And he walked. He entered the dim night.
On a still dare to clear his head.
Thoughts and anxiety bound and tight.
He moved as if knowing that he had been misled.

The bright town of shimmering lights.
The cars that bleed into the street.
Focus past from thoughts on heights.
To the walkers and ghosts that move on the creep.

Albert brooded through the park he walked.
"Falks Ave" where stood his homestead.
Clothed and hidden, his own head distraught,
Thoughts left unsought, words left unsaid.

Where eyes of musty grey show might,
And intimidate the passerby refuse to look,
Upon him, a man of ultimately dim sight,
Friends left unmade, hearts left unshook.

He sees a memory of his own and quickly looks away.
As the shade of a man who already knows his past.
That the history of his lost heart and his present lead astray,
Wounds left untended, Love left ungrasped.

The sound of a train moves distantly so.
Albert sits at a bench and huddles in the cool.
"I don't wish to be here, and yet I still go.
To soothe my soul by looking as a ghoul.

Lonely and cross at what I can't know.
Thinking if I stay here forever, I'll be in the ground.
But I just don't understand why it happened to me."
Help left ungiven, Answers left unfound.

His eyes assess his condition.
The park at his back, the road to his front.
He thinks of an old superstition.
That maybe he just wasn't enough.

That life simply moved as fates hands dictate.
And he is but a puppet being played on his string.
To move through pain and pleasure in his state.
To ultimately be gifted with a gods own blessing.

And then the world shook.
And he didn't know anything.

Straightening files and writing names.
Of fables, tales and speeches of unseen.
Where word of the fantastical align with his aims,
So there sat Albert, finding what he could glean.

"Where does the light go from here?
Where will I be when I die?
I wish not to be in hell, no line will I do there.
To heaven I feel most unlikely for I.

Juniper... I wonder where you would go.
Where the world would have you be.
I wonder to which place you would sow.
I wish you were here with me."

The poor man continued his sorting.
His plans, his ideas and their action with do.
And when all with which shined divine, became that reporting.
He took all with a sword to keep and run through.

For the words in the paper.
The lines in sand.
Wash away with lies much greater,
Than truth unable to stand.

Albert looked at the cross, he studied its wood.
The smooth lacquer that bore his touch.
And where the lines of his studies, of all that is good.
Turned dour eyes as a crutch.

"Where does god to be with man, hold in esteem?
The frontward facing pain in my heart.
Of a woman gone, folded in the seems,
Of a world that is tearing me apart."

He pondered and drew yonder to in a sigh.
And there was no one to listen.
And there was no answer from on high.
And so Albert moved on, he moved as if stricken.

"Reg, J

From where I sit, you seem troubled.
An affording further, thee,
Your heart belongs to another.
And yet you temper to remember she.

With whom there was a love.
A love, of which you lost.
And yet breath, of memories no more.
Sprinkled with **** and you call it gloss.

You bear such trouble, such aimless need,
For one of whom hates you so.
But death is such a boring end!
I want to know how far you'll go.

So I make an offer, I won't lie.
Find me where eyes are lathed in greed.
And I will appear to you, but once.
And arm you with what you need.

To run your foolish errand.
And continue your forsaken goal.
When me and my brothers laugh at you.
And how much suffering will take its toll.

O' cursed soul, how much I see you weep.
But know this idiotic cause quite just.
Because the divine will blame you as the world cannot take you."

The final line of this poem is lost.

Vibrant mitochondria.
Stretching from the dark.
Action a bad idea.

Memory haze.
Into the fiery depths.
I grudge on in chains.

More than a life.
Pine trees ask where she is.
Miserly moving through most nights.

A kind idiot asks "why?"
Without future, I need no past
To where desolation lay, I do not shy.

Here we find her grave.
Onerous and false.
Where I remember and find what to save.

So, my personal ghost.
The real one is out there living her life.
Seems you still want to play host.

My former love, what shall we write today?

I pull at this rope ladder, adjoining these cliffs.
Umbridge with my crawl to the other side.
Myopic days spin the wheel, sputtering in fits.
Arms and legs of a forgotten bride.

Feathers of a bird flutter to the bouquet.
Jumping at the opportunity of a happy lucky life.
Dwellings shroud the ghetto in dismay.
And you went home without me, to your side.

Feels good to get it all out.
That without you, I feel a broken man.
Tallow and sloth from me you are without.
Your impression of me a ghost, a memory and as well, a brand.

Frontward we walk at the same goal.
But without eyes there is no love I could know.
My very depth, my heart beckons your soul.
And yours deaf, as its silence tells me to go.

Like petals falling on the ocean.
My thoughts of you still linger on.
They fight, they coil and in motion.
Rest in the words of this psalm.

Scry, the telling of a broken heart.
In a distant past where hello sounds.
Fear, the coming coldness of a flood.
And her echo likeness in the crowds.

From where do these feelings come?
Mind the gap, it's where my dreams had once reside.
In guilt, my memories of moments some,
And in ghastly poems I confide.

Have you not felt as I do, idling in the screen?
See these collapsed surroundings in mine broken eyes.
Of a future not hoping, of a life unseen.
Where I decided to break a heart, and say my goodbyes.

And the last one to say, I couldn't have known.
In three years the bullet finally struck my mood.
And when I spoke, the love I felt had been sown.
To the darkest moment, silence drifted in the gloom.


I'm sorry. I will be sorry until my death.
Mark the moment of an arrows strike.
Pull back, correct the stance and calm your breath.
I can only let loose and redraw, start a new page and rewrite.

Calm and collected in the cross breeze.
Listening to voices of wind whisper your name.
I pray a day will come.
Where I am to be unbound.

And behind me there is,
Where moon-drops fall from your sacred heart.
Lay the bindings of your soul to mine.
Decaying on the wrought ground.