I'd do anything to forget you

Oh I wish I was to
Take you in my arms  
And feel you close to me
I wish I was there to make you feel safe
And at ease
Under the covers
All mixed up
Lips touching
Oh I wish I was there alone with you

H aven for those who’s words are never read
E ven though they pour their souls and very
L ives and spirit through their pens or
L et their fingers nurture beautiful tomorrows
O n the keyboards of their creativity.

P oetry is the blood that pumps
O ut wondrous magic from those fertile minds that
E nds up on a glowing screen or printed page, in hopes
T hat it can give birth to a long awaited
R ennaissance in the thinking of the world, and create a
Y earning for a better way to live and love.
ljm

Sliver of the best
and sliver of the worst
Shiver on your chest
and then we will disperse

Not until we die
You can ever leave me
Not until we die
will you ever be free of me.

Tell me, Have I made myself clear
You can tell that  I love you and so need you near.

Tell me love, Of your utter feelings
and I'll show you all of my inner reelings

I can show you where the electricity runs
I can show you how I inhale my lungs
I can show you the way my precious heart beats
and you can tell me how you think its all very neat.

I live in sin washed clean
I live in the eye of chaos
                      Serene.

I live in desire controlled.
I live in hell, every demon owned.
I am the mother, God of my world.
I am the daughter, Suffered to sore.


We are the sons of man in this shadow box.
We Shepard eachother not sheep or goats in flocks.

What if i told you, God was not perfect.
Just perfectly alive.
What If I said no matter what you believed
You could never truly die.

See I know something a little
about the back of my head
and I know something, actually nothing
about being dead...

My mind works fabulously,
even though its delusional
and you couldn't tell me anything
even if you could prove it all.

Leaves' dancing shadows on the piece of sun
missing the keen eyes
rebound on the vacant space.

The man played with shadows
weaving them into whimsy shapes
before most of them were pulps of paper
gone into the bin of night.

If not for light
would be no shadows
he was always churning in his mind
probing dark holes of moon
going into shady nooks
seeking playfully alive shadows.

The dead casts no shadows
he brooded
on the space he would leave

but he wished
they had
when he wasn't around.