falling
unfading
timeless
towards paradise

fingertips streaming
spirals of howling light

beyond the speed of ecstasy
flying blind

knowing unseen
the unbroken strand
that binds two
through boundless halls
of celestial wonder

skimming across astral seas
split the surface
peel back the facade
plunge beyond the deep

spread your wings
for me

envelope me

ride the cresting wave
rushing inside of you
through my tantric eye

we coruscate
and transmute
constantly becoming

infinitely and intricately
being

converged

the cult of the ideal woman.
silent era mignon.
pass the baton.

a little diplomacy.
a little electricity.
and a waterfall of curls.

she moves with the fayre.
I see her idling on Fifth Avenue
and at work behind the counters
of the stores.

besotted men plant young, leafless trees upside-down,
roots in the air, simply because
she wants it that way.

a groundbreaking end
to The Broken Oath,
and her name on the credits
for the very first time.

screens, fans, and umbrella stands.
or maybe lilies in a field of seclusion.
she is stardom.
she is the eternal question.

Our life is a story
   without a title.
   We lost it
   In tittle tattle.
   Hatred,
   wars and battle.
Our life is an arena
Opponents like
A deer and hyena
Pain, tears and sorrow
No hope for today
Or tomorrow.
What's life in a world
Full of people
With an empty word.

I converse with
The voices in my head

They talk slowly
So their guidance isn't misread

I’m buried in a cocoon of stories
From poetry,
To biographies,
To dystopia,
And romance
So many stories
Of so many people
Real,
Or just figments of the author’s
Imagination
Sitting atop wooden bookshelves
Waiting for the right person,
To pick them up
And get lost in their story
For everyone has a story to tell,
Some are overly exaggerated,
And other’s are rarely heard
The important thing is
That we share our stories
Through word of mouth,
The internet,
Or in a notebook
To be found by future historians
Tell your story
Believe me, you won’t regret it