I do not feel alive so much as when
I am Dedpoet. I do not suffer as my
Alter ego, but I do suffer as a simple
Living being. I do not feel alive as a
Christian, or even a Muslim, or at times
When I am a Pagan. If my name were
Edgar Allan Poe, I would still feel
The sufferings, but not so much alive.
Today I suffer from something deeper,
And being alive is part of the dilemma.

This suffering comes and has no explanation,
It is a sorrow so deep that I feel it was
With me alone in the womb. Where is the
Excitement of life? Where is the fulfilled
Feeling of completed goals? Is it because
I have nothing, so nothing comes
Full circle and becomes a reason?
My depression comes from everywhere,
Like four winds of sorrow spinning
A compass. If I was shot down and taken
From this place, my suffering would
Still be the same, if I came back
Reincarnated I would feel this abyss
Even only in a different body.

I look at the pain of a dying man,
He says goodbye and rights what he can
To those he wronged, But I can find
No redemptive cure for this emptied
Hole inside myself, I am simply in depression.

I always believed a higher power would
Give me a miracle cure for this suffering,
But one's belief is merely the precursor
To death and another life when the suffering
Would end in the divine promise, which is
To say we must be here to suffer and believe
The next life will he a better one. I look at the stars
And wonder about light and dark,
But I have no epiphany, today I am depressed,
Simply and utterly, no matter what happens,
Today is what I feel.

You fall from your body to eternity,
Not to death but in my eyes,
      Your name becomes untouchable,
Falling through a prism of mirrors,
        Each one my memory of you,
The eternal moment is a scattered fable
       As I divide you into words,
Kiss me at the solstice,
         The season bring about separation,
Alter and knife,
         The tremor of the moon on your *******,
Solar lovers in a cosmic body,
         We make two syllables out of love,
We paint the sky unfolding the horizon,
        Transfigures of body and time
The dream realised in another dream,
        I fall into you
             You fall into me,
We meet where the earth and sky kiss....

a deluge,
         a flood,
water flows
          as a seedling
drowns itself in a word
inaudible            deaf
the fertile ages like a promiscuous fire
         buried with flames
passion                 bound to the world
by passion            it is also released

           man the animal
           speech craft of a deserted tongue
filtered                 thoughts retreat
         to fallen realities
sorrowing confusion revolves
      around the charred light
burn the natural flower
      let loose the animal craving
drink of the chalice
from the fictitious mind
         all the world on fire

animalistic morality
      the flame circles
the weeping lion
amidst the penumbras skin
     they weep for the magnetic night
burning inside a compassionate luminosity

        man/animal
a surge of atonements
for the rage inside us

Once, when forever was merchantmen
And time sold in bottles,
Once, when the nocturnal Almighty
Opened the skies to eyes of stars,
I had wings that existed wholely
Like two sides of an ethereality
With the miracle of an illusionistic existence.
       Wings which sang unto open blue
Skies with all the light of a star,
Wings flashing like a storm lightning
And the caress of the moist rain at my
Feathers, the calm of the night.
     I was an angel right?
Once with glory and rhythm
And all the harmony of ineffably
Clear minded hope, did you not pray
Upon the dazzlingly Divine,
Like mercy in flight over the
Sprawling desolation?

Yes, yes I have taken the fall,
The ravenously singular fall
For the lust of a woman and twisting
The Heavens, but I have awaoken suns,
Flown with meteors and shedding
The brilliance of light in the dark,
Even the fullness of the Cosmos
I have known since before when
I danced with constellations and evoked
The deeper lyrical prayers
Of madmen!

One day,
I will lay upon the exhausted earth,
Fall asleep upon the deep soil,
I will dream infinite things once
Again, and I am still in love with you.

Above the spine of snow,
Calm ,white; and here floats
Ice crystals from a dead storm,
And there in the snow a child wins
With a snow ***** chance.

The frozen scapes- grey nostalgia-
With a peculiar memory
Recalls itself in its snowy drifts
And mania like senile tundra.

To add the sum of January
In enthusiastic forms of child play
Like a snow man in fleeces,
The memory is fused.

And far away,
Dreaming maybe of an abstract
Freeze in the heartfelt snow
A child is warmed by the memory.

Insanity is a somber flow of waters;
Its rain above the gentle mind
Is a murmur of moaning thoughts
Ina crooked wind, a subtle chill
In the distant breeze.

Suddenness like air breathed
In torn skies, among the vivid blue,
The thoughts collapsed to the startled
Earth like a great ceiling of copper
And shadow.

The Asylum beneath the slow shadows
In a lunatic fringe upon thistle fields,
Flowering Insanity's bloom like
A vibrant Willow under a filtered sun.

The liquid pain in tangled clots
Of distant sanity unlocking
A rapid downpour of condensed
Versions in reality's mixed afternoon.

The Asylum takes in the deep grief,
The rain takes a pause,
The day long and sad,
In the greyish distance the light
Hits though the smallest window.

Restless eyes,
The luminaries winking,
The night, as if were
The Moon's stage of solitude
Shines vast in the nocturnal glory,
Revealing silken flattery,
The gentle light caresses.

There is a connection
Of the luminal glow
To the eyes whose mind is
Trapped in a cavernous shadow
While fathoming uselessly
Unto the revolving clockwork
Of living,
Like a trance between
An unknown familiarity.

Thoughts carve out timelines
In jigsaw's grip,
The Moon is a portal
In deafening silence,
Faceless memories guided
By forgotten constellations and
One realises the depth of life
And the race of time,
And come sweet soul searching
In the needs of the spirit while
Trembling from regret.

The solitude is an ocean
Keeping one afloat in a
Suspended profile,
Crystalline clarity like a mirror
In polyhedrons,
So much reflection in restlessness.

And we can drown
In this ocean bathed in the Moon,
Like reliving or redoing
All the past making it so
Pure only our souls know
The life lived in another version.

When the thoughts calm
Into the the minds realignment,
The light becomes forgotten
And the nocturnally calm of the spirit
Flies to live another life;
All that remains is the solitude.

When I was young
And a stranger to the world,
With an empty canvas of imaginings
And rhymes,
A fiery red blaster at my hip,
My spirit submitting to the innocence;
My remembrance holds in its selective
Elegance an always evolving memory,
Distinct and treasured
And my soul renders itself
To the innocence of the
The infinite possibilities
Of the moment.

Swat the butterflies whose wings
Decieve the poem and inscribes
Its colored brilliance on gilded flights;
There is no grace to his clunky
Flying and brings repetitive hooplah
To the natural poem and steals
Its personable voice.

Every language has a flow of poetry
Whose inner soul derives of the
Course of one's harmony and rhythm,
And using a star of butterflies in every
Poem brings about the very sameness
We all suffer from daily.

See the beauty in a vulture
Whose glide is magnificent
Spreading his wings in silent
Flight above rolling hills.

His beauty is not that of the
Butterfly, but it's flight is undeniably
Graceful and finding its natural
Poetic flow is deeper still.

A God visits a city,
An Omnipotent One whom
Walks among the dire,
And a woman passes through.
Suddenly she sees God
And her face falls to the ground,
Her blood runs cold
And she feels death coming to her.

But God was confounded,
In all the scared places
In all the faces of even astonished angels,
And the Holy spirits that stopped
To witness the moment,
God did not bring about
Her final moment.

And God remained silent
Outstretching His arms.

But the quaking woman would not
Raise her face from the dust
Where people trampled
On the concrete day in and day out
In inept and rushing,
Still even more a lone tree
Buried among the concrete jungle
Shook in fear,
And the consecrated moment changed.

God,
Mercurial and fiery,
Compassionate and understanding,
Did not and could accept
The woman's reaction,
God with His arms outstretched
Would reach for every human,
And every human still
Trembled in His presence.
And God left the city,
His amorous presence could
Not inspire the people with
Holy reactions of love and embrace
For their true Father.

And God went unto the Heavens,
Arms outstretched,
Alone and omnipresent.