I'm thinking of writing you a letter
One wordy, thorough, and long
I'll write down every thought
Every poem, pleasure, song.

It would take days to write
Precious ticks of the time
Still no hours could amount
To the pain within each rhyme

So many words I wish to finish
I'm filled with weeping wounds
Tears that crept from my crys
Dreams ridiculously ruined

When my hands start aching
And the paper has been soaked through
I'll fold up my whole heart
And ill sign it addressed to you

I'll pay that single cent
For a stamp in the corner
And I'll sign my name in black
Like a dedicated mourner

For the next millenia I'll wait
For a reply that'll never come
There's no return on that letter
Since I'm so desperate to be done

The veiled moon emits
the strangest obscure light.
Silently awakening
the secret world of my dark delights.
Yet the tide twinkles,
blinding bright.
On the ancient shore
of my mind tonight.
Mysterious memories swirl
that have haunted me before.
As a dark euphoria sedates my core.
In the center of my soul,
exists a vaulted door.
Where the ghosts of the heart reside.
To go inside,
exposes every secret you ache to confide.
Whoever told me there is no magic
lied to my seeing, searching eyes.
The night is silent, can you hear it....
The world's dark veined ecstasies,
sustain my sparkling startled spirit.

Place me
On a waterfalls edge
              Above fifty fathoms
To be humbled
With my aggression
One step in front
At arms length
At the distance it finds
                         Its fulfilment
Then from one step behind
I’ll gaze through aggression
            To witness the point
            From where discipline dissolved

Feathers fill an earthenware vase
                                         Tall quills  
Suiting ink wells
Scribing words beneath candle
Signing treaty’s  
                           Secured with wax
The Magna Carta
The Declaration of Independence
                         Momentous things

But these are simple feathers
Collected for aesthetics
For smudging
For connection
   For reasons other than to write

there’s an
impostor
in the mirror
and she has
my smile.

No love is true or false
Love is love
Same for all
Sacred and pure.

It is just that
Some people love and
some only pretend.