Beyond passion we embrace the dark
A bodiless bliss as we make are mark
Temptation tease, even want becomes needs
Fulfillments fulfilled, even pleasures are pleased
We draw to the surface the quickening quench
Bathe in the purposeful finger tip stench

We lurk in the shadows cast by the meek
Who have inherited a world ruled by deceit...
With the wisdom of ages to guide our flight
We exist unnoticed under cover of night
We live for love yet hate sets us free
We search for truth in a worlc deceived

A simple twitch of an eye reveals a white lie
The calming of a heart as a nagging fear subsides
All is still as the dawn peaks the tranquil hour
Blinding rays of solar death seek evil to devour

Yet we are safe and sound from such a demon trap
When the forces of nature consummate our final path
Yet beware of such freewill that leads to new sin
For we are all mere mortals that fear an end...

We are all just mere victims
Of people who pursue hidden agendas
Of their own fancies and their whims
Games of people and their vendettas;
While we the simple and gullible
Are caught in the cross fire
And suffer problems unimaginable;
Until the protagonist doth tire
And let us pursue our goal
Which by then become intangible;
So that we end up caught in the shoal
And still remain eligible
And do not victimize those who try
Those who mean to, us destroy
To destroy us and doth us fry
But we are like Helen of Troy
The cause of wars of the world
For we are all just mere victims
Of people who pursue agendas
Which are unworthy even of our rectums

Even now, as we lie here, heartbeats like a metronome for the coming storm, I write songs in my head for you. And though my voice will never sing them, they are the soundtrack of your kiss. Each record scratch on my heart like a pressed vinyl love letter. Shaping my sinking chest into drum skins that my pulse beats against.

If I were covered in magic dust, you would be my happy thought. And all my childish notions of what it means to be romantic would be written down the sides of Chianti bottles in melted wax, like an oak. And in that bottle we would keep our hungry mouths.

And still I find my heart adrift. Ripped sails and ropes leading skyward like veins. Split and tattered and stitched haphazardly together, waiting for the lightning to strike twice and bring it to life. My throat a bricked flue, leading to an open mouth, spitting smoke from the torches my heart fears but always seems to carry.

And I stretch my spine skyward. Trying to wedge my head back into the clouds but manage only to cast the shadow of an orchid that has begun to lose its color and wilt at the edges of its wingspan. Coming to terms with the idea that it may never be picked. Not even its petals, even numbered like a deck stacked against it that it might lose in a game of being loved and loved not.

We want for a little more time. Arm wrestling clock hands into submission with god like fury. Ticking tongues to dampen the prophecy of false mediums. We practice fighting so we may fight for each other. Fight for the greener grass on the other side of the pavement walls we draw our chalk hearts on.

The clock tower is a lighthouse. The lighthouse is a windmill. The windmill is a giant. The stories never end.

Even now as we lie here, heartbeats like a metronome for the coming storm, I write bed time stories in my head for you.

His nights are restless, endless dreams
of young men climbing ladders.
The ones who stop to fix their vests
are left below, row after row
there seems no end, distorted faces,
silent screams through bottle bottom glass.

Twenty winters wishing that
the dream might finally end,
he tilts his head and looks at God
above his bed, a crucifix upon the wall,
his Jesus hangs and bleeds for sins
of lesser men but for him there is no comfort,
he can't escape the scene of drifting death
and flotsam, sailors drinking blood
from swollen corpses, greedy
in the eyes like the sharks
that encircle them.

When daylight comes
still no relief, he sits among
his salty sheets and chokes
on waves of guilt. Deceit
will always be his master,
every day no different
than the rest
except,
today he’s had enough,
the dead,
they will not cease their torment.

Twenty winters waiting
but the dead won’t go away.

The boys who stopped to fix their vests
The man with gaping wound in chest
The burning wreckage going down
The screams of those who soon would drown
The oily water thick as mud
The utter chaos, flesh and blood
The rabid thirst he could not quench
afloat in pools of human stench

He goes outside and lies upon
the grass, a Navy Colt revolver
in one hand, a toy soldier in the other,
he puts the gun against his head
and pulls the trigger.

Twenty winters

Twenty winters

Rest

Now or never
whether we want to or not
they've got us by the balls
and though we built walls
to defend against these invaders of free will
we will need to be stronger
build our walls bigger and better than ever before
and let them kick out the windows and doors
we'll just brick them up and no one gets in
and no one gets out
and no one but no one knows what this is all about.
but the walls stay because they want us to rot
they've got us by the balls and all we can do is build more and more walls
and who wins in the end?
when we're all sent to Coventry with bags of cement so we can lend some authority to the people up there
and they don't give a damn
they jam us into categories with the same krappy old stories
that it's good for our health while they're spending the wealth that they stole from the miners and while they're dining on beef
we're starving
good grief
and they've got us by the balls
in glass coloured test tubes lubricated,dedicated to the rise of the monarchs
and it can't be for real
we'd never allow that
but laying flat on our back and winking eyes at the sun
is where this begun.
In the minds of the merchants and in the pockets of wise men
in the back alleys of bigots and bigshots
and what have we got?
you know it,
A box full of sawdust and a whole heap of shit
so the walls get a little longer
a little stronger
but they'll break us one day
and take us away to a recycle plant
and they'll plant us as seeds to service their needs
and their needs will get greater the later they leave it
there's a whole load of shit
a coming our way.

Most times I find myself lost
Lost in times, places,
Held captive in my thoughts
It's ok it's ok it's ok
The grass helps me forget
As I lay absorbed in its warmth.
There is smoke in the distance,
Or is it right next to me?
I don't know anymore

Nor do I care
I just let myself go off most times
I love to go off most times,
As much as I loved my family
Who stood by my side 'til their end.

My dear sister was quite the artist
Quite the artist indeed
She had this distinct flight in her work,
Or was it flow?
I'm getting lost again.
These colors they did cling to each other
As if they've known each other since long ago.
I would get lost in these paintings
And would remember the times I saw these colors,
Like the blue in the bay
Protected by the army,
Like the brown windmill
That I climbed with my best friend,
Damn I forgot he was there with me,
Like the yellow in my dog's eyes
When she and I saw a man burn to death.
It's too bad Auntie hid those paintings
Beyond the basement.

My father died in the Korean War,
Oh captain, my captain
You failed to return
But don't fret
I raised my flag for you this morning
And every morning,
Waiting for your safe return.

You had dark eyes, right?
Yes, you had to have dark eyes
Only dark men have dark eyes, but
You did it for a good cause dear father
And for your country you swam on that iron boat
And died just like your sweet daughter:
Hanging yourself because you could not find success with your art.
Wait, that's not right.
Your art was success, Sun Tzu would be proud
Of your noble smooth sacrifice,
All the while taking on the pitter-patter of rain.

My mother died just now,
Yeah just now in front of my eyes.
It's weird to see her like this
All old, cold, and stiff.
Maybe she's nervous, don't know why
She's going to a good place.
Might just be the rigor mortis kicking in,
My mother was always a speedy one
Never skipping a beat
Or strum
Or note.
Funny for her to be sitting
Directing phone calls
Which would end up being lost anyway
Because no one knew how to talk back then,
Not after the Korean War.

There was one song my mom would sing,
Not sing actually just hum
I don't know what song it was
I believed she made it up,
Which was so brilliant.
Sometimes I would close my eyes
(Like I'm doing right now)
And insert words into my mother's song.
I would sing things like:
How long are you gonna let it rain
Shifting through the tides of pain
You lost yourself for good this time
Dear boy you got yourself a rhyme.
That's what music sounded like to me back then,
Hell it still does.
Guess that means I'm still lost then, huh?

One day, when I awoke,
I remembered a nightmare I had that previous night.

I was at a school, a haunted school,
With a group of girls I didn't know.
They were there to release the spirits of three sisters
Who were trapped there by a mysterious phantom.

The first girl was named Clara,
She had hazelnut hair, hazelnut eyes,
A heart that could only be described as infinite.
She was the oldest of the three.

The second girl was named Nora,
She had a sense for adventure and heroics,
Her eyes only looked forward,
And would sacrifice herself to save her friends.
She was the middle of the three.

The third girl was named Mary,
She had a tame body and never really spoke up,
What she had in shyness she made up with her smile,
And she liked to sing and dance.
She was the youngest of the three.

We climbed up the fire escape behind the school,
The ladder was sticky,
We couldn't tell what it was because it was so dark
No one had thought to bring a flashlight.
We reached an unlocked door
That Nora keenly opened up.
Bella scolded her to be more careful,
But surprisingly Mary was the first to enter
And she hid behind the door to let us through.
It was me, then Nora, then Clara
As we entered a brightly lit hallway
With a door all the way at the end.
And so we walked.

Nora jumped ahead of me,
While Clara stayed behind with Mary
Who regretted her jump start.
So we walked down the hall quietly
With Nora making giggles here and there,
I would look over my shoulder every now and then
To make sure Mary and Clara were fine.
Mary held her hands behind her back
And was looking at her feet,
Clara was looking ahead with her hands together in front
She titled her head, and smiled.
For someone whose sister is lost
She seemed quite content with the people she was with.

Eventually, we reached the door
Which looked like a plain old door,
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary about it.
Nora haphazardly opened it only ajar
Because Mary shouted to stop.
Nora looked back with a questioned stare.
Clara took it upon herself to slowly open the door
And make sure everything was safe.
I just stood there breathless.
Clara called us over one by one
To the strangest wooded area.
A wooded area in a school
It was covered with black trees, dead orange grass,
And a purple sky with a yellow full moon.
There were no visible creatures,
Yet I felt like we were being watched.

We walked through the crusty grass
Whispering where we should go.
Nora pointed her finger to the distance.
Clara, Nora, and Mary marched ahead of me
All determined to move forward,
Although Mary let Nora and Clara walk in front of her.

At this point I realized
I was like a ghost to these girls,
I seemed more like a wish
And more and more
Like a wish to save them.

We entered a clearing
And saw the large faceless dark phantom
Breathing cold air.
The girls and I stood stiff
And the phantom took it upon himself
To come to us.
He stood in front of the girls,
All three of them were crying bloody tears.
The phantoms pat the girls on the head,
Comforting them genuinely.
He took them into his darkness,
And they disappeared from my sight.

The figures through the leaves
And the light through the smoke
Lanterns carried by thieves
Wicked quiet young folk
 
It’s in their blood to rob
The world made it so clear
For the countless endless mob
To bring countless endless fear
 
Amongst the silent night
Within the heartless dust
There the crocs will bite
And blood will run from us
 
Collapsed here on the ground
Lions who lost their pride
Not a single one found
They are trying to hide
 
The time of End is near
The thieves quake the core
 It seems that we do fear
The world lives no more

and it's time
when the lights are shut off,
and you realize, that the show
has already ended

and then you sit down,
thinking
how did it end so fast?
why did it end so fast?

and after that
you start feeling scared
of the prospect of the future
that's full of the unknown danger

but please remember

darling,
the show's not ending,
the end
is only
the beginning