My Angst

My angst roams in 
The nothingness of 
Shadows long gone

Melancholia becomes
A souvenir 
In my quill

In the sky's silence
I hear the whisper
Of falling blossoms

Butterflies loiter
On quivering leaves
Honeydew scents

My blood rushes red
Pushing effervescent 
Into pages framed 

A keyboard becomes 
A lifelong friend

My fingers could 
Never get fatigued 
From writing 

Tears become words
I won't know if you have heard

I breathe into a 
constellation born 
In the blue of my quill.


Waltzing through air, this vision with beguiling delicate grace
Like a danseuse figure, poised, carving delicate grace.

A breeze gently embraces this fragile creature
touching nimble limbs, a limber accentuating delicate grace.

Sunlight streams iridescent on her lissome stance
symmetrically lithe and supple, flaunting delicate grace.

Rhythmic movements pattern fawn colored sand creations
nudging grass beneath, with a soothing delicate grace.

The boundless energy of this dainty, flighty antelope
as she ambulates gracefully, epitomizing, delicate grace.

Elusive, mysterious, uninhibited, she basks in nature’s fold
within a cosmos, spangled with, pleasing, delicate grace.

Her vulnerability fills me with foreboding and much fear
of bloodthirsty predators, massacring delicate grace.