Poetry that pulls ...
Me to the soils of the earth
Awakening my soul
Giving life, giving birth

Poetry you feel...
I can't see it, but it's real
An invisible emotional force
Raw and filled with discourse

A core of deadly silence
That holds..
Holds forever..
To my heartstrings
To my violence

Forced to observe ..
Never to surrender..

The center of the poet's being
Filled with fire, magma, depth and gleam
A depth that no other force can deter
It grips, aches, symbolizes ...stirs

We know it is there
We know it is true
The core inside the core
Is the core inside of you

Poetry that holds vast ...
Shapes our futures, shapes our pasts ...
This is the strength of verse
To engage, to immerse

In such a way that reality crumbles...
Thus it keeps us rare, keeps us humble

Providing sanity...

                                        ..truth?

This is the prevailing darkness, the revelations, the reproof.

Pull me to myself. Keep me close to my identity.

Don't    let     me    slip    away . . . . . .

Break my heart into pieces and spread it upon the barren lands…
Let my yearnings, dreams and sorrows scatter upon the golden sands…

Like a seed planting all that is good …
Giving hope to the hopeless, and grace to the true…

Take my inspirational song and dance …
And serve it while the droplets prance…

Impart it to the nightingale, the songbird noble and true…
Let her sing with my lyrics of passion, all day and all night through…

Tame the envy and jealousy, rebellion and fear…
And convert it to the blue skies clear…

Where the cirrus my fragments enjoy…
The treasure no man can destroy…

Throw my words into the wild winds West…
Send them to the weary ears and souls of zest…

Bring them peace …
Though my life may cease…

Scatter my heart upon the barren lands

As dawn its fragrant scents appeal,
In the knife of life I lie,
By bitter wounds my heart be stilled,
She pierces my soul ...and pierced I die.

A thousand breaths, a slow demise,
Tempests and storms engulf her soul,
In the womb she dies and cries.
They await the death of the legacy born

The curse, the gift, marveled and feared,
As the earth and sky shake and break,
Hair fine, the color of earth and silk
Her eyes green as the wooded land’s heart

To live in death and die in birth
Doom and destiny to never part

If ‘tis is fate’s account of breath
Her soul will forevermore be still in death

Darkness sets …an anguished cry escapes, echoes and fades.  
Like a wave, breaking on a boulder; cursing the wind, skies, and moon.

This is Whisper.
Whisper is death.
Whisper is affliction.
Whisper is …silent.  

My name is Brink; yes that is my full name. I was born of Whisper, born from a demon possessed and hungry with power.

She is the mother of the silent abandoned.

I am, and I am not.
I live, and I live not.
I die, and I die not.
I am the core of nothingness that resides inside every being.
The on that brings them to the brink of their destinies.
I unify.
I break apart.
Yes, I am a contradiction.
I am a raging cry, but a gently whisper.
An inner agony.
A pained reflection.
Whisper is my guardian.
I am an island, surrounded by her jealousy.
I do not have many friends.
Whisper paints the bark with her aqua hues, and hence paints the rocks with the bark’s despair.

Darkness sets …an anguished cry escapes, echoes and fades.  
Like a crack in the edge of darkness, an unsettling symbol of destiny
This is Brink
Brink is destiny.
Brink is purpose.
Brink is …impulse.
My name is Whisper; yes that is my full name. I was born of the Greater, and the essence of Brink.
He is the son of the forthcoming doom.
I am, and I am not.
I live, and I live not.
I die, and I die not.
I am the core of nothingness that resides inside every being.
The one that brings pain, affliction and prosperity.
I whisper.
I scream.
Yes, I am a contradiction.
I am a raging cry, but a gently whisper.
An inner agony.
A pained reflection.
It is my purpose to defend Brink.
I am a force, surrounded by evil.  
I do not have many friends.
Whisper paints the bark with her aqua hues, and hence paints the rocks with the bark’s despair.
Brink’s heart beats, and breathes life whilst emitting an ominous truth, and hence his heart is the essence of truth itself.

For all who dare attempt to walk upon these shores or sail these ere seas…

Welcome to hell.

Silver shadows plague my mind
The harmony I'm trying to find..
Is no where to be found..
It's a dark and unsettling parade
The plot, the characters, the set and the play
The masquerade of my life.
Their just spinning faster
I'm running after
A ghost in sapphire glass..
A teardrop of diamond
The lost and the violent
A sentiment of wrath
And I'm fighting harder
I'm sinking deeper
In the sanity I bear..
But the grand illusion
The resolution
I wouldn't if I dared..
So I'll dare to live my life
To give my strife
A run for it's money
'Cause I..
Am a soldier of tomorrow
I'm not a victim to my sorrow
And I will find a way..
A way..
To happiness

I walk into a garden
With but only a mere child’s feel
I look around me, the innocence shining
The light, painfully, seems oh so real

I come too quickly
Am stopped by something
And as I turn my face

I see flowers of the prickly sort
My life begins changing
When I see a maze

Garden doors are tricky things
But in this case there were three
Three doors, three choices
Oh my, which one shall it be?

The first is dark, with broken, shredded vines
The second is golden with coins portrayed on the sides

I look at the two, with delightful curiosity
Until my heart froze
I saw a third with a humming bird
So light, as if she knows

The third was neither of gold nor darkness
But of flowers and something in the core
In the core, oh, so beautiful was a key
With that I opened the door

I walk into a garden
With but only a mere child’s feel
I look around me, the innocence shining
The light, painfully, seems oh so real

I come too quickly
Am stopped by something
And as I turn my face

I see flowers of the prickly sort
My life begins changing
When I see a maze

Garden doors are tricky things
But in this case there were three
Three doors, three choices
Oh my, which one shall it be?

The first is dark, with broken, shredded vines
The second is golden with coins portrayed on the sides

I look at the two, with delightful curiosity
Until my heart froze
I saw a third with a humming bird
So light, as if she knows

The third was neither of gold nor darkness
But of flowers and something in the core
In the core, oh, so beautiful was a key
With that I opened the door

In the rain in the sun,
One smile stood out,
A giggle a laugh,
A face softer than a puppies pout

One colour many looks,
Lilac was the lassie’s heart,
Her meekness in her passion and books,
This lilac lassie was small in size, but big in heart.

She knew that one day her tears of joy and sadness,
Would be her part in the world,
She would pray, never fight, and in her gladness,
The Little Lilac Lassie would always be a special girl.

“I love I love!”
She would chant in her little garden, her own special place,
But what do these words really mean? “I love I love!”
Can you imagine the enchanted look on her white, yet marry face.

She leaped she danced she sang in the rain,
It was her most beloved place in the world,
For rain you cannot hold in your hand to your own advantage, keep on yourself for pride, or make from your arrogance,
That is why rain is special, all on its own.

This told her that The Abba Father was just as the same as the rain could ever be, but for now shall she pray, hope, and have faith, The Little Lilac Lassie.

Everyone has a story.
The question is will we live ours like a true poet?
A writer?
A scribe?
A narrator.?
Everyone is a poet in themselves
Poetry cannot be confined to paper
Nor words
It cannot be confined to the sea
Nor the birds
Poetry can’t be commanded
Nor can it have a set destination
No..
Poetry is destiny
And destiny is a story
And a story worth telling
Poetry is deeper than the seas
Farther than the stars
Higher than the skies
It holds..
It promises..
It is true
Poetry is us..
Poetry
Is you
Is in the eyes of the young
Is in the hearts of the strong
Is in the minds of the great
Is in the souls of the gates
Poetry began with the greatest poet of all
The one who took the fall
The one who gave it all
To answer the call
Of every sinner
And in the end
Became the over comer
Yea
Poetry began with the Creator
And the Creator began with poetry
For was it not poetry when He said
‘Let there be light!’
For was it not poetry when He said,
‘Let there be night!’
Yea
When we've lost our purpose
As us mere beings sometimes do
We look to the core
We look to He who is true
We look
Through the eyes of the Poet

I captured a dream
Of melodious seems
And put it in a bottle of glass
So that when I arose
The sunlight would pose
And the rays would begin to dance
I walked to a tree
Where the bottle would be
And saw a reflection on the grass
I looked to the sky
A bird flew by
And with it the bottle of glass
I searched for years
Wasted my tears
On the dream that now was lost
I walked through the deserts
Paraded the sees
And even scouted the frost
But alas the dream
Of melodious seems
Was nowhere to be found?
I looked to the north
I looked to the east
The West and the South
Then I had a thought
A revelation of sorts
On this dream that I wanted to keep for myself
That now far away
It would be found
And the dream would be with someone else