I sit back to reflect
Of what I expect,
Life to be
With just you and me
I thought that it would be
A life that was easy and free
Where we could come & go
And often take things slow
We could take a long ride
Or take a walk side by side
There would be strolling hand in hand
While walking on good sand
Spending a wintery a wintry night
with soft music and candle light
peeking out windows to watch
the falling snow...
And watching the dyings embers glow
As years go by, i know I'll find
That you will always be mine
I said I love you today
But for me, today is for always
WHAT I’M VISUALIZING
Hock what ever have to get here
A place where bodies never ache
folks aging brittle bones and hips
never bother them never break.
Moments of pure sanity stays
and forgetfulness disappears.
On blanket under navy skies
creepy crawlers raise no fears.
Fields of possibility blossom
Confidence is no longer lost
Opportunity presents itself
You allow God to be your boss.
For moment let me continue
allow imagination to fly
death and dyings been destroyed
sorrows are past …no reason cry!
No violence or hate in this place
the meek have so much more to do.
Hope you will be looking for me
you better believe searching for you.
Imagine evil one Satan
and rebellious humans gone,
tormenting wicked spirits too
adios, farewell, bye and so long!
Imagine ocean waves whispering
as rushes in to kiss the earth,
for mankind God created this!
Million years before Adams birth!
This more than imagination.
Where goodbyes are not forever.
The Earth I’ve been visualizing
Has God made a planet better?
Barbara Barry-Nishanian
Feb 26, 2018
>
There was the he
glistening in the eye
shaped in the green of
the downfalling hills ,
was there the he again
like the words
hiding in the already dyings
of damned also ,
were the procrastination there
on loving the he
were in contrast the laments there
aside the stone of the dugged his life
or the somehow soul of his torn
by and by ,
day and my .
Light leavens leaden doors.
Genealogies of genocide are lost
in long night rides through thistled trees,
dark reunions of distant blood.
Kinships are recounted, mantras murmured
of summer savory and sorrel flaxseed
like scars on wrists, a sparrow grass of needles.
We are immutable, terra cotta with wild glints
of sea-flecked eyes--
a mask of freedom, a final submission.
Origami moths mime legends in tallow lights,
stigmata their small dyings with rites of regeneration:
bleeding dim faiths, sealing silent sins
with the infection of sky.
We become insane shadows, cloistered cousins
of a dark, moist marrow
mythological as opaque men in pale pearled sheets,
chiaroscuro faces written in a white rage of worms.