Insomnia is like, the last episode
The bouquet of roses in sunlight melting
In the mind of dreams that is free
From attachment or the relativity of experience
I’ve been there done those things
I just don’t remember, the sensations
Were like too actual and the feeling of being real
Was pretentious, like the self-importance of
Youthful moments that were as vivid
Made the seasons more bright
Maybe I choose to respond emotionally
Like April, a time of strength where
I could announce to myself my own passions
So sense could exceed all metaphor
And I could change myself once again
To awaken to the wakefulness that is not sleep
To the yearning that makes my soul on fire
To the fate that does not feel unlike destiny
The bouquet of roses then is held firmly
Like a breast, or a leaf or a life bled, breathed and loved.
Tag Archives: search for authenticity
The Muse of Isern
Author of the only dating advice I care to listen to.
Heidi from Montana, give me unicorns
For breakfast, stories of Silicon valley
Give me a medium to think about Love
To the left, of our hearts where
We left the swag of being Millennials behind
As we scattered the globe with our tiny
Points of light, our storytelling never brighter
With bright eyes we slept on rose thorns
And woke to the sound of soulmates
Dreaming of us, unknown, elsewhere
Heidi from Montana, does a nomad make
A better story, a better lover, do they have
A richer experience to trade for subjective merits
Better illusions, move vivid fantasies?
The bronze rain of time is an omen
It’s waking with us 24/7, like a lizard
Not exactly discontent, but acceptance
These lips are no longer pine-tree sweetened body
Of youth, our minds are becoming all
Too salty harbours of unbelonging and freedom
Tales of freedom and independence
Made into a custom lifestyle, we were not bred for this
We may not breed to repeat this
We still touch unicorns in the clouds
A woman in her mid 30s is the fruit
Of time, where youth caresses wisdom with a spunge
There’s no heaven for the blazing pass
Of golden years that turn to naught
It’s just poetry, in our breath
Our curriculum of Paris never dies
Our silicon valley hearts remain
The better substance of our will
To be happy come what may
Burning like a five-star 5-star sunrise
Over the golden coasts, along the west.
