out of his head

he was not his mind
his thoughts he left behind
in puddles of water
in the sun he seemed softer
perhaps the rays touched the author
as the stars pierce the onyx
pin holes in his memory
so his silence seemed sonic
hence he spoke with his vision
that was all he could promise
and he lived in the moment
all his past he abolished
the future was not written
he felt it dishonest
and he thought of it little
in the moment he frolicked
it was now he was living
every second was life
every instant was real
every other was trite
he was bored of his prison
so he entered the light
and he never looked back
and he finally took flight

from my window

the sirens scream
the flash of steel
amidst the stone and ferris beams;
the constant whirl of all the world
cross section of humanity.
but where are all the flowers?
can they bloom in this calamity?
i think not.
we have stolen all their vanity...