sweetbuddha : Writing

Colorblind Sun

Colorblind Sun

A Poem by sweetbuddha


I am the painter of fateInking my intertwined pathsTo the SunWho rises colorblindIn between notes of cloudsLook deep into my soulMy irises are theColo..
taking a toke

taking a toke

A Poem by sweetbuddha


I had a bad day.One of those thatstarted while I was sleeping.Shaking handsand a heart racinglike the horsesin the Kentucky Derby.I kept my mind blank..
fireworks of stars

fireworks of stars

A Poem by sweetbuddha


We'll walk hand in handin a field of daisieseach whispering their little secretsto the wind. The willow treebeyond us dancesin it's own trancethat we ..
the invisible time warp of the moon

the invisible time warp of the moon

A Poem by sweetbuddha


I wipe my handsof the dust thatmy hazy pasthas left behind.I shiver as the last of the burninglight of my fictionalsun slides down into the spineof th..
half- crazy with the reality of it

half- crazy with the reality of it

A Poem by sweetbuddha


1. the skyis unimaginable in it's lucid vastnessas kaleidoscopic clouds skip across thatcliché post- card blueunder which I am goingmodernly in..
tongue on glass

tongue on glass

A Poem by sweetbuddha


a blue jaypaints circlesalong a million silver lined cloudshovering over treeslike a musky mist of love.my tongue on glasssketching a kissexcept you a..
silence

silence

A Poem by sweetbuddha


dreading the silence...i turn the radio dial just until it is perfectlyon a line betweentwo numbers...and all i hear...is pleasant staticvibrating aga..
amonst a million

amonst a million

A Poem by sweetbuddha


there is a millionin this auditoriumthat is meantonly for oneand I am in the spotlight in the backlimelightof limelightsin the grim...dim...spotof att..
a ration of pain

a ration of pain

A Poem by sweetbuddha


it is my turn for a ration of pain in this minute worldwhere mytonguebecomes a rugfor muddy shoes to scratch uponwhen the sky cries into soft tissuesa..
of humor and life

of humor and life

A Poem by sweetbuddha


of which is humourand of which is life that ourdry mouthsgape at the beauty of death?old princesses and younghobgoblinswilllaugh atour naivetethat imi..

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