Poem of a Prisoner

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
Behold a radiant sun
there is such oxygen here
the water is guilty of being clear
all the flocks of chickens in wait
for the moon to rest upon their slates
oh no, there's another time to die
pry open the box, with a little lie
I opened your mind, your eyes, your eyes
and they threw you to the fishes
cleaned you like the plates, so broken
anchored here, we can see for ever
eternally starkissed, by the angel in the rise
don't ever close your eyes.

from her innocence, love formed on a vine
dreams comatose, though, deprived of sunshine
then she became drunk on life's red wine
where often life would leave unsaid
what others never minded.

through entrenched moments of darkness
came that unyielding spark of being
that trudged through winters misted copses
before cruel autumn turned hopes to losses

in delinquent mania rose, the sun
and cryptic scribbles rose winter's moon
her lips bled avarice, kissed dreams in lust
holding each hand in perfect trust

the rose parade began it's guilty procession
across gravel to stairways beyond comprehension
where midnight dipped reds violets in hues
giving the enchantress temptation's clues

with deep raven eyes, angelic tears flew
upon the sea green earth of morning dew
a special memory that wept beyond hue
and softened into bright stars of love
without truth

When shall my eyes stop fearing
the sharp light in which I woke up trembling
where there were your immaculate
conceptions, the rules of galaxies
yet below were these obvious realms

I am forever chasing life's practical convoy
immortally wounded destined to repeat
with arms outstretched in praise of defeat
reaching out to the past here I can enjoy
sparkling crystal stars shed at my feet
into your arms at long last, I retreat

and yet, her reflections have blinded my eyes
what we held in our hands, distorted my mind
not knowing the answer was that we had designed
a mirror device, a weapon of lies

Now slaves to endless wars of hypocrisies
Look at how this playground has come to ruin
we all fall down like the fruits of paradise
destined to die only to begin again

In a garden of imagination, where dreams can be
free like the fruits of our past, that fell into our hands
reaching out to the universe and to mankind
one whose grace shines on so bright and so blind.

The spirit's pathos so wide, so wise
we have earned futures in our questing
though relics of the past, have all been burned
we will carry on--always guessing

both the darkest seas, brightest shimmer of stars
could not be valued as much- for they would never be ours
so as the spark sang for the rain and cried out to the light
in the darkest corners, a mind fell prey

to doubting its trapped state
we reigned--before we were washed away
as timeless and grand as a canyon
thus my eyes began their test
for a light that looked inward
& comprehended itself of more than at best

in blanketed darkness--
so many words, symbols of what we cannot name
more than I ever could
I now see how that when I cried
I released this thirst
and filled the silver cups of kings

So do not be distressed when you
cry those tears of sorrow
while one may think it's over
I still have these feelings for tomorrow.