The week is over
let’s get this party started
and paint the town red.

Fear of tomorrow
poisons the present and wastes
the blood of the past.

Whispers of twilight
clutch the horizon before
they finally yield.

Season of my heart,
you whose sky is grey and cold:
we shall find the sun.

The allure of night
is in forbidden kisses
and secret lovers.

We always speak of
those on the left and the right –
where are the balanced?

Uncertain futures
shake the timid present and
bring calamity.

The winds of change blow,
full with heavy fragrances:
spring and grace and hope.

The cup warms my hands
and the liquid my heart while
friendship warms my soul.

Insecurities
worm their way inside of me:
chattering madness.