voices count, even if ignored,
even in a wilderness,
a voice raised, even to a whisper.

If I wrote poems in my dreams,
then I'd write in black and white

If I wrote poems in my dreams,
then I'd convey messages through silence

If I wrote poems in my dreams.
then my writing would hold knowledge it doesn't when awake

If I wrote poems in my dreams,
then you'd see a side of me that even I don't know

A willow tree
Breathes and shakes
Speaking wisdom in its quakes
A child waits for it to speak
From a story she long awaits.
A willow grove
Listen to the leaves that blow
Whispers from the old,
A child waits,
For a story that she believes.

Eden's overgrown
Adam's gone and
God's been overthrown,

Eve sits on the throne now
with serpents at her feet,
her world almost complete.

a bit like this piece of almost
but not quite done.

We crawl
then totter
and tentatively walk
then we walk tall,
one day we'll stumble
and fall
and crawl once more,

life is like a revolving door
or
don't you think so?

Rip, rip, rip!
Red glazed paper
Cling, cling, cling!
The falling sugar
Whirr, whirr, whirr!
Grinding of the beans
Stir, stir, stir!
Till the surface gleams
Drip, drip, drip!
Dripping black ocean
Sip, sip, sip!
The bitter decoction

Sweetheart
Ain't it sweet enough
To believe there's someone we're made for
But it's never enough sugar
in that sachet
Why does love last as long as it's paid for?