I.

Thou aged unreluctant earth who dost
with quivering continual thighs invite
the thrilling rain the slender paramour
to toy with thy extraordinary lust,
(the sinuous rain which rising from thy bed
steals to his wife the sky and hour by hour
wholly renews her pale flesh with delight)
—immortally whence are the high gods fled?

Speak elm eloquent pandar with thy nod
significant to the ecstatic earth
in token of his coming whom her soul
burns to embrace—and didst thou know the god
from but the imprint of whose cloven feet
the shrieking dryad sought her leafy goal,
at the mere echo of whose shining mirth
the furious hearts of mountains ceased to beat?

Wind beautifully who wanderest
over smooth pages of forgotten joy
proving the peaceful theorems of the flowers
—didst e’er depart upon more exquisite quest?
and did thy fortunate fingers sometime dwell
(within a greener shadow of secret bowers)
among the curves of that delicious boy
whose serious grace one goddess loved too well?

Chryselephantine Zeus Olympian
sceptred colossus of the Pheidian soul
whose eagle frights creation,in whose palm
Nike presents the crown sweetest to man,
whose lilied robe the sun’s white hands emboss,
betwixt whose absolute feet anoint with calm
of intent stars circling the acerb pole
poises,smiling,the diadumenos

in whose young chiseled eyes the people saw
their once again victorious Pantarkes
(whose grace the prince of artists made him bold
to imitate between the feet of awe),
thunderer whose omnipotent brow showers
its curls of unendured eternal gold
over the infinite breast in bright degrees,
whose pillow is the graces and the hours,

father of gods and men whose subtle throne
twain sphinxes bear each with a writhing youth
caught to her brazen *******,whose foot-stool tells
how fought the looser of the warlike zone
of her that brought forth tall Hippolytus,
lord on whose pedestal the deep expels
(over Selene’s car closing uncouth)
of Helios the sweet wheels tremulous—

are there no kings in Argos,that the song
is silent,of the steep unspeaking tower
within whose brightening strictness Danae
saw the night severed and the glowing throng
descend,felt on her flesh the amorous strain
of gradual hands and yielding to that fee
her eager body’s unimmortal flower
knew in the darkness a more burning rain?

                    2.

And still the mad magnificent herald Spring
assembles beauty from forgetfulness
with the wild trump of April:witchery
of sound and odour drives the wingless thing
man forth in the bright air,for now the red
leaps in the maple’s cheek,and suddenly
by shining hordes in sweet unserious dress
ascends the golden crocus from the dead.

On dappled dawn forth rides the pungent sun
with hooded day preening upon his hand
followed by gay untimid final flowers
(which dressed in various tremulous armor stun
the eyes of ragged earth who sees them pass)
while hunted from his kingdom winter cowers,
seeing green armies steadily expand
hearing the spear-song of the marching grass.

A silver sudden parody of snow
tickles the air to golden tears,and hark!
the flicker’s laughing yet,while on the hills
the pines deepen to whispers primeval and throw
backward their foreheads to the barbarous bright
sky,and suddenly from the valley thrills
the unimaginable upward lark
and drowns the earth and passes into light

(slowly in life’s serene perpetual round
a pale world gathers comfort to her soul,
hope richly scattered by the abundant sun
invades the new mosaic of the ground
—let but the incurious curtaining dusk be drawn
surpassing nets are sedulously spun
to snare the brutal dew,—the authentic scroll
of fairie hands and vanishing with the dawn).

Spring,that omits no mention of desire
in every curved and curling thing,yet holds
continuous *******—through skies and trees
the lilac’s smoke the poppy’s pompous fire
the *****’s purple patience and the grave
frailty of daises—by what rare unease
revealed of teasingly transparent folds—
with man’s poor soul superlatively brave.

Surely from robes of particoloured peace
with mouth flower-faint and undiscovered eyes
and dim slow perfect body amorous
(whiter than lilies which are born and cease
for being whiter than this world)exhales
the hovering high perfume curious
of that one month for whom the whole years dies,
risen at length from palpitating veils.

O still miraculous May!O shining girl
of time untarnished!O small intimate
gently primeval hands,frivolous feet
divine!O singular and breathless pearl!
O indefinable frail ultimate pose!
O visible beatitude sweet sweet
intolerable!silence immaculate
of god’s evasive audible great rose!

                    3.

Lover,lead forth thy love unto that bed
prepared by whitest hands of waiting years,
curtained with wordless worship absolute,
unto the certain altar at whose head
stands that clear candle whose expecting breath
exults upon the tongue of flame half-mute,
(haste ere some thrush with silver several tears
complete the perfumed paraphrase of death).

Now is the time when all occasional things
close into silence,only one tree,one
svelte translation of eternity
unto the pale meaning of heaven clings,
(whose million leaves in winsome indolence
simmer upon thinking twilight momently)
as down the oblivious west’s numerous dun
magnificence conquers magnificence.

In heaven’s intolerable athanor
inimitably tortured the base day
utters at length her soft intrinsic hour,
and from those tenuous fires which more and more
sink and are lost the divine alchemist,
the magus of creation,lifts a flower—
whence is the world’s insufferable clay
clothed with incognizable amethyst.

Lady at whose imperishable smile
the amazed doves flicker upon sunny wings
as if in terror of eternity,
(or seeming that they would mistrust a while
the moving of beauteous dead mouths throughout
that very proud transparent company
of quivering ghosts-of-love which scarcely sings
drifting in slow diaphanous faint rout),

queen in the inconceivable embrace
of whose tremendous hair that blossom stands
whereof is most desire,yet less than those
twain perfect roses whose ambrosial grace,
goddess,thy crippled thunder-forging groom
or the loud lord of skipping maenads knows,—
having Discordia’s apple in thy hands,
which the scared shepherd gave thee for his doom—

O thou within the chancel of whose charms
the tall boy god of everlasting war
received the shuddering sacrament of sleep,
betwixt whose cool incorrigible arms
impaled upon delicious mystery,
with gaunt limbs reeking of the whispered deep,
deliberate groping ocean fondled o’er
the warm long flower of unchastity,

imperial Cytherea,from frail foam
sprung with irrevocable nakedness
to strike the young world into smoking song—
as the first star perfects the sensual dome
of darkness,and the sweet strong final bird
transcends the sight,O thou to whom belong
th ehearts of lovers!—I beseech thee bless
thy suppliant singer and his wandering word.

I

My love, this is the bitterest, that thou
Who art all truth and who dost love me now
As thine eyes say, as thy voice breaks to say—
Shouldst love so truly and couldst love me still
A whole long life through, had but love its will,
Would death that leads me from thee brook delay!

II

I have but to be by thee, and thy hand
Would never let mine go, thy heart withstand
The beating of my heart to reach its place.
When should I look for thee and feel thee gone?
When cry for the old comfort and find none?
Never, I know! Thy soul is in thy face.

III

Oh, I should fade—’tis willed so! might I save,
Galdly I would, whatever beauty gave
Joy to thy sense, for that was precious too.
It is not to be granted. But the soul
Whence the love comes, all ravage leaves that whole;
Vainly the flesh fades—soul makes all things new.

IV

And ’twould not be because my eye grew dim
Thou couldst not find the love there, thanks to Him
Who never is dishonoured in the spark
He gave us from his fire of fires, and bade
Remember whence it sprang nor be afraid
While that burns on, though all the rest grow dark.

V

So, how thou wouldst be perfect, white and clean
Outside as inside, soul and soul’s demesne
Alike, this body given to show it by!
Oh, three-parts through the worst of life’s abyss,
What plaudits from the next world after this,
Couldst thou repeat a stroke and gain the sky!

VI

And is it not the bitterer to think
That, disengage our hands and thou wilt sink
Although thy love was love in very deed?
I know that nature! Pass a festive day
Thou dost not throw its relic-flower away
Nor bid its music’s loitering echo speed.

VII

Thou let’st the stranger’s glove lie where it fell;
If old things remain old things all is well,
For thou art grateful as becomes man best:
And hadst thou only heard me play one tune,
Or viewed me from a window, not so soon
With thee would such things fade as with the rest.

VIII

I seem to see! we meet and part: ’tis brief:
The book I opened keeps a folded leaf,
The very chair I sat on, breaks the rank;
That is a portrait of me on the wall—
Three lines, my face comes at so slight a call;
And for all this, one little hour’s to thank.

IX

But now, because the hour through years was fixed,
Because our inmost beings met amd mixed,
Because thou once hast loved me—wilt thou dare
Say to thy soul and Who may list beside,
“Therefore she is immortally my bride,
Chance cannot change that love, nor time impair.

X

“So, what if in the dusk of life that’s left,
I, a tired traveller, of my sun bereft,
Look from my path when, mimicking the same,
The fire-fly glimpses past me, come and gone?
- Where was it till the sunset? where anon
It will be at the sunrise! what’s to blame?”

XI

Is it so helpful to thee? canst thou take
The mimic up, nor, for the true thing’s sake,
Put gently by such efforts at at beam?
Is the remainder of the way so long
Thou need’st the little solace, thou the strong?
Watch out thy watch, let weak ones doze and dream!

XII

“—Ah, but the fresher faces! Is it true,”
Thou’lt ask, “some eyes are beautiful and new?
Some hair,—how can one choose but grasp such wealth?
And if a man would press his lips to lips
Fresh as the wilding hedge-rose-cup there slips
The dew-drop out of, must it be by stealth?

XIII

“It cannot change the love kept still for Her,
Much more than, such a picture to prefer
Passing a day with, to a room’s bare side.
The painted form takes nothing she possessed,
Yet while the Titian’s Venus lies at rest
A man looks. Once more, what is there to chide?”

XIV

So must I see, from where I sit and watch,
My own self sell myself, my hand attach
Its warrant to the very thefts from me—
Thy singleness of soul that made me proud,
Thy purity of heart I loved aloud,
Thy man’s truth I was bold to bid God see!

XV

Love so, then, if thou wilt! Give all thou canst
Away to the new faces—disentranced—
(Say it and think it) obdurate no more,
Re-issue looks and words from the old mint—
Pass them afresh, no matter whose the print
Image and superscription once they bore!

XVI

Re-coin thyself and give it them to spend,—
It all comes to the same thing at the end,
Since mine thou wast, mine art, and mine shalt be,
Faithful or faithless, sealing up the sum
Or lavish of my treasure, thou must come
Back to the heart’s place here I keep for thee!

XVII

Only, why should it be with stain at all?
Why must I, ‘twixt the leaves of coronal,
Put any kiss of pardon on thy brow?
Why need the other women know so much
And talk together, “Such the look and such
The smile he used to love with, then as now!”

XVIII

Might I die last and shew thee! Should I find
Such hardship in the few years left behind,
If free to take and light my lamp, and go
Into thy tomb, and shut the door and sit
Seeing thy face on those four sides of it
The better that they are so blank, I know!

XIX

Why, time was what I wanted, to turn o’er
Within my mind each look, get more and more
By heart each word, too much to learn at first,
And join thee all the fitter for the pause
’Neath the low door-way’s lintel. That were cause
For lingering, though thou called’st, If I durst!

**

And yet thou art the nobler of us two.
What dare I dream of, that thou canst not do,
Outstripping my ten small steps with one stride?
I’ll say then, here’s a trial and a task—
Is it to bear?—if easy, I’ll not ask—
Though love fail, I can trust on in thy pride.

XXI

Pride?—when those eyes forestall the life behind
The death I have to go through!—when I find,
Now that I want thy help most, all of thee!
What did I fear? Thy love shall hold me fast
Until the little minute’s sleep is past
And I wake saved.—And yet, it will not be!

Many a green isle needs must be
In the deep wide sea of Misery,
Or the mariner, worn and wan,
Never thus could voyage on—
Day and night, and night and day,
Drifting on his dreary way,
With the solid darkness black
Closing round his vessel’s track:
Whilst above the sunless sky,
Big with clouds, hangs heavily,
And behind the tempest fleet
Hurries on with lightning feet,

He is ever drifted on
O’er the unreposing wave
To the haven of the grave.
What, if there no friends will greet;
What, if there no heart will meet
His with love’s impatient beat;
Wander wheresoe’er he may,
Can he dream before that day
To find refuge from distress
In friendship’s smile, in love’s caress?
Then ’twill wreak him little woe
Whether such there be or no:
Senseless is the breast, and cold,
Which relenting love would fold;
Bloodless are the veins and chill
Which the pulse of pain did fill;
Every little living nerve
That from bitter words did swerve
Round the tortured lips and brow,
Are like sapless leaflets now
Frozen upon December’s bough.

On the beach of a northern sea
Which tempests shake eternally,
As once the wretch there lay to sleep,
Lies a solitary heap,
One white skull and seven dry bones,
On the margin of the stones,
Where a few grey rushes stand,
Boundaries of the sea and land:
Nor is heard one voice of wail
But the sea-mews, as they sail
O’er the billows of the gale;
Or the whirlwind up and down
Howling, like a slaughtered town,
When a king in glory rides
Through the pomp and fratricides:
Those unburied bones around
There is many a mournful sound;
There is no lament for him,
Like a sunless vapour, dim,
Who once clothed with life and thought
What now moves nor murmurs not.

Ay, many flowering islands lie
In the waters of wide Agony:
To such a one this morn was led,
My bark by soft winds piloted:
’Mid the mountains Euganean
I stood listening to the paean
With which the legioned rooks did hail
The sun’s uprise majestical;
Gathering round with wings all ****,
Through the dewy mist they soar
Like gray shades, till the eastern heaven
Bursts, and then, as clouds of even,
Flecked with fire and azure, lie
In the unfathomable sky,
So their plumes of purple grain,
Starred with drops of golden rain,
Gleam above the sunlight woods,
As in silent multitudes
On the morning’s fitful gale
Through the broken mist they sail,
And the vapours cloven and gleaming
Follow, down the dark steep streaming,
Till all is bright, and clear, and still,
Round the solitary hill.

Beneath is spread like a green sea
The waveless plain of Lombardy,
Bounded by the vaporous air,
Islanded by cities fair;
Underneath Day’s azure eyes
Ocean’s nursling, Venice, lies,
A peopled labyrinth of walls,
Amphitrite’s destined halls,
Which her hoary sire now paves
With his blue and beaming waves.
Lo! the sun upsprings behind,
Broad, red, radiant, half-reclined
On the level quivering line
Of the waters crystalline;
And before that chasm of light,
As within a furnace bright,
Column, tower, and dome, and spire,
Shine like obelisks of fire,
Pointing with inconstant motion
From the altar of dark ocean
To the sapphire-tinted skies;
As the flames of sacrifice
From the marble shrines did rise,
As to pierce the dome of gold
Where Apollo spoke of old.

Sea-girt City, thou hast been
Ocean’s child, and then his queen;
Now is come a darker day,
And thou soon must be his prey,
If the power that raised thee here
Hallow so thy watery bier.
A less drear ruin then than now,
With thy conquest-branded brow
Stooping to the slave of slaves
From thy throne, among the waves
Wilt thou be, when the sea-mew
Flies, as once before it flew,
O’er thine isles depopulate,
And all is in its ancient state,
Save where many a palace gate
With green sea-flowers overgrown
Like a rock of Ocean’s own,
Topples o’er the abandoned sea
As the tides change sullenly.
The fisher on his watery way,
Wandering at the close of day,
Will spread his sail and seize his oar
Till he pass the gloomy shore,
Lest thy dead should, from their sleep
Bursting o’er the starlight deep,
Lead a rapid masque of death
O’er the waters of his path.

Those who alone thy towers behold
Quivering through aereal gold,
As I now behold them here,
Would imagine not they were
Sepulchres, where human forms,
Like pollution-nourished worms,
To the corpse of greatness cling,
Murdered, and now mouldering:
But if Freedom should awake
In her omnipotence and shake
From the Celtic Anarch’s hold
All the keys of dungeons cold,
Where a hundred cities lie
Chained like thee, ingloriously,
Thou and all thy sister band
Might adorn this sunny land,
Twining memories of old time
With new virtues more sublime;
If not, perish thou ldering:
But if Freedom should awake
In her omnipotence and shake
From the Celtic Anarch’s hold
All the keys of dungeons cold,
Where a hundred cities lie
Chained like thee, ingloriously,
Thou and all thy sister band
Might adorn this sunny land,
Twining memories of old time
With new virtues more sublime;
If not, perish thou and they!—
Clouds which stain truth’s rising day
By her sun consumed away—
Earth can spare ye; while like flowers,
In the waste of years and hours,
From your dust new nations spring
With more kindly blossoming.

Perish—let there only be
Floating o’er thy heartless sea
As the garment of thy sky
Clothes the world immortally,
One remembrance, more sublime
Than the tattered pall of time,
Which scarce hides thy visage wan;—
That a tempest-cleaving Swan
Of the sons of Albion,
Driven from his ancestral streams
By the might of evil dreams,
Found a nest in thee; and Ocean
Welcomed him with such emotion
That its joy grew his, and sprung
From his lips like music flung
O’er a mighty thunder-fit,
Chastening terror:—what though yet
Poesy’s unfailing River,
Which through Albion winds forever
Lashing with melodious wave
Many a sacred Poet’s grave,
Mourn its latest nursling fled?
What though thou with all thy dead
Scarce can for this fame repay
Aught thine own? oh, rather say
Though thy sins and slaveries foul
Overcloud a sunlike soul?
As the ghost of Homer clings
Round Scamander’s wasting springs;
As divinest Shakespeare’s might
Fills Avon and the world with light
Like omniscient power which he
Imaged ’mid mortality;
As the love from Petrarch’s urn,
Yet amid yon hills doth burn,
A quenchless lamp by which the heart
Sees things unearthly;—so thou art,
Mighty spirit—so shall be
The City that did refuge thee.

Lo, the sun floats up the sky
Like thought-winged Liberty,
Till the universal light
Seems to level plain and height;
From the sea a mist has spread,
And the beams of morn lie dead
On the towers of Venice now,
Like its glory long ago.
By the skirts of that gray cloud
Many-domed Padua proud
Stands, a peopled solitude,
’Mid the harvest-shining plain,
Where the peasant heaps his grain
In the garner of his foe,
And the milk-white oxen slow
With the purple vintage strain,
Heaped upon the creaking wain,
That the brutal Celt may swill
Drunken sleep with savage will;
And the sickle to the sword
Lies unchanged, though many a lord,
Like a **** whose shade is poison,
Overgrows this region’s foison,
Sheaves of whom are ripe to come
To destruction’s harvest-home:
Men must reap the things they sow,
Force from force must ever flow,
Or worse; but ’tis a bitter woe
That love or reason cannot change
The despot’s rage, the slave’s revenge.

Padua, thou within whose walls
Those mute guests at festivals,
Son and Mother, Death and Sin,
Played at dice for Ezzelin,
Till Death cried, “I win, I win!”
And Sin cursed to lose the wager,
But Death promised, to assuage her,
That he would petition for
Her to be made Vice-Emperor,
When the destined years were o’er,
Over all between the Po
And the eastern Alpine snow,
Under the mighty Austrian.
She smiled so as Sin only can,
And since that time, ay, long before,
Both have ruled from shore to shore,—
That incestuous pair, who follow
Tyrants as the sun the swallow,
As Repentance follows Crime,
And as changes follow Time.

In thine halls the lamp of learning,
Padua, now no more is burning;
Like a meteor, whose wild way
Is lost over the grave of day,
It gleams betrayed and to betray:
Once remotest nations came
To adore that sacred flame,
When it lit not many a hearth
On this cold and gloomy earth:
Now new fires from antique light
Spring beneath the wide world’s might;
But their spark lies dead in thee,
Trampled out by Tyranny.
As the Norway woodman quells,
In the depth of piny dells,
One light flame among the brakes,
While the boundless forest shakes,
And its mighty trunks are torn
By the fire thus lowly born:
The spark beneath his feet is dead,
He starts to see the flames it fed
Howling through the darkened sky
With a myriad tongues victoriously,
And sinks down in fear: so thou,
O Tyranny, beholdest now
Light around thee, and thou hearest
The loud flames ascend, and fearest:
Grovel on the earth; ay, hide
In the dust thy purple pride!

Noon descends around me now:
’Tis the noon of autumn’s glow,
When a soft and purple mist
Like a vapourous amethyst,
Or an air-dissolved star
Mingling light and fragrance, far
From the curved horizon’s bound
To the point of Heaven’s profound,
Fills the overflowing sky;
And the plains that silent lie
Underneath the leaves unsodden
Where the infant Frost has trodden
With his morning-winged feet,
Whose bright print is gleaming yet;
And the red and golden vines,
Piercing with their trellised lines
The rough, dark-skirted wilderness;
The dun and bladed grass no less,
Pointing from this hoary tower
In the windless air; the flower
Glimmering at my feet; the line
Of the olive-sandalled Apennine
In the south dimly islanded;
And the Alps, whose snows are spread
High between the clouds and sun;
And of living things each one;
And my spirit which so long
Darkened this swift stream of song,—
Interpenetrated lie
By the glory of the sky:
Be it love, light, harmony,
Odour, or the soul of all
Which from Heaven like dew doth fall,
Or the mind which feeds this verse
Peopling the lone universe.

Noon descends, and after noon
Autumn’s evening meets me soon,
Leading the infantine moon,
And that one star, which to her
Almost seems to minister
Half the crimson light she brings
From the sunset’s radiant springs:
And the soft dreams of the morn
(Which like winged winds had borne
To that silent isle, which lies
Mid remembered agonies,
The frail bark of this lone being)
Pass, to other sufferers fleeing,
And its ancient pilot, Pain,
Sits beside the helm again.

Other flowering isles must be
In the sea of Life and Agony:
Other spirits float and flee
O’er that gulf: even now, perhaps,
On some rock the wild wave wraps,
With folded wings they waiting sit
For my bark, to pilot it
To some calm and blooming cove,
Where for me, and those I love,
May a windless bower be built,
Far from passion, pain, and guilt,
In a dell mid lawny hills,
Which the wild sea-murmur fills,
And soft sunshine, and the sound
Of old forests echoing round,
And the light and smell divine
Of all flowers that breathe and shine:
We may live so happy there,
That the Spirits of the Air,
Envying us, may even entice
To our healing Paradise
The polluting multitude;
But their rage would be subdued
By that clime divine and calm,
And the winds whose wings rain balm
On the uplifted soul, and leaves
Under which the bright sea heaves;
While each breathless interval
In their whisperings musical
The inspired soul supplies
With its own deep melodies;
And the love which heals all strife
Circling, like the breath of life,
All things in that sweet abode
With its own mild brotherhood:
They, not it, would change; and soon
Every sprite beneath the moon
Would repent its envy vain,
And the earth grow young again.

It’s funny sometimes what you find in the aftermath; amongst the smoldering debris and crumbling societies.  I knew that I was irrevocably in love with your dark side.  Contrary to your beliefs I think that if you love someone long enough they become yours.  You are mine.  I am yours.  It’s just how it works.  Though the chances of us ending up together burnt to ash, I find myself digging through that aftermath- through the smoldering debris and crumbling societies.  I may be looking for an explanation or more so perhaps I search for an excuse.
  I try to uncover what made me fall in love with you but when I get knee deep in the memories I find nothing; nothing? How could that be?  I find no trace or vapor trail.  Not a breath or exhale.  From the evidence one must surmise that love just happens and that it’s a curse to despise.  I haven’t discovered yet whether this love of mine for you will lead to my demise or if by some roulette of fate I’ll be spared the cruelty of destroying who I am because of what I’m afraid you’ve made me.
  I wish I could **** myself.  I wish I had the heart to take the easy way out of discovering myself- discovering how the world operates.  But I am far too arrogant to let sadness get to the better sides of me.  I want you there; your love a dagger and no exit wound.  Despite my wishes trust me when I say I’ve tried- tried to die.  Dying is a chore, something that can’t be done haphazardly.  The best way to be killed is lovingly and slowly.  If you’re dying correctly it’ll take 80 years and a million kisses from a woman, a woman like you.
  I swear that this affectionate way I harbor you is a hex.  My body is an altar, pentagrams and other witching scars, marks and stigmas.  But the scars tracing my body like blood veins are reminders, or more accurately they’re lessons.  If I had the opportunity to travel back in time and do everything ‘right’ I’d refuse.  This is what’s meant to be and somehow; by some twisted notions I am still convinced we’re destined to belong to each other.  When you love someone long enough they just start belonging to you.  There’s no deed or contract other than the love we share.  You’re mine.  I’m yours.  I don’t like it but that’s how things are and even though it’s ****** up I hold onto that simple truth.  There isn’t a lot of truth to hold onto in this world but I’ll hold onto you.
  Sorry that sometimes I lose my mind.  I get scared easily, by change, the future and a menagerie of other common things.  But you have always forgiven me and looking back into those ceaselessly flowing memories: that is why I love you; I love you immortally and with the strength of diamonds.  I love you because every time I lost my mind you said that you still loved me.  I love you because every time I tore your blade from its place (snug in my heart) you held your hand over the wound.  I love you.  I love you.  I love you.  I love you. I love you. I am asking you to do it again and I know it’s hard, but I am asking you to do it a million more times.  I am asking you to love me until I die; even if I die 80 years from now- Even if I die tomorrow.  Just let me go on thinking you love me immortally and with the durability of the ocean.
  Even though I’m your hex, your curse, the worst part of you I believe wholeheartedly that you’re the best part of me.  You’re my boon, my blessing, the best part of who I am.  It’s terrifying what you find in the aftermath; amongst the smoldering debris and crumbling societies.  I find though that when you love someone long enough they become yours.  You’re mine.  I am yours.

IN YOUR lips moving fervently,
   Your eyes hot with fire,
Life seems immortally young with desire,
   Life seems impetuous,
   Hungrily free,
Having no faith but its burning to be.

   You could dance laughingly,
   Draw where you move,
Hearts, hands and voices pouring you love.
   Youth be a carnival,
   Life be the queen,
You could go dancing and singing and seen!

   Whence came that tenderness
   Cruel and wild,
Arming with ****** the hand of a child?
   Whence came that breaking fire,
   Nursed and caressed
With passion's white fingers for tyranny's breast?

   In your soul sacredly,
   Deeper than fear,
Burns there a miracle dreadful to hear?
   ****** of ******,
   Was it God's breath,
Begetting a savior, that filled you with Death?

An old man in blue suspenders
gazed down at his wife
who had just slipped away
in this hospital

Her last breath was taken
at 2152, documented by doc’s writing
what started with chest pain
ended in this dimly lit room

The old man looked up at me
gravity pulled a tear to his shoe
I blinked, the room began to spin

The old man
in blue suspenders
then calmly said,

"As I look down at her wrinkled face
and thin lips,
I can vividly remember the day
our friendship began

Her eyes were full of life
her red lips plump,
her smile made my heart
brew emotions that wouldn’t pass

We talked about these things
that made life seem so right

She was my best friend.

Now here lies her peaceful face
washed away and pale
death has finally taken her
as it will me

But those moments,
those moments of life
the bliss and her youth
live on immortally

she’s still there in my mind
that young girl,
with fire in her eyes."

The cosmic river of placidity our spiritual
Graveyard, laden illuminating the resevoirs
Of the sun serpents mineral kingdoms created
As the desecrated flowers of the
Universe decay,
The barren Earths machinery immortally
Combative rebirthing deaths plague.
Akashas victorious joy reflecting the
Sillohettes of times ardititious travellings
Fleeting, the strength of withered spirits
Collective daydreams upon solacses fallen
Fields of despair, redeeming justices
Patience provocating abeyance.
The irredescent golden amber of an iron
Roses kindling flame; katabolisms landscape
Transcending sunsets incarnate pharisaical
Clouds defying agonising temptations rising
On the wind of sanctimonious whispers
Working the stagnate temper of
Choas' repining heart.


ELEETE J MUIR.

Feel free to mourn me when I’m gone,
When I will not be back again.
It’s natural to grieve at death
For those who miss you so, I know.

But don’t forget to celebrate my life
And all I’ve done on this fair earth.
Be full of joy about these things:
Immortalise me for my deeds.

I hope to live for many a long year:
If possible cheat Death immortally,
Perhaps by going somewhere safe
From the Grim Reaper’s deadly scythe.

I hope for many table tennis wins
And trending poems, before I leave this mortal coil.
Iambic rhythms throughout cyber space,
Free verse expressing a greater vision.

I’ve planned ahead by writing this,
And might have jumped the gun maybe.
But when you read this out perhaps,
I might by now be Free.

Paul Butters

© PB 19\6\2016.

True criticism
Whether constructed or impulses for the moment;
Taken or not, to be offended by it
Is to be aware of an interjected potency.

A toxin of a so-called realization to drive towards sin
Or perhaps self-actualization, to whom we are within

Mind differs from soul, on the division of what is human.
The thought conveyed is lacking in being, rather than seeing.

Applying logic as a constant is grounds for ill confidence.
In a quality that droughts in tears from a cyclic existence

The thoughtful thrive on selfless striving
to be heard, immortally by their reviving words

The self-centered gravitate to absent causes
assisting no one, and becoming less heard

But sincerely who is right to judge you and me
Bias surrounds us, traps us to filter what we see and believe

Faith is lost to a logical world, where action is questioned
And the metaphysical will soon be poisoned by what is known

There are lights
Not meant to succumb to blight
Of the true dissension of Adam’s apple bite

Wonders of place read what one writes about a place now that he is far away by years and distance the
Flavor and tone it draws and evokes acuteness vividly portrays common tasks and experiences a
Richness pervades thoughts weighted and robed in love it is stirring imaginative and it speaks to all
And entreats you to take a similar excursion fields play grounds schools homes that overwhelm by the
Slightest recall we need these times of refreshing and we lose sight of their value these buried treasures
Lay just below the surface easily bridged but their worth invaluable reminisce yourself into folds of soft
Mellowness it will enrich your life presently this one thing that can be carried forward in extraordinary
Ways the first effect it had on you and the way it made you feel is and always will be you they talk about
The time it takes for light from distant stars to reach us once you were engaged in this innocents that
Traced time and space and people so many are now lost to us they live in the entirety of who you and
They are just beyond the jumble of this present state we live in they Say God lives in the eternal now
He is in the past present and future isn’t it possible for us to know that in a precious degree since we are
Made in his image all it takes and there are different ways but just close your eyes and drift with just the
Smallest indication you will roll and speed back to those times that were cherished with family the
Clouds belie earth’s surface at times the heaven’s treat us to measureless wonder with mystery it
Disengages the time line can become lost moments untie in a seamlessness we truly go to another place
While part of us stay in its natural place go forth in freedom dear friends hurts will fail to follow you can
Taste of sweet waters no bitterness will invade your thoughts you are immortally strong for a time you
Get a foretaste of the future you are bound to infinity weightless ageless without form you are pure
Thought unlimited but for the first time truly engaged exhilaration floods the real you that has never
Been exposed before the sluggish physical now only powerful spirit rears its head back thunderstruck
Your senses explode you expand you rule time and go backwards or forwards gifts out of reach before
Now present themselves in simplicity and untold beauty handle riches that were lost in the fall now
Reclaimed you are able to shake the dust from them they have set in dark stores awkward denseness of
Humanity held you at bay now from this time you know what you will miss if you continue to sell you
And your life with God short ecstasy of fulfillment will be lost wonder will be replaced with the truth and
Fact of one who has squandered riches untold all for miserly living that has been aliened with a fallen
Foe you deserve more and it is your birthright but you take the chance of losing it all you are more
Valuable than you know believe that and correct your course your true home is beyond the stars don’t
Sell out for the illusion that is this temporal world

Watching people compile the data of their lives.
Projecting and archiving information to stimulate cultures of us
when we give ourselves space to be about what makes us us.
To lose sense of myself is to
castrate
my own vitality
and why I fall in love with the toils of another’s expression.
The catalogues of souls that stand like sentinels in the arteries of the human race.
We were here. We know this moment.
We share it with you and you know the moment in your way,
in the language of your life
and you are heard while being spoken to.
Living to be romanced in this way,
to be understood in the ways we know
with the words constructed on top
of the emotion which was constructed on top
of a moment
now a memory.
A mortal drive of creation in evolving consciousness,
immortally moving another.
Now theres no going back.
I’ve challenged narcissism to grow from nasal gazin bathroom mirrors
into seeing yourself in it all,
to sense the language;
Lust
and fleshy aspects wrestle urgently in the song of your life.
Sorrow
and the audience retreats into the cushions of their throes
or runs from that back alley full of discarded mental furniture.
Love
and their minds explode with connections blossoming into each wonderful and terrible memory that grows into a mesh of a net cast out into the ocean of their heart.
Each memory connecting in a timeline of our moments.
The lines of our lives are filled in with dead words
masking all life to ever show its face.
If only we gave those dead symbols life
in the way life gave them to us.
The language of you while being born with the stubborn disposition
of restless curiosity of our being that begs the questions
of where our lines could go
and with what we could fill ourselves with.
Possibility bursting at our   s e a m s ,
spilling over into our realities.
Aligning our minds towards considering perspectives;
perspective being one thing that our paradigm of truth does not demand more of.
So eager to settle into a home in our head,
we chase the walls and roof of one truth and forsake non-sense of what has yet to make sense
when maybe the bigger picture
and all the multitudes of its non-sensical parts are waiting to hold hands together
in that same portrait,
framed on your nightstand
where you can see how it makes sense,
so the sense can put the weary wights of the unknown to sleep,
so that you may dream with certainty.
So then, what makes more sense than non-sense?

Internal quarrels rage within,
While all the while I'm without
Your kiss, your lips, unpursed for me.
I blindly fall about.

A steady hand is just a show.
A steady heart betrays
A heady feeling from below
Dissipates and fades.

Distance, time and lofty words
Can **** a man with strength,
But just one thought, one smile, one wink,
Can bring to life in length.

For lengthy is the depth of love
That like those oceans fill,
But even depth and distance stop,
And years can dull the thrill.

So in my words, forever be,
My love, my dove, for me.
While distance, time and quarrels fade,
You will thrive immortally.

there are moments I feel
wildly horrible
unbearably self deprecating
suicidally hopeless

and the next few moments
endlessly amused
fantastically entertained
immortally serene

will I give up?
or transcend?
it’s quite an exhausting ride
this life

There is something awry

I can feel it
as I step into
the thick and tense
stifling and sinister,
suffocating ether.

I have a peripheral sense
of an occluded slumber,
a disturbance.
Begotten by me?
I can only hope not.

Haunted by something unknown,
unseen but not unheard.
A sound, a whisper, a chill
Ghastly squall
The rush suspends my breath,
captivates my thoughts,
hurries my pulse;
throbbing and pounding,
in my dizzy and cluttered head.

The door has closed.

Impulse and instinct
drive my body
but it is dark,
         never-ending,
    surrounding
Me.

Perturbation reaches up
And grips my very being;
strangling my conscious,
operational will.
Numbing all perception short of
foreboding and dread.

My entranced, mortal corpse
stumbling over my own hastened direction
that it already knows.
Scrutinizing and bellowing
an audible, unmistakable
laugh
which freezes me again
with crippling petrification.

There is no escape.

Now face to face
as I turn to confront it,
stare to glare.
Menacing and perilous
it consumes me.
      Devours me.
Immortally imprisoned by
              It.

i'm sorry that i write words
into fickle lines
like my life depends on it
and that i sink ships
harbored in your heart
faster than the lose lips that whispered, "i love you"
i'm sorry that the constellations engraved in my palms
will perpetually lead back to you
and that your calloused fingertips will always feel like home
i'm sorry that feelings are fleeting
and that mine are cemented,
that all i've ever wanted
was benevolence
and that you are immortally running in the rivers of my consciousness.
but mostly,
i'm sorry that i will invariably confess through
spilled ink and teardrops
what i stand for
rather than tell you
what the voices  echo constantly in my hollow skull.

My power on you
Is negligible
Yet you hold me tighter
Tight
Tightly to you.
We dance around
In endless rotation
I spin
Immortally.
I breathe you in
I walk all over you
Yet you don’t know
I exist.
I am one piece
Of the puzzle
Of your skin.

You are hot and cold
Oscillating my emotions
Tidally locking me
Ensnaring me
Into your brilliant bath.
She is jealous.
Stronger and brighter than
I am smaller and feeble.
Her light shines luminous,
My glow is conditionally a specter
Unseen.
Eons ago she was yours,
And the crawl of seconds
Pulled her away
And the crawl of seconds
Birthed me upon you

Given the chance
She would wrench the blood
From my veins as she
Tugs on your arteries
Yet the iron given to me
By you, residing in my
Bones and beating chest
Holds strong, touched by
Your lifesaving magnetism
Your ferric ferocity shields
Me.  In an invisible
Aromatic atmosphere of
Blanketing love.

You swirl me
Rotate and revolve me
Wake and quake me
Birth and waste me.
Mother and Father providing
The soul within me, the
Soul beneath my feet.
My planet, my world
You are my Earth.

I've said what I had to say
-or rather- I've typed it
I did it while you were sleeping
But I know you felt the words as they trailed behind fingertips
I only told you to read the poem to avoid ruining your game

We both know the words are immortally indented in your skin
Because whilst typing it was you who was on my mind
Allowing you to see and hear all in that moment
Even if you don't like what it is
Even if you won't do anything about it

i seized the day but it broke my fingers to break my grip
i didn't have the strength it took
to dig in and hold onto it
see, time has a way of making fingers frail
and just how many seconds it takes to make them breakable you
never can tell
but if, like they say
those whose hearts beat fastest live longest
then by the hold you have on me, my heartstrings
I'm immortalized immortally

the night came a lady,
swooning her opalescent skirt
on the vertebrae of the earth!
and the shingles of stars were
crusted on the velvet belly of her
thighs) between
              whom
              is
the fragrant notch of dawn;
a babe waiting crimson skin
to wail softly in the crevice of
darkness and come immortally
dieing every eve. resurrected
in her womb who did slay him.
anon the coming morn.

but should
i have a say i would say i love her more.
the night. she slanders upon and kisses
my tepid flesh, inviting my eyes to
glaze her still frame. she doth love
me well. and i too do love her. the angles
of her skin. and her cool hair. stretching
or whispered. an arch tremulously. desiring
my fingers.

she is wet. the night. hither little magic. i will love you.

scribbling on a piece of parchment
tying it with a red satin ribbon
i hope the waves’ movements
bring you towards a safer shore

where foreign and familiar collide
like waves bashing against rocks
warm sand with your feet inside
salt spray onto those beautiful locks

the world at your feet
you unfurl the message in the bottle to read:

Dear someone out there,

I hope you find the person who tucks you in at night
one who never leaves you out of his loving sight
the one with the gentle vocality
even when he is frail and elderly

one who will be the one to wash away 
all the lingering pain of yesterday
the one with the anchoring presence
that over the years never lessens

one who lends you a listening ear
about everything you hold dear
the one that loves you for all the days you are alive
and kisses your every wrinkle, bulge and crease

one who brings you hours and hours of joy
as if you were a little girl and he a little boy
the one with the immortally kind spirit
providing you with an immense heat 

one who knows the names your toes go by
joe, bonnie, ian, andrea, kai
the one that will make silly stories about kyle the toe who went to town
just to turn that frown upside down

i hope from the bottom of my jet black and neon soul
that you will, one day with the love of your life grow old
until there is nothing but the ashes of the hot, burning coal.

If I could save time in a locket, I would wear it around my neck and sail the seas. Thus being immortally known as the father of time travel.

©

Chapter 9

“Startled, I pulled away from the man’s grasp and looked at his face. Although he wore a tag that read “Hotel Security” I sensed that there was much more to him than that.
“What’s this about?” I asked sharply, noticing that he was avoiding eye contact.
Clenching his jaw, the man grabbed my arm again, this time more firmly. “Don’t worry, Red, you’ll find out soon enough.”
I hated it when guys called me Red. It was always in a smug way. “Hey, let me go!” I demanded, trying to get away from the *******. But he was strong. Immortally strong.
He ****** me against him and whispered, “Calm the hell down and you won’t get hurt.”
“Are you one of Vlad’s men?”
“You’ll have your questions answered in a few minutes. Just chill out, will you?”
“Not really having any other choice, I allowed the man to usher me away from the restaurant, toward the back of The Veil. Hotel guests watched us curiously.
“Are you okay, dear?” asked an older woman in her seventies. She had a cane and looked about ready to hit my captor with it.
“She’s fine. We don’t allow prostitutes in the hotel,” he said loudly.
Normally I wouldn’t care, but my cheeks burned with shame as the old woman stared at me with disgust.
“Harlot,” she said, glaring at me.
“I’m not a *******,” I said, gritting my teeth. Furious at the way I was being treated, I tried pulling away from him again, but he only dug his fingers into my skin deeper.
“Would you just relax?” he said, as we turned down another hallway. “I’m doing this for your own good.”
“Doesn’t feel that way on my end,” I replied angrily.
“If you’d stop fighting me, I wouldn’t have to resort to this.”
“Then tell me what the hell this is about!”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
I sighed loudly.
We stopped at a door that was marked ‘Security’ and he led me inside. To my surprise, there was a long conference desk with two men sitting next to it.
“Is this her, Nate?” asked one of them, a blonde Nordic-looking guy in an expensive suit.
“She’s just as he described. Plus, she has the mark,” said the guy, releasing my arm.
I rubbed the skin where his fingers had pressed cruelly. “You mean the mark on my wrist from your fingers, *******?”
“Sorry,” said Nate, addressing the two men at the table more than me. “She kept trying to get away.”
“Leave us,” ordered the blonde, frowning at Nate.
“Yes, sir.” Nate turned and walked out the door.
I sighed wearily, wishing I would have never gotten out of bed. “So, who in the hell are you people?”
“I’m sorry, lass. My name is Aiden Rylan and this is Maximus Johnson,” said the blonde, his Irish accent noticeable now.
I folded my arms under my chest, studying both men. Both of them were undeniably rugged, handsome, and obvious big-shots. “And why should that matter to me?”
Aiden’s lip[…]”
“Natel’s part in it. The ******* had made me look like a cheap *****. “Who is this mutual acquaintance?”
“Doris Hart,” said Maximus.
Another surprise. “Really? And how do you know Dorian?” I asked, now sitting down.
“The three of us are long-time friends,” said Aiden.
“But you’re lycan,” I replied. From what I’d gathered over the years, most weren’t too chummy with vampires.
“Yes. We’ve learned to push our differences aside,” said Andrew, his eyes twinkling.
“The truth is that we don’t judge anyone unless they pose a threat,” said Maximus. “And we’ve known Doris Hart for several years. He’s done us favors and now we’re returning one for him.”
“And that is to protect me?” I said, flattered that Doris was still worried about me. He must have really loved my mother.
“Yes. He was very adamant on that. Sorry for your loss, by the way,” said Andrew, his face turning somber.
At the mention of my mother’s death, I looked down at my nails, trying not to tear up. “Thanks.”
“I never met Lilith, but Andrew knew her,” said Maximus, his voice kind.
Surprised, I looked at Andrew. “You did? Really?”
“Actually, I only met[…]”
“He leaned back in his chair, a faraway look now in his eyes. “I guess it was mostly about Vlad and her dealings with him.”
“Why would she confide in you about him?” I asked angrily. The fact that she’d spoken openly about Vlad with him, a stranger, and not me, hurt.
“Because she knew that we were enemies,” said Aiden. “I had no idea that you were his daughter, however. Not until Doris mentioned it on the phone. Your mother obviously didn’t trust anyone with that information”
I relaxed. “What else did Doris tell you?”
“He’s worried about you,” said Andrew . “He says that your life is in danger and you’re not taking it seriously.”
“Believe me, I’m taking it seriously,” I said, smiling grimly.
“Do you know exactly what you’re up against?” asked Maximus.
“I know that Vlad wants me dead.”
“You should also know that he usually gets what he wants,” said Aiden, frowning.
“And that’s why Doris asked if we’d offer you protection,” added Maximus. “You need our help.”
“Thanks for the offer but I don’t need protection from you or Doris ,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “I can take care of myself[…]”
“and is bent on capturing you. Believe me, he has the money and the resources to do just that.”
“Don’t be fooled by my appearance. I might look easy on so many levels, especially in this outfit,” I mused, “but I’m not. If I don’t want to be caught, I won’t.”
“Your confidence is commendable, but it’s going to get you killed,” warned Maximus. “Believe me, I know. I’ve caught many criminals with that same attitude. They get too cocky for their own good and make mistakes.”
So he was a cop. “I’m not being cocky.” I stood up. “I’m just saying that this is my problem and I’ll handle it on my own.”
“Even if you don’t have to?” asked Maximus, as I walked toward the door.
Sighing, I turned around. “Look, I certainly appreciate the offer, I really do. But, I’ll be fine.”
“At least do us a favor and disappear,” said Aiden. “Get out of town before they find you.”
“I’m planning on it,” I admitted. “By the way, how did you two know where to find me?”
“Your partner, Alex Shafer,” said Maximus. “I take it he didn’t call you to tell you we’d be[…]”
“started on stock options. Please.”
Aiden chuckled. “I’ve helped you, haven’t I?”
“Yes, and for that I’m very grateful,” replied Maximus.
“So, when did you talk to Alex?” I asked, changing the subject. I had no interest in talking about stocks, bonds, or anything financial.
“About thirty minutes ago. He said you’d be doing a job here,” replied Maximus.
I dialed Alex’s number, but he didn’t answer. Sighing, I sent him a text, telling him to call me. Then I slipped my phone back into my purse. “Well, I wish I could say it was a pleasure meeting the both you. I’m sure under different circumstances,” I smiled wickedly, “the pleasure would have be all mine.”
Andrew ‘s eyes roved over my body and he grinned. “Oh, lass, I doubt that. I’m pretty sure that the pleasure would have been mutual.”
Laughing, Maximus stood up and held out his card. “In all seriousness, please give me a call if you need help.”
I took it. “Thank you. Detective Maximus Johnson, huh?”
“Call me Max.”
“Okay, Max. Thanks again.” My cell phone began to vibrate. I pulled it back out of my purse and noticed that Alex had sent me a[…]”











Chapter 9

“Startled, I pulled away from the man’s grasp and looked at his face. Although he wore a tag that read “Hotel Security” I sensed that there was much more to him than that.
“What’s this about?” I asked sharply, noticing that he was avoiding eye contact.
Clenching his jaw, the man grabbed my arm again, this time more firmly. “Don’t worry, Red, you’ll find out soon enough.”
I hated it when guys called me Red. It was always in a smug way. “Hey, let me go!” I demanded, trying to get away from the *******. But he was strong. Immortally strong.
He ****** me against him and whispered, “Calm the hell down and you won’t get hurt.”
“Are you one of Vlad’s men?”
“You’ll have your questions answered in a few minutes. Just chill out, will you?”
“Not really having any other choice, I allowed the man to usher me away from the restaurant, toward the back of The Veil. Hotel guests watched us curiously.
“Are you okay, dear?” asked an older woman in her seventies. She had a cane and looked about ready to hit my captor with it.
“She’s fine. We don’t allow prostitutes in the hotel,” he said loudly.
Normally I wouldn’t care, but my cheeks burned with shame as the old woman stared at me with disgust.
“Harlot,” she said, glaring at me.
“I’m not a *******,” I said, gritting my teeth. Furious at the way I was being treated, I tried pulling away from him again, but he only dug his fingers into my skin deeper.
“Would you just relax?” he said, as we turned down another hallway. “I’m doing this for your own good.”
“Doesn’t feel that way on my end,” I replied angrily.
“If you’d stop fighting me, I wouldn’t have to resort to this.”
“Then tell me what the hell this is about!”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
I sighed loudly.
We stopped at a door that was marked ‘Security’ and he led me inside. To my surprise, there was a long conference desk with two men sitting next to it.
“Is this her, Nate?” asked one of them, a blonde Nordic-looking guy in an expensive suit.
“She’s just as he described. Plus, she has the mark,” said the guy, releasing my arm.
I rubbed the skin where his fingers had pressed cruelly. “You mean the mark on my wrist from your fingers, *******?”
“Sorry,” said Nate, addressing the two men at the table more than me. “She kept trying to get away.”
“Leave us,” ordered the blonde, frowning at Nate.
“Yes, sir.” Nate turned and walked out the door.
I sighed wearily, wishing I would have never gotten out of bed. “So, who in the hell are you people?”
“I’m sorry, lass. My name is Aiden Rylan and this is Maximus Johnson,” said the blonde, his Irish accent noticeable now.
I folded my arms under my chest, studying both men. Both of them were undeniably rugged, handsome, and obvious big-shots. “And why should that matter to me?”
Aiden’s lip[…]”
“Natel’s part in it. The ******* had made me look like a cheap *****. “Who is this mutual acquaintance?”
“Doris Hart,” said Maximus.
Another surprise. “Really? And how do you know Dorian?” I asked, now sitting down.
“The three of us are long-time friends,” said Aiden.
“But you’re lycan,” I replied. From what I’d gathered over the years, most weren’t too chummy with vampires.
“Yes. We’ve learned to push our differences aside,” said Andrew, his eyes twinkling.
“The truth is that we don’t judge anyone unless they pose a threat,” said Maximus. “And we’ve known Doris Hart for several years. He’s done us favors and now we’re returning one for him.”
“And that is to protect me?” I said, flattered that Doris was still worried about me. He must have really loved my mother.
“Yes. He was very adamant on that. Sorry for your loss, by the way,” said Andrew, his face turning somber.
At the mention of my mother’s death, I looked down at my nails, trying not to tear up. “Thanks.”
“I never met Lilith, but Andrew knew her,” said Maximus, his voice kind.
Surprised, I looked at Andrew. “You did? Really?”
“Actually, I only met[…]”
“He leaned back in his chair, a faraway look now in his eyes. “I guess it was mostly about Vlad and her dealings with him.”
“Why would she confide in you about him?” I asked angrily. The fact that she’d spoken openly about Vlad with him, a stranger, and not me, hurt.
“Because she knew that we were enemies,” said Aiden. “I had no idea that you were his daughter, however. Not until Doris mentioned it on the phone. Your mother obviously didn’t trust anyone with that information”
I relaxed. “What else did Doris tell you?”
“He’s worried about you,” said Andrew . “He says that your life is in danger and you’re not taking it seriously.”
“Believe me, I’m taking it seriously,” I said, smiling grimly.
“Do you know exactly what you’re up against?” asked Maximus.
“I know that Vlad wants me dead.”
“You should also know that he usually gets what he wants,” said Aiden, frowning.
“And that’s why Doris asked if we’d offer you protection,” added Maximus. “You need our help.”
“Thanks for the offer but I don’t need protection from you or Doris ,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “I can take care of myself[…]”
“and is bent on capturing you. Believe me, he has the money and the resources to do just that.”
“Don’t be fooled by my appearance. I might look easy on so many levels, especially in this outfit,” I mused, “but I’m not. If I don’t want to be caught, I won’t.”
“Your confidence is commendable, but it’s going to get you killed,” warned Maximus. “Believe me, I know. I’ve caught many criminals with that same attitude. They get too cocky for their own good and make mistakes.”
So he was a cop. “I’m not being cocky.” I stood up. “I’m just saying that this is my problem and I’ll handle it on my own.”
“Even if you don’t have to?” asked Maximus, as I walked toward the door.
Sighing, I turned around. “Look, I certainly appreciate the offer, I really do. But, I’ll be fine.”
“At least do us a favor and disappear,” said Aiden. “Get out of town before they find you.”
“I’m planning on it,” I admitted. “By the way, how did you two know where to find me?”
“Your partner, Alex Shafer,” said Maximus. “I take it he didn’t call you to tell you we’d be[…]”
“started on stock options. Please.”
Aiden chuckled. “I’ve helped you, haven’t I?”
“Yes, and for that I’m very grateful,” replied Maximus.
“So, when did you talk to Alex?” I asked, changing the subject. I had no interest in talking about stocks, bonds, or anything financial.
“About thirty minutes ago. He said you’d be doing a job here,” replied Maximus.
I dialed Alex’s number, but he didn’t answer. Sighing, I sent him a text, telling him to call me. Then I slipped my phone back into my purse. “Well, I wish I could say it was a pleasure meeting the both you. I’m sure under different circumstances,” I smiled wickedly, “the pleasure would have be all mine.”
Andrew ‘s eyes roved over my body and he grinned. “Oh, lass, I doubt that. I’m pretty sure that the pleasure would have been mutual.”
Laughing, Maximus stood up and held out his card. “In all seriousness, please give me a call if you need help.”
I took it. “Thank you. Detective Maximus Johnson, huh?”
“Call me Max.”
“Okay, Max. Thanks again.” My cell phone began to vibrate. I pulled it back out of my purse and noticed that Alex had sent me a[…]”























Sent from my iPhone

Life is not certain but death is always true,
It is the sum of life we are told, its something we all must do,
But is life then worth it? If what is true is taught?
If death is our only eventuality, then the sum of life is naught,
That "it's what we do that matters", it's often argued in light of this thought,
That "it's about each of our own journeys, the individual battles that we have fought".

But when we die the memory of that life dies too,
All the trials and tribulations journeyed through,
And as that is fact and held deep within our minds,
Then it is not the life lived that matters, but the memory left behind,
Alas memories fade, like photographs that ware,
So beyond a few generations thought, were we ever there?
Our memory will be so easily forgot,
And our existence beyond a century will matter not.

Then is life to leave a legacy?
To have engrained ourselves upon eternity?
Is the goal to scorch our name on this rock,
And leave the message "forget me not"?
If that is so then I do not wish to live this life,
To toil in anguish and attempt to leave a mark in strife,
If our actions have no effect and the truths we sought are lost,
Then I would argue life means nothing, and death is no great cost.

It is often in life, to then look above,
To hope that someone notices, our actions, our thoughts, our loves,
And hope that in their mind we will remain,
So that in that thought we will immortally be sustained.
Truly I believe if a faith is the choice a person has then made,
Then it is nobody's business to make that belief fade,
But belief so often leads to action, to change, examples of this are rife,
So then faith is more destructive than any other walk of life.

I have never had the gift of faith, something at times can give me woe,
But instead find peace in facts, in thought and knowledge left to know,
In science a persons legacy can span an entire age,
Their words and thoughts sealed engraved by ink upon a page,
But again the page can be easily lost, or fade or too be burned,
Then humanity would forget that person, and anything that they may have learned.

I was once told that what makes humanity unique is the archiving of our knowledge,
That we keep it to pass along through schools and art and college,
Then the things we teach and then pass on,
Is all that ever mattered all along.
If that is true then life does have a goal, that we must go,
Out into this world to live our life and learn as much as we can know,
And if I am as I believe correct,
Like the old and wise do teach in retrospect,
Then I would wager that it is our purpose on this rock,
To have all that we know ready, when death begins to knock,
To then sit and tell our story, speak soft words to the generation to come.
And hope our teachings keep them well for this is our life's sum.

Dear Old Friend,
Oh the hours we've played, the hours we have spent together
No words are spoken, none are needed
Our connection is physical
Gentle belly rubs
And warm, soft, furry skin gently keeping winter chills from inflicting my being

I recall the days you would fit on my lap, resting in-between my thighs in that comfortable crease
You had pupils the size of a pinky toe, and your nose was in proportion to a dime
Sweetly, lovingly, I could hold you in my palms
Where did those days go?

I now must kneel to touch your feeble, aged body
You lay down most days. Tired? Pain?
I wish it was the first option

Your time has come, my companion, to be better once more
The hours are numbered, and I am counting
Though it hurts, it helps to know you will soon recover

I want you only to be that innocent baby again
I want the webs of your paws in my little fingers, I want your fluffy, perfectly soft self sleeping on my lap again


Sleep once more, sweet pet
Sleep eternally and immortally

Descended immortally, as those of lesser
Morals sit upon jaded thrones. Less are
Their  thoughts of those looking below.
Etched in sands time we decompose.  

We struggle upon sands ever ebbing
Downwards, our struggle is for that
Fleeting moment of breath, to catch
One more, too many moments cast.

Those thought above, never see how we
Live, our moments more precious than
Those times mentioned. We are sand but
We are many moment  in a finite lifetime.