before time passed in lurching regularity

or colors were taped to there objects,

way back when stars were candles

and death was an optional thing.


i caught the wind.


the sent of blue sky just after lighting still comes to mind

the cats breath breeze ghosting over my skin.

i, a child who thinks he has ensnared an insect,

the wind in my cupped hand ,

peering eagerly to see-

i found it had flown.


and still i look

even now, years later when color is flat and time is rough.

i follow the wind into full  sails and  on top of tall sea cliffs.

i keep my hands open, because someday-

i’ll catch it

-paris blye


mind the way you fall

thinking is hard but i need the thrill

i live in dreams, life bent to will

words are colors this is why i wright

this may seam wrong but i don’t take flight

no, i fall deep, water shutting my eyes

this is thrilling i don’t know why anyone flies

sway a story with your lightest touch

a single word can stand for much

twisted fables to catch a web

weaving a weft to some life thread

rest your eyes, few pages are bare

your sweeping tale will now sleep there

-paris blye