Heading down to the catacombs   of the house, the tomb of forty years   of unfinished pieces, a boulevard of broken dreams,   half-finished art,   empty frames waiting,   longing for their masterpieces.   Past lines unwritten, words without arrangement that spilled out as ghosts   with nowhere to go. Time to dust off my life,   set...

His eyes shine, like heavenly stars,twinkling dreams, plucked from the sky,yet so far away for I to capture. Eyes deep, like wishing wells,flooding my heart with emotiononce thought to be frozen. His eyes dark, like ink spilled on paper,writing messages on...