Vanishing 1



Like the dew, so is the days that evaporates into non existences, and like it’s days so is the moment of truth that roles from the lips of a sweet lovers kiss, as is the brisk when that covers me,

And in my thoughts is the hot contemplation of a hold that flames my soul, with nothing to remember I fall into a looking glass, reinventing my self again, watching me walk across this world of wonder,

What minute do I count, so that I may recognize it?

What hour do I reverse, so that I may forget the truth of a ending that creeps into my mind, concealing themselves against my mirror, as the window of my soul is yet not revealed,

And how do I not repeat them in the months to come,

As does the sun that sets in sixteen hours, and the moon and stars that covers the sky so is the indulgence of my life, that overwhelms my view of a ill fated dream, as the night mares are twenty four hours of my days,

A touch haunts me, as the emotionally thought of it’s meaning,

Love first, as is the need to shield it from the harm of my book, and the meaning of life that writes the novel of a woman’s horror, I alone fade away as does the mirror I look out upon,

Secrets whisper stories into my ear, and again I try to cover my ears so that they do not spill from my lips, like poison from a cobras bite, sipping into the blood stream of hate,

The soul is in the eyes, for the truth of the heart sees you for what you are, over and over again, I run into darkness, so that I may cover myself from the vanishing of the soul, my soul,

My arms reach for cover, holding only this is my out look, my force of self, so that I may learn to love, learn to give into the emotionally search of one, me


The acting of a precious I role play life as I am the star, the director, hands clap as the ending is no ending it goes on and on, as to say keep the applause going another line will follow,

My hair stands up a smile beam from my lips, and the glitter of red carpets walks me on a path of more, like hunger, truth beats from this heart, as does the passion of a producers cut,

The curtains open and close so that I may take in it, a photographers flesh, singing to myself I bow as my eyes view them it this,

And again the vanishings of me has concealed it’s write,