No Child of Mine

The rosy skin
of your body
is of my body,
as you rise and set
around the sun.
~
The ocean
of your eyes
seeps into
the depths
of my soul,
~
Where the reflection
of the night sky,
is orchestrated
by a million stars
singing into my heart.
~
No joy is greater
then the laughter
left from your dance,
as you skip across
space into my arms.
~
I cherish the child
in you and as I,
as I watch us…
rise and set
around the sun.

Bullet Proof Clouds

The breath I breathe
condensates like morning dew.
Trickling down the blades of grass,
in the place I live.
Can my breath go to the desert,
and pool in the deepest holes
of the sand?

The day breaks.

Cuts from the blades may drip in red,
and the sand may be saturated in iron.
Let this iron bulletproof the clouds,
and from my breath
cover the youngest of hearts.

No tears to cry.
No worries to be held.
In mouth or metal; weaponry,
fireworks floating ‘bye’.

Within

Whispering winds call your name
from yesterday,
~
Over rolling hills and
hot red sands,
~
down through Ancient Cities
of the Ocean Blue, and
~
up to the mountains
carving the sky.
~
No stars are touched though.
No Universe in sight.
~
The blood sizzles red in the sand, as your body burns in the oasis of the Water.
~
The Son rises each day,
so does the Daughter.

Baby Dolls

The seamstress of the world could not thread the eye of the needle.
No thread is stong enough to mend

these legs,
these arms,
these hearts,

back together again.

In the ruin of fire, blood, and tears;
baby dolls lay in the waste of sour humanity,
somewhere in the world today.

May the warrior’s heart slip through space,
in the dead calm of darkness; landing on Planet SOS.

Here the thread found is King and Queen to all wordly man’ness things.

The needle threads on the way back down,
and a zillion phoenixs rise up.

Baby dolls,
playing, laughing, smiling.

(Peace to the Souls of Homs, Syria, and children around the world, caught in war)

Stones Of Gold

My heart turns,
and sees the tiny fingers
brimming on the window ‘pains’.

No flowers grow in the green grass.

“Please don’t go Mother”
“Please don’t go”

I walk my life
and will die in the dirt.

The Red.
The Blue.
The Black.
The White.

Crumbling into my soul the stones of gold.

My heart turns,
and the flowers grow.
“I love you”

“I love you my children”

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Homs A City of Pain

A fortunate life I/we live.

This video broke all laws,
all walls of humanity,
if any remain still around my/your heart.

This is Now.
Present Day.
Five minute video.
Thank-you Drykka Moon for sharing.

May spirits come together.
No words for me to say.

More info:
http://m.guardian.co.uk/world/2013/jul/22/syria-sunnis-fear-alawite-ethnic-cleansing