Frome Smoke, Perfume (a poem)

24. Poetry, Art, Stories
1 
               .•° § °•.

° From Smoke, Perfume

There’s a man they call 'What-If',

No trace of him in 'Cool-Is' drift.

'What-If' just stays, waiting to die...

How 'Cool-Is' flies in the summer sky...



'What-If' sees ash within the smoke,

'Cool-Is' finds perfume in smoke.

Both watch amazed, as moments turn,

And from Fire, new paths they learn!



A drifting thought, a walking stray,

From pockets to buses along the way,

Searching in fate, a maniac’s part,

Intelligent yet silent… art. \*



Writing by now for quite a while,

Writing the sounds that match my style.

Writing non-stop, I feel the thunder,

Writing as fools storm in and plunder!



How Lucifer fell down from on high,

While Jesus climbed back into the sky.

From a divine impact, so bright...

'What-If' becomes 'Cool-Is', refined by light!



I wish you a beautiful day, gentle soul.

I’ve left you a thought to make you whole,

A thought you won’t find, look as you might...

But feeling it, you shine bright.



How lucidly we all may suffer here,

A star falls, yet we feel no fear.

Or a cloud, 'Cool-Is' in its flight,

Slowly fades into the morning light...





                            .•° § °•.
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2

∆∆
° From If to Gift

I know a fellow known as If,
Clearly he’s no Mister Gift.
For If, thought alone takes flight,
While Gift descends from heaven’s height.

Oh, how endlessly he plays,
Pulling faces all his days.
See how If holds tight to ego,
While Gift dances the tango.

If sees ashes in the fume,
Gift finds fragrance and perfume.
Both look on, amazed, inspired,
Seeing both are forged in fire.

As Gift comes from the Universe,
So is the sky itself diverse.
How from heaven down he fell,
If, more smug than words can tell.

If gets lost along his way,
In this vast world, day by day.
Gift discovers, deep in fate,
The finest art it can create.

Toward the highest sky aloft,
If had walked a long way off.
Then from high to low once more,
Gift came back as once before.

When we blindly suffer so,
We are If, yet do not know.
But as Gift at dawn we soar,
Living colors evermore.