This strange soul calls to mine,
Alluring, fascinating, vexing.
This strange pull, as a rapid wind,
Somehow pushing, still pulling, and taxing.

Strange spirit speaks a foreign tongue.
I speak with no tongue at all.
I would give my soul, my heart, a lung
To stop its decay. Here leaves in fall.

Strange spirit presses soft, then firm.
My spirit falters often.
Strange spirit ever lives and learns,
Cradle, sky, to coffin.

With sunlight sparse, and the world dark
You shine golden and gorgeous. My spirit ascends.
The glittering glow of your brilliance touches me gently, and the long darkness ends.

When bitterness overwhelms me
I lose hope, reference, reverence, and appetite.
You are the sweetness in my mouth that dances on the tongue and makes it all right.

While there is no nourishment for body or soul,
You are the honey that fills my hive.
You see me through the long cold winter.
You sustain my vitality.
You keep me alive.

Into fog, and in a fugue,
We flee from the fire,
Or watch from a distance
As the flames grow higher.
Our sight is short.
Our wants are many.
But if we don’t compromise,
We won’t have any.

When we feel what it is
To truly need
Perhaps we’ll find the strength
To stave off greed.
Our priorities are muddled.
Our fears feed our fight.
We become befuddled,
And forget what’s right.

We’re damaged, victimized,
And we can’t look away.
We welcome comforting lies,
And what famous faces say.
And we can’t understand
Why they don’t see what we see,
As the others hold hands
And dance
On the grave of democracy.

A prickly and inflamed small creature slinks out of the sludge to see the world.
A broken body and broken mind spread out at rest, dark tendrils unfurled.

The shimmering lifts and causes light to leak into the soul.
A music box sounds off- filling space and time, achieving its goal.

Surrounded, still and silent.
At once tested, rested, then gone.
Impulses dark and violent.
Later scattered, tattered and drawn.

Brought to tears by nothing when everything is wrong.
Creaky, creaky, creature creeps.
I see it,
Then it’s gone.

I am the freak of nature
That nurture has shaped oblong.
I am the sum of high ideals
That turned out to all be wrong.

The sole of a shoe never worn,
But cast onto the midden heap.
Covered in filth it never trod upon
Receiving yields it did not reap.

And I have learned to be patient with death,
With its anticipation,
And with its effects.

The approach is fast,
The trickle slow.
Softly seeping down below.

A violent end.
A peace not past.
You, bending steel. Me, breaking glass.

What was dampened
Once, abruptly clears.
May fortune favour golden years.

A block of ice
Cannot endure.
At last, find footing firm and sure.

Now brilliant, shines
An endless sky.
Inspires distinction of truth from lie.

Elated! Joyful! Then dropped
A darkly veiled mask.
Ground is near, approaching fast.