Day 59/366

I once met a poetic madman,
Who gives away kisses of smoke,
Floating with the wind like a leaf,
His intriguing thoughts flow.

He dreams of a sufi and a killer
Having conversations in the hills.
As he talks or writes or contemplates,
Down my spine his words send a chill.

The middle fish in the deep sea of the mind,
Is what he wants to catch.
To use its juice and create something from it,
Just a moment perhaps.

That strange looking boy,
With his childlike charm,
He treated them well,
Till they raised the alarm.

Day 50/366

The Flower Child
Soul sold to the wind,
She glides across the sand,
The bohemian clothes adorn,
Bracelets clinking on her hand.

The hippie child is a beautiful being,
Writing songs for the deep, blue sea.
In her flowy dress she greets the sun,
Being who she was meant to be.

The flowers in her hair,
The surreal smiles,
Electrifying you from inside,
Her radiance guides.

The notepad and pen safe,
In the cycle's little basket,
She writes about life day to day,
Until the day in her casket.