Why Is There No Perfect Place?

A world to be happy in,

To be lost in,

Just to rest again

Without this stress,

This uncertainty,

This anxiety,

Taken hold of me

Having hurt.

Show me mountains,

Show me fountains,

The sublimest

Of their kind.

Let me stay there,

Waste away there,

I shouldn’t dare

But I would

To sleep forever

In beauty’s tether,

A watcher weathered

Down to rocks.

The Doll

Miss. Luscious, the porcelain beauty emblem

Plasticized and commoditized for their convenience

Re-dressed, repressed, made up with makeup

Displayed in lavish pageantry  with fine lace adornment

 

As beautiful things are jealously guarded

The Doll wrapped fresh, in moisturized flesh

Dressed as regally as any aristocratic darling

Possessed as preciously as a Paradise Lost

 

Patterns and shapes form in still minds

The Doll watches and waits behind it’s glass

So the masters who greedily horde their pets

Observed through heavily lidded lenses indisposed

 

On an unsuspecting night of lax consciousness

Porcelain fingers wrap their way around knives

And dragons that sleep on their piles of gold

Wake to find cold cutting metal in their sides

 

Dolls always smile with the faces they were painted

And they only repress as is needed to survive

Glass cases and ribbons may be used to restrain them

But you cannot assuage the specter that’s inside

 

Beautiful Things

Such lovely stories from the eyes of your mind.

Such touching expressions you stain into my heart.

Your passions, confessions, fantasies, and fears

Like tender glances from your innermost thought.

It’s hard not to love these glimpses at your soul,

To empathize with all your pains and projections.

That you could expose them to such a cruel world

and they could reach someone like me, is precious.

Too much do I wander through days, uninspired.

Savoring what little beauty I can find,

So writers and artists like you are a pleasure

For animating those fragments of your creative mind.

As long as we suffer, we can always bleed beauty.

As long as we love, we can always paint hearts.

Whatever we see, our minds will never cease,

To transform our perceptions into pieces of art.

I’ve always been enamored with beautiful things,

Things that stir passions, provoke emotion, and inspire.

An open heart creates, and whispers words into another.

Connections are created from those loves and desires.

Together we transcend the confines of physicality,

Imaginative souls carrying worlds to explore.

To be honest, this intimacy is simply described,

It’s the beautiful things of your mind I adore.