Christina plays
the glass-bead
   game,
while sitting
in her room.
I love Christina
with her golden
   hair
and Florentine
   balloon.

Night brought
dreams--
shadow spectres
beneath the silver
   moon.
Durvishes danced,
breathless,
to the melancholy music
of the spheres.
Guarded memories
lurked just beyond
   the door.
Murky colors
began to fade
into the creeping
     fog...
points of light --
there, but not there --
illuminated
the mind's  strange
     path...
from twilight to dawn --
to waking hours
when dreams,
   themselves,
sought sleep.

Callous handling
of a life's brief
   moments --
to say that we
could extinguish
the light in
frightened eyes.
To say that
we had become
   gods
in our own right,
with the unnatural
   rights
of vengeful dieties.
How did we come
   to this?
To take lives
from the natural
order of things.
We reigned supreme
in a world hidden
beyond tangled branches
of a very dark forest ...
the blackest place
within our souls.
No light -- sweet light --
to penetrate the
cold, blank night.
The victim's odd,
   blank stare.
Gods we were
exacting painful
   penance,
craving delirium's
   devotion,
craving death...

In dawn's dim
   light
we retraced our steps
through that
dark forest --
   our fortress,
littered with malice's
shallow graves.
The day's beginning
saw the aftermath
of crimes of
soulless passion.
I looked at him:
those hollow eyes,
what did they see?
What is seen
is what is known.
The trees did not
   cast shadows,
but stood with
solemn grace,
witnesses to brutality
of senseless order.
There were no
   questions now,
no need of answers,
there was only us.
He looked at me --
I saw a bleak horizon
in his face.
I saw the world
begin and end...
Cold and heartless;
no semblance of morality.

Night will never
   betray
our primal lust
for pursuing pain.
That age old
demon
reaches out,
   beckoning
with scaley hands;
whose eyes
have seen the darkest
   sin...
Who are we
but children of
suffering, of the
   night,
of death...

Cold morning
meets dark, weary eyes --
the damp, grey air
seeps reality into
   the soul...
Endless days (and nights)
make up our all too
   brief lives --
we spend what we
   do not have...
moment upon moment,
hour after hour.
The truth is known:
kinship accepted --
no lie to this game
we're driven to play.
Yet, somehow
the world around us
cannot accept what we are.
Candles burn bright
and fast, with
relentless ease...
(angelic visions/
demonic grace).
And cast a glow,
calm and soft,
to stifle fear
for our never-closing
   eyes.

I longed to die --
   to simply cease --
he showed no mercy
with savage restraint.
He talked of never being
   forgiven...
all sanity gone --
time hangs heavy
in the hidden places
of the exiles,
in the cold, morbid
relentlessness of an
unforgiving night.

I don't know if it
was a hallucination...
you were here
in this room,
your hand caressing
   my face...
then your hand opening
  the door
and you leaving.

I still don't know...

Sitting, looking out
this tower's windows,
across the bay
at the city skyline.
A beautiful city.
The fog slipping
onto the island's
   tideflats.
It seems eerie --
with buildings
and industrial lights
playing hide and seek.
The bridge engulfed
by a silver, cerebral
   sea--
and the cold fog
rolling, rolling down
and back upon
   itself,
as if a stream
   of vapors
flows along the
roadways of time
   and space,
flooding the gutters
with lost loves,
   faded dreams.
the last reflections
of that secret realm
which only the eternal
fog can hide --
along with street-grided
mysteries of the city,
and the heart-of-hearts
which beats in building
    and bridge.
Street upon street
winding down
with a certain purpose,
to finally end upon
   the water's edge
where an ancient
   stairway
descends into the bay.

An endless, coarse rain --
   here, now --
yet, another time,
   another place,
the sun reigned upon
our world...
it was brief and it was
   brittle --
we did not know...
did not choose to think
beyond what was then
our "here and now":
no rules, ro rhyme,
   nor reason.
We thought we would
never end --
   or did we really
   think?
We believed the dream
we dreamed;
our web painstakingly
   spun.
Dew drops shone
on slender threads,
like diamond-fire...
yet, as the dew fades
   past dawn,
our world vanished
before our eyes --
slipping through
our finghertips --
lost beyond our grasp.
And so, this day --
   here, now --
we settle for the rain
to wash away the grief,
wash away the sin --
   (no promises made) --
to quickly, mercifully
wash  our memories away.

Leaves upon the  
   ground --
the sky steel gray.
The last roses
wet with rain,
yet that does not
belie their summer
   beauty.
November's chill
   creeps in,
with the air full
of autumn's decay.
The year past
is not lost to the
   day.
Soon winter's
brittle beauty comes,
but for now
November reigns:
a hint of skeleton trees
   to come...
and those last roses
will have blown away.

Deep within me
there is a void,
blacker-than-black
   and cavernous.
I have known this
since childhood.
The void is there,
and an emptiness
   so final
that I want to weep.
In that dark, deep
   place
my soul of soul resides ,
and it is enveloping --
this void within me:
it calls to me
in terrors of the night.
It whispers to me on sunlit
   afternoons,
when I think I am
   at peace.
I shudder, and the
skin of my eyes
   peels away.
Deep within me
there is a void,
black, so black --
and cavernous.

Babies are sleeping
in silver cradles;
cats roam with a
certain aimlessness
that only the night
   can detect.
Mist mingles
with the undulating
     smoke
of dying fires,
with my warm breath
caught in the darkness
     of the air --
languid voices whisper
and I remember
the color of your eyes.

Birds, as black and shiny
as the sins of night.
Their cries:
chilling memories of
   blank promises.
The bleak horizon
offered nothing --
yet nothingness
   belonged to us...
and too those birds,
and too those sins.
Night became us
   then...

We stood beneath
   the bridge,
seeking shadows
to hide our faces.
He tried to smile,
but the look
was distorted and
   displaced.
No sanity left...
no humanity.
The path chosen
led us deep
   and dark
into a realm
with pleading
   voices,
with merciless
   reactions.
The day would come
when it must stop.
Where? When?
The true gods
turned away
and left us, childlike,
to face our fortune.
Left us unguarded
to witness the
unremorseful grasp
   of fate.
We stood alone,
even the shadows
could not hide us
   then...

Snow fell like angel
   whispers.
The night glowed
   white
with the purity of
innocence.
No movement,
no sound --
save for the snow
and its gentility.

To this thought sparked
and to this wonder --
where did I come
   from,
and what was the
   plan?
To what rhyme,
to what reason?

An astral plane
vast beyond belief --
   or perhaps:
a grain of sand,
speckled upon a beach.

Which form or feature --
what destination?
(The beginning beguiles
   the ending.)

To this moment granted,
and to this wonder --
where did I come
   from,
and what was the plan?

The night rained on,
memories overcame
the night.
Heavy sighs
waited to be heard,
deep in the shadows.
Voices, nearly recognized,
filtered in and out
of the dark, slick leaves...
'Time before' flooded this realm --
hearts broken, mended,
then destroyed...
carried the memories
of love, love lost,
and never found..
A streetlamp's aura
displayed what
   was known;
glistening ghosts lingered,
beckoning through
the endless hours --
and I remembered
the touch of
   your hand.

The air is close,
it looks like snow --
too soon, too soon,
the Season isn't
   ready yet?
The last leaf
has not fallen.
The last rose
has not blown away.
'Too soon, too soon',
the little bird cries,
as the air casts blue
and twilight hints of snow.
When was winter
so far away?
Do we remember
those lazy days?
And now, the sky
threatens
with a brittle beauty...

If  I wake to snow,
I will not be surprised,
I'll just sigh
and say, 'too soon.'

Night terrors
conjure shapes
   and forms
far from here...
distant demons
   wake --
they yawn and
   stretch,
their fingertips
touching soul
   and sky.
No fear is felt
because it is not
   known.
Caution falls aside --
showing mercy
is unimportant,
it is a burden...
   antique and
   unproductive.
(There are no tricks
   to fate.)
The world is dark --
each breath
(each whisper)
hangs upon the day
so late in coming.
The demons dance
   and smile --
familiar with the
   nightmare.
(Another time,
another place...)
Magician teach us
careful magic
learned far off --
where hope lies down with
   death.

Lost love
lies melancholy
in the dust;
dried leaves
hide the tears.
What is remembered
are the words
not spoken;
the broken promises
that broke a heart.
Bronze roses
are cold reminders
of days once
punctuated by shadows
   long --
we shall ne're meet again,
the dust and the leaves
my only companions now.

A ****** of crows --
the branches bare.
Time at the edge
   of the field
stands still.
Snow descended
   in the night:
a pure, white
caress of the land.
The crows tuck
their wings in tight--
eyeing  what could
be seen as desolation.

The field is empty
save the crows.
Time, time...
it had to happen.
Time, time:
it does not matter.
The field is still,
the crows are still.
Time: forgotten now.

Oh, gentle shade
   of lovely tree --
songbirds trill a
   symphony.
Long shadows
punctuate the days--
the beetles work is done.
The last sweet nector
for honey-bee;
we're sheltered now
   upon the lee.
Just wait: the smokey fires
   will burn,
and the leaves will
   fall...
for sweet Autumn,
   all too soon,
will come.

In the shadows
grows the nightshade,
I know this well,
for we wondered there.
He laughed outloud
and promised love --
a promise I held fast.
I begged him once
to be in good faith,
and yet he strayed.

In the shadows
I plucked the blossoms,
bitter handfuls,
for my witch's brew,
made so sweet with wine.
He laughed outloud
and drank it down.
I watched and waited,
and smiled at last...

In the shadows
grows the nightshade --
there,too, my lost
   love lies:
lips so cold, and
   vacant eyed.
True to me at last.

I loved him once
so long ago --
the years have passed,
yet memories
do not fade.
A touch, a kiss --
all those moments
caught in time.
Laughter once heard
echoes beyond
   the grave.
And tears
that fell,
   still now
bring pain.
I loved him once
so long ago...
and he loved me.

Shadow men--
the silent,
   secret ones --
stand soulless
by the sea.
Day has vanished
into the grey twilight.
Trees, towering sentinels,
guard against the night.
The strong pursue,
the weak will cry...
dart and turn,
twist and grimace.
(Sight and sound betrayed/
instinct forgotten
or mislaid.)
The shadow men
watch the hunt:
no reaction, nor reward.
Night, like the First
     Darkness,
consumes all --
soul and soulless --
by the sea,
the silent, secret sea.

Winter's brittle beauty
   comes
in a snow-fall,
whiter-than-white.
Adorning skeleton
   trees;
wrapping this place
in a crystal comforter.
The air is still --
a quiet envelopes
this wonderland...
no bird to sing.
Winter's brittle beauty
   comes.
the air casts blue
in the frozen twilight.
The hearth is warm,
the home snow-bound,
yet magic reigns.
Winter's brittle beauty
   comes...

Time hangs
heavy
in the garden
of the exiles.

Silence...

Today I am tired,
I linger languidly,
listening to the wind.
The Autumn leaves
will fall so soon,
a bittersweet beauty.
The season of
   our decay.
The wind in the trees
beckons me,
but I pause and sigh.
Today I am tired,
a dreamer walking through the hours.

The creamy rose meets the
morn, yet sadness rests upon
the dew-dropped blooms. All
the years in an instant robbed;
my bouquet cascades to the
ground. Tears blinked back.
You are lost, and love is gone --
the trembling leaves have
blown away.

When you're walking through
a dark,dark wood
there is nothing for you to fear.
Look at the beauty of
     the trees,
and maybe see a deer.

Before you know it
the path will end;
bright sunlight will
   beckon you.
See the shadows disappear --
be full of hope and life
   anew.

Dawn approached
encroaching on our
   world of night,
that dreamy realm
we claimed as ours
during the dark, spinning
     moments,
when we could neither
speak nor think...
That world of night,
where we dwelt
in our secret place.

The call comes
shrill at first,
scattering the brittle
   light --
then notes follow:
a sad, reminiscent
   melody.
Bird, why have you
   stayed?
Why have you stayed?
Winter wraps the air
   so close,
and cold.
Pine trees and fir
the only sentinels
to guard against
   storm and night.
Bird, why have you
   stayed?
Sharp wings cut
through snowfall:
the sky is full
   of white!
What do you remember --
what do you remember here?
Bird, why have you stayed...

We must dare
to dream
extravagant;
to celebrate
   the unique.
Each day is our
   opportunity --
each choice
our special
   gift.

Knives twist
   and turn --
in someone else's
nightmare,
lost in lust
and vain deception --
it is not our dream,
   our wilderness,
of love and darkness...
They will die,
   --dust to dust --
and never know
we held eternity
in our bare hands.