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Literature Text
I know too well how time flies
While I am looking in those eyes
How seconds into hours turn
But somehow I could never learn
Those eyes, so deep and calm and blue
Forged chains connecting me and you
The power to charm and hypnotise
And hide the truth behind your lies
To you, I was but helpless prey
Too weak to fight, or run away
Not seeing through your fine disguise
Trapped in the prison of your eyes
While I am looking in those eyes
How seconds into hours turn
But somehow I could never learn
Those eyes, so deep and calm and blue
Forged chains connecting me and you
The power to charm and hypnotise
And hide the truth behind your lies
To you, I was but helpless prey
Too weak to fight, or run away
Not seeing through your fine disguise
Trapped in the prison of your eyes
Literature
The Witching Hours
Night climbs slowly up the spires
Tow’ring above still, silent streets.
At last have come the witching hours
When ghosts and goblins dare to meet!
The gargoyles and the ghouls all prance
In gutters where the children trod
At day before a yawning trance
Did send them to the Land of Nod
The witches trade potions for spells
To keep the creeping spiders out,
Much like farmers from green dells
Ask merchants, “How much for a dozen trout?”
The poltergeists ascend the towers
And sing like choirboys all the way,
Then fly to the bells and ring out the hours
Before night will be lost to day.
But alas, the dark must end sometime,
Th
Literature
last wish
I am not perfect.
I want a house with tall windows that shrink when they are scared. I want a house with archways hungry for armies. I want a house with basins full of empathy and quiet understanding, grace and patience. I cannot turn off my love like a spigot. I want a house on the beaten track and on the road more traveled. Just to be different. I want a house with a bendable backbone, that folds in arguments but straightens in storms. A house that keeps me company and mixes tenses. A house that practices Tai Chi quietly every morning so it won't wake me up.
A house that sometimes talks too loud.
I want a house people pay to visit. Cash
Literature
Angstxiety
I am work weak on Wednesday
in a heap of hangover and hesitation
with fingers on a phone haptically
actively anticipating feedback—
I need that why do I need that.
My angst and anxiety
is constant and courses
and throbs with a pulse
that demands concern
of a baby boomer crooning poetic
in the distance to call me antisocial, or you know,
you could just call me.
If being this busy in an age
of constant communication
feels like having slept
but not feeling rested,
I'd rather cancel my plans
like a responsible millennial
and go to bed.
Suggested Collections
I wrote a few poems on the theme of "eyes" for my friend's art project, and this is one of them 
Comments8
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what a beautifull poem.