The force that lies within
Can take you beyond
Being here and there
Now, the destination is clear
Live the dreams
The time has come to realize
Unseen till now
Wealth of happiness is there

slosh of oars
ripples the night
of tremulous moons

the nightjar soars
on silver light
a sad tune croons!

tides up swell
lap the wood
in ceaseless kiss

moon grows pale
in deep brood
of broken wish

the misty haze
spells the core
spins a dream

mind in daze
forgets shore
drifts upstream!

Beware: a cautionary tale~*

Is this for you a madness true?
We must find out, do not kick or shout~
Let's let the madness descend....

Realer than the realest scream shrieking into your left and out your right.
It begins quite innocent, your mind's descent still lowly you go in the acrid stench.
Your sensitivities perk and sizzle then pummel down to a grizzly pulp.
Your eyes begin to cry a milky film, a sick white goo for which to see through as objects appear like silhouettes.
Outlines are faceless, places are nameless ~
a ghastly ghostly hollow view.

The horror begins to penetrate your skin, tightens around your brittle spine ~ magnetizing your jello brain, your texture has now become insane. Yet lower and lower you let yourself go, you've left behind everything that you know and crept in its place a circus freak show.

You surely would scream for help but the echoes are piercing your hollow shell in which you dwell grows a thickly and prickly personal hell ~ hardens to form your prison.

This story is cautionary, be very weary and please do not go to this lowly low.
It's not so enticing but rather its frightening now that you know how this gruesome ride goes.

All beware and please take care.

You only wear dark clothes when you're sad
now you're wearing black

My hands are the coldest you’ll ever hold
I think my heart is too

I’ll never be big
or small enough to fit in your arms
                                              I always kiss
   the wrong person goodnight

Now ask me how many times you kissed me
then how many times I actually felt something

          Maybe we are just  a lesson that
has gone unlearned
                        Or maybe I just don't know how to end this.

My uncle slit a man's throat with a box cutter in my childhood home and didn't apologize.
Sitting in a circle filled with crack smoke and stale beer breath.
This is a shining example of what I've lived with
and the lengths I've had to go to escape the thing people call "destiny".

Thievery, lies, pressure, and violence
has been calling my name for the longest.
But I know the voice too well to be taunted.  

Words are my freedom and words are my piece of mind.
There is not a single substitute.
Whether poem, prose, or paragraph,
This is the only calling I've ever had.

I've lived with a hoarder, addicts, senility, and ignorance
in a variety of different combinations and forms.
At times, power, water, freedom, money, necessities, have all been an unachievable thing to me.
Lost to the vile goals of those folk I love.
I am the only one who sees the beauty in the fragile and odd.
The others see only a mess on a paper, and move their eyes to the nearest glowing box.

My father drowned when I was six.
My grandfather followed soon after.
My mother felt the stab of this and caved so many times.
I witnessed and shared the burden of her pain and grief.
My grandmother forgot everything she ever loved or knew, and short after passed as well.
Pets and possessions,
friends and followers.
All gone with a drastic breeze.
I am the one with the vision, but I am trapped in a shell of a city,
covered with that wretched stink of refined soy.

Will I be able to unburden the world from myself?
You all give me such great courage and allow me to share the beauty as I see it.
You all have such great skill with symbols and it makes me feel like home isn't far.
I want this. I want this.

If I keep breathing like the rest of the world
I feel I may miss the sound of the world's heartbeat.
But my death would not bring a solution for the ones I love.
Only a warrant for more death.
I need this. I need this.

With my words, I conjure up hell.
And hell brings with it the familiar.
Run little kitties, run.
The Doubling House and The Sequential Church will not hold forever.
My havens are temporary, but the craters are forever.
I will struggle till the pain becomes all I am
and I buckle under the weight of what I shouldn't have taken
from the mighty Atlas.

I do this for me.
I do this for you.