Monastery

There you sit, your throne of thorns,
Watching, observing, pick and choose,
Sitting, unmoving, trying to win.
Unsettled, restless, you leave me.
Purposeless, or maybe just self-content,
Nothing obtained, nothing undone.
Your faces they turn, intense,
Each face a new thorn,
Pricking and prodding,
Etching its lines, on my hands.
On these hands that are perfection,
These hands that bear your whips.
Pretending that you hold a wand,
On that very throne, you stay,
Your scepter will soon lose its charm,
As I turn and walk away.

Staring at the sun

Undefined, is what it feels.
Inversions within.
The ice breaks water,
Tricklings of water,
Downpours heavily.
Hearts turn blue,
When the pour, such pour,
Gives shine to another.
Clouds now, covert rays,
Trying to pierce through,
Blocked by sight,
Stopped at sight.
Standing in the center,
Green everywhere,
Falling drops,
Just gushes here,
More clouds, covert rays,
Protecting eyes from suicide.

Confined No End

The touch of inifinity
As it crawls through time.
Absorbed explosions in a moment.
To the left lay shattered bits,
Old and worn out, yet wise,
To the right, the anewed,
Revived and alive, new born.
While the inifinite pierces on,
The borderlines lay still,
Arched through finite spaces,
Creating our forevers.
On those fences stay our worlds,
Perched on the brinks,
Balancing along,
Till with our last breaths,
We fall.