jokes and the crisis.
Pieces of paper once so important dont measure up
Coldness in my fingers or is it my wallet?