the first sign of your death is the giving away from your eyes.

rushmore

goodnight/goodbye.
they are of the same kind.
the one where you'll never see me again.

meet me under the clocks before noon.
let's travel. find an escape. you can pick any platform, any track, any station - the one furthest perhaps ?
the one that makes you smile, across the plains of lush greens.
the one with the wild trees and winds free.

promise me one of these few things.
that you'll find me on the other side of this beach.
either on the sand or in the ocean.
it doesn't matter on which medium we're on as long as you promise me you'll come with me.

kissing the rain

and it felt like rain. gentle and subtle as it was.
falling with the wind. a breeze as it rubbed against me.
touching my lips, as if it was a kiss.
now, a reminder. it was you. always you.
that rain. the kiss. i have time traveled.

write me

the future is a sheet of white paper in your hand.
with a pencil in the other.

yet, you neither own the piece of paper nor the pencil.
God be the Glory.

swim ashore.
you find sand between your toes.
water in your eyes. wind in your spirit.
it has taken you there.

you missed the rocks.
the jagged edges of cliffs.
the strength you took to swim has you this far.

you have in your hands, fate as it were to decide.
to lay down and die between the sands, as to let the waves carry you offshore.
or to make do what your hands and feet can.
until you see smoke from the horizon. to be steady as you may. until another sunrise peeks over your brow.