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Shadow Jan 11
My veins are bleeding ink
My pains are gone in a blink
My room begins to spin
No one knew how I've been

The clouds begin to cry
My eyes have become dry
The wind hurls itself at the window
The curtains begin to billow

The moon holds me in her embrace
And lulls me with her golden grace
No more did the owl howl in the night
No more did the birds flee in fright

This was the end of the journey
The end of a bumpy road
The end of a sombre chapter
Of a story never told...
Shadow Jan 11
It's all become a burden
To write
To talk
To walk
To act alright
  Jan 9 Shadow
Solaces
At the beginning again..
A vast beginning..
In all directions I go..

Lust light devils..
Dust wing angels..
Trust onto me...

Purple skies..
Make purple oceans..
One inch deep...

I walk the waters..
Ripples of time..
Waves of my foot steps..

White broken Statues..
Old Sentinals of the sky..
Broken apart in ethereal pieces..

Sleep walking rain..
Storm on my skin..
Mist of my soul...

Sunset skies..
Magenta dreams..
The journey toward the auras anew...
Beginnings
  Jan 9 Shadow
joe machetto
deep gray hills
where poets find
the Brahms of their rock
in a mood of Spring

a mild dusk of tadpoles
that speaks in breeze
and opens to
oceans of tone
with the sense of the way
things move quietly
under staccato breakings

a sign of life
we know has passed
long before it greets us
over hilltops that point
to a blue sky
that we know hints
of a waiting unknown
Shadow Jan 9
i have the knife, i have the lead
i have the sorrow and the dread
i have the knife, i have the lead
i hold this suicide in my head.

i have the lead, i have the knife
i have the worries and the strife
i have the lead, i have the knife
i hold the ending to my life.

i have the knife, i have the lead
i have the deathly thoughts of dread
i have the knife, i have the lead
i hold the demons by my bed.

i have the lead, i have the knife
i will not live this dead half life
i have the lead, i have the knife
i think i'll have to stop my flight.

i have the knife
i have the lead
i have the suicide in my head.
Shadow Jan 1
In the still of the night you come to me
I sense your shape in the pale moonlight
I listen for you each chiming hour
And the far off surge of the sea

Lulled by the curve of the sickled moon
I dream of the arching sweep of the bay
I sense your touch as the swell meets shore
And the surging sigh of the sea.
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