Here besides
I lay with 4am,
replaying all the
nights before last,
a movie I've seen
a thousand times
plays eternally
and on, and on
forty two inches
of LCD magic,
clear as crystal
they mime life

Hell would be a
fine place,
its fires licking
to catapult against
a silenced verity

"Despair", My faithful companion
I can always count on you
When no one else cares
You are always there

I think I would miss you
If you ever moved on
Where would I turn?
How would I manage?

Would my days be filled with "Hope"?
Might I find "Security" in your absence?
I think they are mighty poor friends
To abandon me so easily

I do not trust them...

I play tag with black memories
Dark forces twist them so
Chasing the half told stories
Through haunted houses of lost souls

Screams of horror echo in the night
Tears squeeze from swollen eyes
Dark shadows creep just out of sight
I can’t see them, though I try

What manner of ghosts do roam?
How do they come alive?
Just tell them go, please go home
If you wish that I survive

Take them away, hold them back
I’ll do anything
Luther, Paddy and good old Jack
The bad, nasty dreams they bring

As the torch of breath chills
betwixt fervour and stillness,
we seeth as time grows stale
yet, for a dark angel abide

Beacons lit at creation quiver
it's last fervour draws ichor,
O, lord of beasts spiral near
thy mane delights to a hair

Gliding darkness doubtlessly
sheathing limbs in tenebrosity,
yet the veil of twilight is worn
as devils spital gleams an heir

Alas, tomorrow will wilt away
as dew on a blades of dawn,
sheltered in the arms of grace
sorrow lastly ceases to dwell

God, you listen to my worries
And cries the capture sleep
The aches that come profoundly
And leave me somewhat meek

The time I spend
Down on my knees
Is time that stands so still
These words that stagger out my mouth
Are daggers set to kill

Petals have melted. At first,
they were blossoming clouds,
then wandering swirls,

completing the cycle,
they are now transparent,
glistening scales on the road.

On the sloping shoulders
the asphalt is black almost oily.
The rain is over.

River has blown up. It stands
in every crevice
reflecting the sky.

And in one of them is my face
on the background of
trembling branches

and emerald leaves.
Or maybe it is my hair entangled
with the late spring

Poetry shoes,
kinda flashy, it's what I choose,
made in Guatamala,
by some poor seamster fella,
the colours of it's outer skin,
stir strange thoughts from deep with-in,
from the depths of my mind,
only to find,
they got me on the go,
as my words start to flow,
to new homes whoever will hear,
many pass by, my words may bring a tear,
or a smile from a memory past,
as good feelings get cast.
Well I just love my poetry shoes,
there se fine and they come in two's!

Walking on the petals
fallen from the fading in the air branches,
thinking it was only leaves from distant autumn,
already forgotten season of the winds,
I have crossed the ocean in my dreams.
Listening to murmur,
droplets on the rooftops, fluttering umbrellas,
thinking it was only distant birds and lonely
shadows resurface on the evening ink
I have lost my caution and I wrote a poem.
Thrown in the wide-world
paper boat is floating in the brown waters,
losing paper soldiers overboard like seeds,

The cool midnight air drifts in through the window,
As I wake to soundless dark.
Beside no one,
With no one,
Alone in the night.
Yet my heart races,
And sweat blooms on my brow.
With him in my heart and mind,
All I can think of is....
Him.

Him who in phantom form haunts my sleep.
Him who causes my body to react,
With loss of words,
Loss of appetite,
Almost loss of sanity.

With blood soaked uniforms,
They hung their weary heads,
Faces that wore the joys of laughter,
Now riddled and tortured by the dead.
Why did they do it?
It was not their battle to fight,
But it was their sons wives & daughters,
That cried into the night.

The fat cat bureaucrat,
Played games of self and stature,
But his blood currency was never paid,
He moves these pawns of war and destruction,
To manoeuvre a military blockade.