As the crow cries while my dove dies,
To that which a tear is of my river and of the land
Whereas are the mountains grows from the ocean of my blood.
I will not carry this samsonite filled of linens soaked of all my anxieties,
Which the past bled onto it and left me in all the stations from Oslo to Kyoto.
My destination would be you and loving you with all of me,
as you will toss my baggage over that Danube,
While my naked soul will be clothed not by our love,
While my third eye is poked,
Time would be our shelter,
Space and thoughts are our transportation,
Love be the guide.
®ohms, all works thereof
I am trying to look. . .
The void which can be emptied and be filled,
Yet still be of nothing and something in between.
I asked it,
It told me.
Go out breathe that which is free,
Go out stand amongst the weightless water.
Go out and run into all hills of others.
You will see,
You will touch,
You can smell,
All that is and be all that can never be yours.
In some sense it was and will always be yours not to take nor make.
Only time will love you for what you are,
Not the one you are becoming,
Breathe damn fool,
© Oliver Melendez
® Ohms, Artsydhude
what do you do,
when the past keeps you at bay,
then it happens,
the past is,
the past was,
and is the devil comes at you.
That present moment where it does not hide.
that does not care.
that tells you all truth of moments.
That is the Jesus message that makes me divinely blessed.
So do I dare compare the contrast,
the Why do I even do all things
I can do for tomorrow,
coz I will be looking for optimum optimism in sacred places in between.
Peel the light,
where you wore that sticker in two,
Then shine me wity a darkness of
Let that sleep steal me a sole,
where in my dreams
I can walk to you,
by morning night,
I will be there.
Burst this bubble,
then ask a wrap
to make traps of tails,
a huge grin made me happy
coz I knew what was and is
Don’t shed a tear my blue sky,
as my dry earth come near to me
would I be good son to you two,
and never ask why.
Coz i know of you,
I will protect my heart,
and in your honor I give,
not of promoting but
be of service
a kind gentle soul.
Know I can begin not today
as the moment makes me
not to be in sorrow.
. . .
Let the wind in from my foot,
Let that sun shine at the back of my backpack,
Give me my excuse from a doctor
Hand me my emotion from a door that it bore,
Why then can’t I cry anymore,
Why am I glad to be mad at myself,