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Albert Camus ~ (1913 – 1960) French philosopher, author, dramatist and journalist. He was the recipient of the 1957 Nobel Prize in Literature at the age of 44.  His works include The Stranger, The Plague, The Myth of Sisyphus, The Fall and The Rebel.

Was there a time,
when what you said,
by spewing obscene words,
from out of your head.

I wonder now,
what it might be,
for you to confess,
your feelings to She.

There are moments,
when I wish to just
go to a quiet place,
curl up and cry.
My emotions, a wreck,
at this moment.

One may think,
you have won,
when at end of day,
you beat the Sun.

Wait not for she,
the anointed one,
as moon and stars,
will soon succumb.

She rode the skies,
with a grand aplomb,
gathering stars, like
they were ripening plums.

Gather moonbeams,
near and far,
placing them gently
into a tinted jar.

Place some stars,
very carefully,
a tinted jar,
is a bright array.

NASA Astronomy Picture of the Day:

Where is the center of the Egg Nebula? Emerging from a cosmic egg, the star in the center of the Egg Nebula is casting away shells of gas and dust as it slowly transforms itself into a white dwarf star. The Egg Nebula is a rapidly evolving pre- planetary nebula spanning about one light year. It lies some 3,000 light-years away toward the northern constellation Cygnus. Thick dust blocks the center star from view, while the dust shells farther out reflect light from this star. Light vibrating in the plane defined by each dust grain, the central star, and the observer is preferentially reflected, causing an effect known as polarization. Measuring the orientation of the polarized light for the Egg Nebula gives clues to location of the hidden source. Taken by Hubble's Advanced Camera for Surveys

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Where stands the man
with a jaded past,
whose righteous ways,
when, the die was cast?

His ways were many,
they wouldn't last.
The sands of time,
passed by, too fast.

My loved one,
sent me away.
"I hate you,
leave, don't stay."

I understand She
doesn't say or know,
the words uttered,
but I will still go.

Words of sadness,
I hear in my ear,
as droplets
form into tears.

My emotions,
shot, as they are,
come from my eyes,
leaving no scar.

In my 40's,
I had a dream
of owning a sports car.
It came true,
a Fiat 124, Spyder,
color, French Blue.

He went West,
towards the rain.
He ached all over,
racked with pain.

Wait one minute,
let me explain,
at the worst it was,
an ankle sprain.

Acting up,
was his style.
Watching him,
made me smile.