Mon Vert

  Mornings have been quite A challenge these days And admittedly I am becoming insincere Whether it had become obvious I only know That as I am holed tonight Between my wet pillows I am hanging outside my specialty That physically Breathing was as hurting As everything else That is not broken.

  It happens every now and then The important days When I tell myself It must not be forgotten How the bells toll That the rope flashing Backward and forth I could only be so far away Outside the gates Of harmonizing voices Seeing myself Feeling the kneeling pads With my hands The softness There is nothing as soft As when it is needed It matters more this way.

If it counts I wander very often That I am starting to tell How my feet has a soul Even in its caged manner The ripe Feel of rust In every corner The strings Which the cage hangs onto It is like a parrot Speaking Echoing Trying to be smart It told me That the feathers under its wing No, the white lines Between black hair Is a silver thread in a hay stack Trying to be gold This obscurity Clause Might be why the windows are always mugged With water That If i were to die now And live for another day How genuinely one could be so happy, When it has disappointed.