dreamsnhazel

"To touch your skin is like dreaming," he said. And it was the ridiculous truth. But he was wide awake now, and could only wish for sleep.

And Romeo's bones lay scattered along the horizon: just more junk young Juliet had left behind.

i wish                            you were a soft, cotton blanket                            that i could wrap around myself                            as i sit in an old, weathered                            rocking chair on a screened-in                            front porch. a girl named                            autumn scatters                            the puzzle pieces of an old oak tree                            in the wind, the leaves                            chasing each other gleefully in a game                            of tag that leads them all over the                            front yard unti

other, better poets would probably compare                your eyes to oceans: infinite, full of life,                and inspiring men through the ages to yearn                for more than they already had, for new                horizons. maybe i'm a little selfish for                making your eyes a hidden cove or pond,                guarded by a troop of willow trees and                accessible only through an oft-overlooked                dirt path that branches off from some country                road: my own private oasis                that i haven't even shared with my closest friends. i'm not sure  

  He turned, like the hands on a clock,  and she evaporated into the fog of spirits  that mists through hades, in the same way  that many become clouds when they die.  Like Eurydice, they reach out one last time  for their Orpheus, his umbrella shielding against  their caresses. She remembered that time on  the bridge when he had sung that neither the  determined grip of death, nor the icy currents  of the Styx, could disturb their embrace or  drown their souls, which breathed into each  other and had no need of air. Even now,  the Poet's laments, exhaled in one heart-rending  sigh as he reclined in the

sometimes the moon is ominous, the giant, fiery red of the beast Universe, silently stalking her prey, ready to swallow earth and stars. other times she has the playful, toothy grin of the cheshire cat, eyes closed, eager to lap from the big dipper. occasionally, she is absent from her balcony above the trees, perhaps still upset that romeo chose his juliet in her stead. but tonight, she's wearing shadow just off the shoulder, exposing the delicate ivory slope of her neck. i can tell she won't be content until she's seduced me, so i lay down on the cool, moist earth, the blades of grass tickling my neck and ears, and dance wi

How amazing it is when the sun blossoms after evening rains. I sit here awkward, staring as a schoolboy at his first crush. The sky is breathtaking. Orange melts into red which bleeds into violet and reflects in puddles: reservoirs of color in this pavement desert where I thirst for more. Oh! To taste those heavens and float away forever on melancholy clouds, peaceful, sleeping sweet dreams of nothing and drowning in this celestial moment...

Moonlight echoed through time and space, until it rested on the lonely stage where Orpheus paced the cement floor, searching the empty coliseum for her tender gaze. He consulted his trusted easel of words, phrases, and song to paint the perfect lullaby, whose colors had already made swoon the immense sky with its infinite stars. As he began to hum, she emerged from the shadows as Persephone from her wintry sleep. He opened his mouth to sing, but the voice that had charmed Hades was now absent. In its place was a smile, a foolish grin, that said more in its silence than did Shakespeare in all his sonnets. She descended

the video footage was grainy, and showed one foot gingerly touching down on the unfamiliar surface. a man and a woman sat on a couch, their eyes welling with proud tears: the armstrongs were watching their son neil take his most important steps. wrestling with gravity, he pushed himself forward, slowly, cautiously, his eyes taking everything in from this new vantage point. did the rest of the world take notice when he took one small step after another? another figure entered the screen from behind him, a younger mrs. armstrong, throwing her arms around the young explorer, exulting, "mommy's so proud! so very proud!"

Fireflies are tiny whispers of light in the moonlit conversation we call evening. Their stage is the night sky, and upon it, they dance their mating dance, and all the world falls in love. They are the fireworks that sparkle and fade like nature's grand finale over sleeping fields. They are the fiery angels that glow outside your window, like lightning in a distant cloud. They are the silent sirens who beg children to frame them in mason glass: To fill a jar is to bottle a galaxy, to hold one in your palm is to cradle a star.