In five lines i wish to tell of a place
where many come to and end with the grace
the deafening silence goes further and yonder
the living sand depart making visible the unseen border
a place decorated with carved stones and lovely epitaph

Whispers of the night
the walls listens
secret flies without wings
calm, noise, quiet, the behaviour of
the house on Elm street
the sarcasm of the roofs

Hurry! Hurry!
the leafs cry out
burning in dismay
the howling wolves
all this a beautiful nightmare
the unknown self.. ready for fame
the devils incarnation
darkness...
they all go in like "toy soldiers"
                                                          - For Doc

I am that which i wish myself
the first son to pay at the first sun
I, not void of the happenings, thrusts,
i do with the pen, say, am i a poet?
an uncle, a brother or a son

I seem to have it in my head
proffering solutions with anger
it runs, i say through our veins
not quenching the thirst, relieving the danger
blood spats head smashed and wonder what gains

I am that which i wish myself
the first son to pay at the first sun

Probably I start like this, on my chair.
With all life has done, all I do is take in air.
Constantly clearing conscience with flare.
When i do go in six feet clear.
In a car I burn turning the gear.
Father, see me through as I ascend for your holy care.