Dancing HandsThere exists a pair-two partners of swing,that dance through the airas though queen and king.They waltz during hoursof boredom and pain.slow footwork a-flowers,as in a spring rain.Each hand quickly spinsin times of pure joy.among smiles and grinsof a girl and a boy.Yet year after year,the dance doesn't die.no matter your fears,time will always go by.
Skin Haikupale and tautover hills and valleys.the other wants to touch.
Stargazing Haikustars:hot breathfloats chilled
Fall Haikubox of colorscrisporchard day
The Land of Voiceless EchoA ghost town. A little ranch. Stillness all aroun'No animals. No conversation. A single man in town.The day is late. The air is cold. Shadows quickly grow.He trudges on. The house is near, windowpanes aglow.Fluffy white engulfs the fence. He tunnels to the porch.The door is cracked; the white jumps back. Darkness to a torch.He stomps his feet. Layers drop; bare skin at last exposed.He drags the wood o'er to the fire; for hours the flames have dozed.The man slips back into a chair. Slumber soon to follow.The dreams drip deep into his past- sad in which to wallow.A girl, a boy, a summer night. Futures yet unbroken.Years have gone by, seasons changed, vows remain unspoken.Yet the man, with no one around, labors, waits, and hopes.Ever fueled and forever hurting, he sits, stares, mopes.The wind howls. The sun has left. Darkness everywhere.Around the world, angels weep; doom is in the air.