Fervently burning under a silken sky
weary souls become forgotten ghosts
wrought by the echoes of a dying sunset
belonging nevermore to a mortal world

where demons writhe behind invisible doors
licking the floors, dreaming of gore
from twisted tongues, their words whip
not spoken or whispered but weak and murmured

lo! a name is painted, in the shades of dusk
in purple and ebony, unreadable - Lenore
she who fancies nights within cold chambers
stoking hearts of men as though they were embers

writing volumes of sins they confess,
and every treacherous lie they profess
turned the sky bleak today
all the ghosts have gone away.

to banter and delegate
a favorable solution
they waste days and lives
in obvious delusion

when war breaks out
much relief is sent
alongside guns and bombs
from governments bent

then, lie to the people
and reinforce resolve
with hope that resounds
and eventually dissolves

selling pawns like hot cakes
in the business of hypocrisy
you think dictatorship is bad?
take a closer look at democracy

Of woe and photography
I love little more than neither
upon my dresser,
strewn coke and ether
I was stolen but for an instant
wiederholen ‘I am an idjit’
and it was lost before I knew it.

I searched for it
high and low
from attic shelf to basement floor
not finding as much as a drawer.

Through the open window the wind screamed
hinted me some and swindled me clean
out I ran, into forests serene
into snow and fading pines that once were green.

My eyes stalked all they could see
away in the distance - red tapestry
silken and linen, it couldn’t be!
my dresser lay waiting under a willow tree.

And quick I snapped
with bottle uncapped,
prayed to the winds
and quietly relapsed.

So now here I lay,
in a sleepless dream
upon my dresser
in forests serene.