Running out of time and The beggar's coinage

 The dictator today has time 

to watch the birdies fly away

enjoy the view of his hills

spot the dots of people down below

merge into a scene he has no control.

He cannot synchronize those birds as

he would wish or even melt the snow.

He cannot know the thoughts of those down below.

Our dictator knows even his power

cannot make beauty more fair. 

*******

He seems so ill to them

so fallen

so rich with dirt

and pills and penny pieces

and his own private 

purple haze

to those who deign

to gaze at him, all, so loaded with

their own stones, 

never, in this sun of eyes, ever

going to get home.

To them I write, 

in their dark and light

lost in the mixing colours,

to her he loves, this love

the Junkie could not kill.

 

Dream by Adam L Parry.

 

Red bright, in my beautiful dream, a snow queen

long locked away- our

eyes met over the ice-cream counter-

a green bag over her shoulder

of plastic and black

her pale face, unmarred,

unfreckled, she sleepwalks

to work, dreams her own

dreams counting the footprints in the snow

I left behind.

Perhaps, perhaps the snow

Queen will come to me as I sleep

In Beauty.

The Mirror Bar ( FOR LARA) by ADAM Parry

 So strange that dream,

lucid , leering, it comes again.

She looks weightless as a whisper

so strange so many dreams all special effects in her daymares

 so unaware as kaleidescopes mirror in her blue, blue eyes.

Secure in her own colours, needs no tints or photoshop

to make her more beautiful 

 her eyes not yet a faded blue prized with life her blue she won.

let her lie, gently her eyes close. let her dream of the day sleepers

their stares and the of wonder of the lightkeepers.