A Trip Back

She shares a post,
Her city’s museum,
Opposite to Pizza Hut,
But for her to see my past,
To see how I sculpted myself,
How the poetry in life smiled,
Is all I ever want,
And all I care now
Is to see her blossoming,
A renaissance,
An emotional revolution,
I am my own museum,
Worldwide collections,
With a recent discovery,
An Arabian exhibition,
A reconnection to my past,
To her own museum,
And to our blessed future.

Advertisements

Read Between the Lines

A chronicler dwells in clear waters,
Just on the outskirts of a red post,
The prison, to which many others
Have escaped, is now left behind
To crumble before emerald trees,
Maps drawn to find this treasure,
But a compass might fail to work
Over here next to the nine paths,
The legend might just be a myth,
But to me, you only have to heed,
There is this man who disappeared
Behind the shadows of two sisters
That resided the crumbling prison,
So, avoid the chronicler that dwells
In clear waters for your own sake,
Find those who escaped and set
Them free from this awfully chaotic
World that is deemed to fall in the
Wrong hands like that of the sisters,
But love the rituals in the legend,
Sketched out of suns and moons,
Sending the star back to the post.