If I could harness the colors of the rainbow,
Capture the sweet’ night breeze,
Draw the most beautiful tree,
Paint an exquisite flower,
Capture gold in a watery bead,
I would be holding you – close to me.
Droplets of time fall like rain,
Puddles of water form – swirling,
Gushing and hurling,
Wasted time feign not, but drain.
Where has it gone? – Lost,
When will this moment come again? –
Love is a droplet, it may never come again,
It freely falls, but at what cost?
Turgid are the waters,
Rising up to kiss the sky,
Where two lovers see eye to eye,
Reflecting each passionate waters.
Droplets of love raining
Down from above, must
Quench both lover’s gust,
Sustaining – or be lost draining.
© James Booker July 15, 2015
Zephyrs of thought,
Though pain and agony – undulate
Under the mask, adumbrate
The Past – sliced & diced on this spot.
I have been here before,
It’s all too familiar – deep
Twisting knots, inwardly I weep,
Lonely rocks edging the shore.
Silence thick, silence is the air,
Ships lying shipwrecked – broken
Beams – earth’s token,
Everyone glares but no one cares.
You were in my thoughts,
You were the air,
Now I get only glares,
But my guts are in knots.
Closure is not given,
Only shades parade,
It cuts like a blade,
Fallen from Grace – and driven.
This is my home, my abode,
Nature has decreed it,
Others rejoice and benefit,
Loneliness is my new code.
By James Booker
July 9, 2015
The rising tide floods the mind – swallowing,
Engulfing, and sweeping any and all;
The feebleness of reason is caught following,
Being tugged and pushed and even enthralled.
Something awakened when something broke,
Such force, such power, as dreams reached
Forward, spinning and touching the sky like an oak,
Blocking out the frontal lobes – calling for impeachment.
The spinning continues, thoughts reach for an object,
An anchor to cling, to hold, through the storm,
Through the insanity forming; trying to connect
Through the flood of thoughts surging and performing.
Such pain! Such pressure forcing up so much despair,
As the mind grapples for a glimpse and for air.
Sometimes I leave, I slip away,
I don’t know where I am or what state I’m in,
The pain in my brain often feels such fray,
And my soul feels detached and alone.
I would fall if there were such a place to fall,
But this place is no place – no place to be.
I try and I try to call and to recall
Those moments that lifted and brought such glee.
I cling to things with my hands,
With my mind, they simply decay by night,
O’ this place of no place is built on sand –
Of no dreams – but dreams that grip and hold tight.
The stream of consciousness in the mind
Is splintered and fragmented forming wind.
By James Booker