This April wind
Conjures insidious breezes
That envelope my soul
And stir it to prod and plead
Me to write words
Full of hope and life

Ah she's drunk
Swirls and whirls
And gone...
Leaving me dry
To fend the sun
To traverse the summer

Oh! She'll be back...
Tonight!

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Fear
And let's you hide,
And nurse your wounds,
And steel your nerve,
And be invisible,
And get ready,
For the battles of the day!

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The wind!
She is sly!
A touch,
And,
She got me,
Writing!

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Come back again tomorrow
The words have to soak
In hope and vision

And then you can get drunk
And breeze away again

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It makes sense
To write again
Words
The elixir
Of the
Versemaker

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The wind touched me,
Breezing my open palm,
Stretched out of the window;
Her soft and silky caress,
Enveloping my hand,
Kissing the digits gently,
Reaching the depths,
Of my cringed soul and,
Liberating trapped imagery,
Of my soul's wild creativity;
Bringing back Phantomic
Memories of a bygone era;
Unlacing knotted crevices
That hid insiduous passions;
Releasing obscure words
Full of intoxicating hope;
And breezed away in a
Drunken stupor spinning
Her invisible whirls;
In search of words from
Another versemaker!

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// the power of revelation

That moment!
A defining moment.
When what you hear resonates
with what you already know
about yourself.
That moment,
The dark begins to panic,
For it's a moment of revelation.
You have been seen
for who you are!
The light Pierce's through
to get to you.
It takes a tremendous effort,
not to be grabbed, not to be loved.
How can a single shard of light,
be more powerful than
a dense cloud of darkness?

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// dark transformations

The dark transforms everything.
The light shards that were flowers,
Are now the thorns that snip my skin.
The effulgent laughter of sunlight,
Is now the silent chuckle of the shadow.
The luminous words of creativs verses,
Are weapons that spill slithery red ink.
Once you allow it,
Tha dark takes over bit by bit,
And transforms everything.

And then once you're of the shadows,
You realize it's not a bad place after all.

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// the origin story

It was too brilliant.
I let the colors go.
Blue...
Green...
Pink...
Red...
Yellow...
Brown...
And then it was too dark.
I asked the colors to come back.
The dark wanted to stay.
Then the war broke loose...

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// Waiting for the war to be over

The soft chuckles of the dark,
From the shadows;
The dazzling thunderbolts of the light,
From the brilliant sky;
Both frighten me!
I shake like a leaf, cry like a baby!
Alone, Helpless...
Waiting for the war to be over.
Waiting for the winner to judge me.
And pronounce my hell,
So that I can get on with it,
With a smile.

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