Monday, January 7, 2013

Cyan Prince

My first glimps of him.
Tucked away in a room of strangers.
The hair was a beacon.
Perhapse it glowed
the halo just above
Hidden from my eyes
Reflected in the locks
Pulling my eyes to him.
Perhapse I should introduce myself?
I was introduced to the golden kid, and there
Listening to the shy tones of his voice
I saw something in him.
Hits of personality I'd discover later
Foreshadowing illuminated by his smile.
Or maybe I just liked the way he looked at me
Eyes inquisitive
Quite flattering.
And if indeed time and setting were merely options
If the stage could be changed.
I could see this young man, this bright eyes peach
This darling boy
As royal in room of nobels.
A gathering of merchant lords and honored intellectuals
Gather here today to trade wit and dry humor
The topic being the duldrums of life.
In the middles, flowing between conversations
Would be him, the Cyan Prince.
The gathering and pageantry his playground.
I, a man of purple persuasion
would still be drawn to his glow
And indeed our voices would paint a friendship
On the canvis we casually refer to as life.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Everchanging reflection

One morning I wake and see a boy I hate
His sad eyes reflecting back at me in the mirror
A dull, dim witted gaze scanning for direction
Under differ circumstances
If moments were replayable
Each with different chances
Someoutcomes sevens
Others snake eyes
I'd gut this kid in the mirror
For neck to thighs
Bath I his ashes, fresh from the kindling
Grind them
Make a pigment
Symbolic sentament
From this grey I'd color a mask
Wear it night, dance on the boys grave
Wake to find a new man in the mirror
This one handsome and strong
The curves of his chin witty and mysterious
His voice soothing and deep
I'd love his man till the end of my day
Bury myself in his grave, just an inch to the left.
I'd rise from the grave late that night
Walk home, go to bed delirious
Wake up the next morning and see the person I am
My reflection as mystery.