Purposefully striding forward
condescending
you do not greet me
with affection
or love.
Destructive
stored up frustrations
take aim at me
from the weapon
that resides in your heart
and shoots from your mouth.
Coldness
condemnation
your only form of interaction.
Relentless disapproval
meant to reprimand me
like a child
and with it
an attempt to steal my joy.

The I at the centre of my universe
is mentally, physically so unaware
that multiple sentience, widely diverse
with manifold centres of I's, with me share

through various insights accorded to all
the wonders of manifest here for the soul
The better for digest and easy recall
the singular works are removed from the whole

The entire universe splintered and vibrant
decoded by infinite angles of view
examined by limitless sense, endless agents
and never one single I really accrues

in summer

I miss you dear Persephone
although you're not long gone I know
but summer's heat is killing me
I miss you dear Persephone
down here in the Antipodes
we swelter, feeling great sorrow
I miss you dear Persephone
although you're not long gone I know

in autumn

I've always wanted to be known
as the girl who was always laughing.
Someone carefree and whimsical.
A voice that can make you float to the clouds
and lay there next to her
not worrying of how much time has passed
and spending forever
telling stories and dancing through the sky
because nothing else mattered.

Intangible, soft colours gently drift
in streams of many tones, across the void -
creation's water's vibrant, bejewelled gift
there for my humble eyes, to be enjoyed

But truly too far distant to behold
for vision that's contained by time, confined
to me its symmetry will yet unfold
when my soul-self, again, is re-defined

I'll leave behind this dirt I've worn and trod
exchange it then for light of fiery essence
and be set loose to wander throughout god
in galleons of lustrous luminescence

While I slip here between dimensions
you hold my hand, confusions reign
As one world, then another hastens
you keep me 'safe', on firm terrain

I see the dead walk with the living
while I slip here between dimensions
A frightening thing this part of aging
where crimson reason softens, weakens

and intuition deepens, sharpens
brightening knowledge long forgot
While I slip here between dimensions
just who are you to say I'm not?

I'm bored down here with this bit role; I can't take life to heart.
Next time you're casting I'll audition for a more appealing part.

Perhaps I could portray the villain, play the evil shark -
like maybe the French Emperor, Bad Nap Bonaparte,
or have a wonderful adventure planned out from the start
and fly around the world, can I understudy Earhart?

Reflecting pools of glistening memories,

there'll be a golden octave reaching down.

'Twill signal final end to all our quandaries,

so when the man they talk of comes around.

There’ll be a golden octave reaching down,

this universe of ashes will go Home,

soft liquid shimmers, silent lights resound,

as angels will affirm shalam shalom.

'Twill signal final end to all our quandaries

I am loosing it
At the edge of sanity
Another step and damned
The aura of madness below
Menacingly stretching its murky lips

Fate; her claws wedged in my skin
Just like others I am a victim, blame her
Dragged spiteful through her coarse domain
Cursing while she chuckles. 'This is life.’ She says

Free drops of ink
have forth called
my innate talent,
my inner poet.

They've shown me how
potently they can write
about the unseen and
feelings deeply hidden.