Protected by a suit of dreams
And armed with a smile
He came out of nowhere
And went his own way

Seemingly believing nothing
And walking in no-one else's footsteps
He follows no rules without reasons
But he knows right from wrong
And he knows that's what matters

In a world of easy hypocrisy
Where compassion is stifled by fear
And belief is a reason to hate
To hate and destroy other beliefs
He goes his own way

                              By Phil Roberts

.
So you snuggle in to your bed
as you hear mid-winter calling.
The cold north wind is blowing
as the last of Autumns leaves are falling.
Did you ever stop to think
as you pull up your blankets tight?
That out in the doorways of the city
desperate figures shiver in the night.
Crowding around the soup van
blue hands grasping for the heat.
Hallowed eyes and frightened expressions
as the rain turns to stinging sleet.
The concrete pavements are hard and cold
the bridges provide scant protection.
The hot food and volunteers words
stir memories into recollection.
Once they were people of society
with homes and jobs and cars and love.
Now they fight behind the charity shops
for clothes and coats and hats and gloves.
So as you snuggle deep in your bed
and your fire starts to burn low.
Remember the people of the streets
as the sleet begins to turn to snow.

Pagan Paul (Dec 2008) ©2016

Ghost Torch: Horse: Quiet Storm

When I was a baby I was sleeping in the night.. The indian chief walked into my tent to give me a name.. he then saw a torch floating over me. It was as if a ghost was watching over me holding a torch.. From that day forward I was known as Ghost Torch.. I was taken away from my tribe at a very young age.. I do not know what type of indian I am.. This is my first entry into the Hyperion Archive.. I am 2 of 4 in this world.. I hunt the Nightmare storms that walk this Earth..

Day 1, Year 1889, Month 10..

Weapons: Composite Long bow:
Helios Transformation: Lightning Phoenix Long bow wave series S.AWAY

It makes me look weak,            
                        My tears leaks…      
                My eyes are sore          
        My heart is a bore          
  and My body repeats a painful encore.              

                  I dust away the sad memories,                                        
but it comes along like it’s my adversaries.                  

I hate sadness
It shakes my reality, a piercing faithfulness
                towards my soulful unhappiness.

I don’t need help,
    but in truth I am lying to myself.

You’ll never know, what comes and goes
    yet I am stuck between my toes.

I hunger for that light
    but all that comes is my arresting night.

Perhaps I am doom with my own gloominess.
Starvation and Weariness
                  is a consolation of my messiness
~ a choice with laziness,
         to ponder and wonder
                    to the world’s unending sadness.



*© Pax  September, 2013

Full Moon speaks the last word tonight -
Casual-recherché and light.
In the absence of the sun she
Leafs through the pages of the night
And shoots a side-look at the pond -
Her desire stretches far beyond
His specular contour.

© LazharBouazzi,  November 28, 2016

the night in which
the dead come alive for a while

only to be frightened
right back to death
by the terrible masks and pumpkins
of the living

It's hard to know
where to go
from here
empty pages
            in my book
unwritten before me
and the vastness of ocean
washes over this desert
blurring the lines
between the
wounds inside
and perceptions
               of reality
I am stuck
in this foreign place,
a fine-chiseled limbo
etched upon
           my face
My past strong
behind me
pushing my limits
to the hilt
fingers brushing
new firmaments
                of grace
spilling silver
              from silt

I am ready
to see the future
burst forth and unfold
ready for my
raw elements
to be spun wildly into gold
these invisible wings
after years of
being wound in
            tight, rigid curl
are stretching out slowly
being coaxed to unfurl
And here I stand
my feet sturdy as roots
as the sands of time
bud tender shoots
my eyes locked to the stars
fixed in sanguine dream
no need to staunch
the flow
           of liquid
that freely streams
It pours out
from my eyes,
this river of salt
because growing pains
        sting --
it's nobody's fault
Yet it's
tearing me up
into coarse,
ragged strips
descending
upon me
with scratches and rips
and for every burn
branded into my flesh
new insights
are woven
from putrid
               to fresh
For every laceration
I bear upon this heart
there is a gleam in the garden
as seeds germinate
               their start

And as my soul opens out
      expands in deep
           vital glow
            I am as
             a child
who still needs to grow
Her moonlit eyes
set on
          unknown realms
her pillars fallen,
senses overwhelmed
vulnerably jaded,
yet unafraid
because stars  
sometimes
burst into
novas
creating
new
      light
             from
         shade