Amaranthine; a blog of original poetry

 I see a red leaf float on the lake; Changing shape and form with the bouncing water To become the bouncing water.  Maybe the leaf is Bruce Lee reborn; Being shapeless and formless like water... Or at least it tries. I watch as it bends its yellow veins; Old, Yet solid still, With great difficulty To match the water young... Being reborn in the mountains every moment. It tries But it can only try so much. I see the leaf being swept up on a rock... Stuck there; Not quite as formless now As the water around it. There is no rescue now.

 I overlook the landscape of my mind Like a grey old building; Rusted pipes on the side, People hanging clothes at the balcony... I overlook the landscape of my mind And my view gets blocked By the taller buildings Which rise to hide the sun. In a way it’s good... The sun won’t fall on me, And no one will see the ugliness. The sun won’t fall on me, And I can keep looking at these skyscrapers; Tall and glossy But empty inside... No life, No noise... Just people and computers... Just people at different corners Like dirt swept aside To be thrown out... I overlook the landscape of my mind Like a grey old building And feel proud for what I am...

There is a heart in this strange body; This body bloated and contorted Like an inbred potato. There is a heart in this strange body; Sticking out Like a mushroom amid the moss... Kissing the air and turning red. There is a heart in this strange body That does more than pump fuel to turn gears. The heart can sing when I'm sad, And cry when I’m happy... The heart can go to the hills, The bar, The beach... All on its own. The heart Can touch another heart, And heal another body, And save another soul. The heart does more Than to pump fuel to turn gears. The heart Touches another heart Where it hurts...

 The sun drowns And sends out red minions over the water To find help. They reach the shore And slow down  As they pass through those little purple flowers; Like a family on a couch Watching television... The minions slow down Infatuated by their beauty And forget why they swam so far... Liberated from the past And not knowing the future... Stuck in the moment With the shells, The flowers, The free wind... Stuck in the moment As the sun drowns. They realize that they’re waning away And still doesn’t remember the sun... The sun drowns And sends out red minions over the water To find help. They didn’t search, So all they found Was death...

I know of an invisible statue With only its reflection seen in the water below. I know of an invisible statue And no one knows what it looks like... Because the boats and the gulls and the whales Keep disturbing the water, Contorting and stretching the reflection Into floating lines which stretch and break Like moonlight on a lake... Constantly moving around... Trying to come together And failing. I know of an invisible statue And I’ve speculated what it looks like; Maybe a Rodin; Nude And bountiful with masculinity.. Maybe a castle Made invisible to the enemies..  Maybe a handicapped angel Or a god with a slit on his face... No one knows what it looks like... Until one day the water overflows And the boats take shelter. No one knows what it looks like... Until that day When we saw a pile of bricks Looking back at us from the water...

  I look up And see the sun leak through This sieve of leaves Making the misty air visible; Moving away like a ghost Afraid of daylight, Letting the light all the way through To my face... It grows brighter But I don’t move; Stuck there Like a money plant without support Dreaming to jump at the rope above it... But only dreaming As it can’t even try To fail... I look up And see the sun leak through This sieve of leaves... And I keep looking Until I see a twinkle here and there. I keep looking Until there's a hole in the eye; The world swirling Like a film of soap on water All swimming with rainbow colours... I keep looking Until the hole in my eye grows so wide There’s only darkness left...

 I look out from the deck And enjoy the scene; The mighty ocean stretching endlessly... Not liking being stretched... Constantly whimpering In a loud silence; Quiet Yet very audible to a lonely listener Who himself is in pain. I look out from the deck At the ocean; Old Because of the wrinkled water, Young Because the wrinkles move Like one huge heart With a subtle pulse... That touches everything immersed in it; Actually Or metaphorically.