This is a poem I wrote almost an year back. I agree that it might not make much sense to
anyone than me. But I love it for its imagery. What would you love it for?

The Living Dead

In the obsolescence that is fast becoming life
The green of the grasses isn't yet white, yet
the sun is paler the moon darker, the raging
ebb and tide of the oceans a pittance to what's inside.

Seething in thy heart's recess and tides
there lie different beings waking in contrasts;
The baked surface cracks often when the
seed waiting for its fortune comes against the bulwark.

I said wow! The sun that so lovely mildly touching
the walls of the building: There was none around
and the orphan beauty made be lonely. Tis not the sun
alone, nor others blind. There is a hole in the heart: that's news.

Schizoid's son. Melting cans. In the hot sun
the cracking fields. Thus runs the faultlines across my
heart. That the only love that I could ever feel
with welling tears is for the kid, the dog; the ants that tide across my path.