It is painful perhaps to be awakened from a vision as to be born and by my body's action teach my mind the pain of being alive. Also because all creation is simpler than what some philosopher thinks. Descartes looks more outré than the painted wizard. Curse the dark hour that gave me birth. Never to have lived is best. I am alive only by accident. I alone awake at dawn. The gods have invented a terrible torture for us. I have suffered to have a soul still not yet pure enough. I'd give up years, yes, years of my own life for such. Everyone's life is the same life, if you live long enough. But better to die than live a mechanical life that is a repetition of a repetition. It is life inside life inside itself. When clocks and mirrors are reversed to show ourselves as only we could ever know.
      If man is born so soon, if life is so brief like some sleep I feared I'd never wake from. We have so little time on earth that anyone does not ever make anything better. The same or less ambition only makes the ambitious greater. There is not time enough on earth for all I'd like to do. How strange it seems, with so much gone of life and love, to still live on! Where is the life we  have lost in living? It takes life to love life. I and this love are one. It is death, which our flesh dreads, is the very death of every night, which we call sleep. My eyes, with the weight of death heavy upon them. For the death of beauty is beauty. Inspiration comes from living the death. It is not easy to die, oh, it is not easy to die the death. I do think brave death outweighs a troubled life. To return to the celestial sphere where everyone goes. When all flesh had peace, and the efreet offers a brilliant void where our mind could be perfectly clear and all our limitations destroyed. The obsolete, epic scale. In death I believe I shall be as the flowers have been. We are like family who see each other only at funerals. The wax and honey of a mausoleum – the round dome is proof its maker is alive. O death, I cover you over with roses and lilies so that I may carry earned riches beyond death like the Egyptians.
      Follow me with gilded shadows to my secret room where I read each poem entire. The poems you would have written had your life been good. I could have said more than I could ever have written in poems. Perfection, of a kind, was what I was after, and the poetry I invented was easy to experience. Experience is what you do not want to experience. All poetry is difficult to read but easy to misinterpret. The mysterious composition of poetry. No man has dared to write these words yet, but I do know, how the souls of all great men at times pass through us and our blood is mixed with their blood.
      Some of you have written poems, usually short ones, and some kept diaries, seldom published til after death, but most make no memorable impact except on your closest friends and pets. The black young cat jumped onto my lap as I write. I have suffered the total isolation of the ***. I write for those who cannot write. We need not write the books men read to be poets. The flame in which I write burns in the dark alone. So for ten more verses I keep the light on. So much to be done before tomorrow. Let us be more productive like the gnomes. One drop of oil burning, to light up seven days of writing. Save me from damnation! The profession of writing where one needs one's brains all the time. I hate my verses, every line, every word, oh pale and frail pencil I did try. Must I persist in my errors. Words have no value for words that are not true. Truth shall grow great eclipsing other truths. But now all these heavy books, are no use to me anymore, for where I go words carry no weight. I am ready to swear never to write another word, away from books, away from art. Words were but wasted breath. The art of novel writing is dead. I know that you will pay the price of authorship and make the allowances an author has to do. To know in words that which we have always known in thought. Better than most mortal flower, yours are the poems I do not write. We who move every man at a deeper level than Mozart.
      We read the Bible for its prose. Shall heaven so soon be the prize we obtain? How far is it to heaven? Since Heaven and He are one. In the sun that is young once only. Death comes but once. There is no other life, only one. Once is never the beginning of enough, is it? I do not pretend to know the reason anymore than it is. Oh, pity the dead that are dead. Who cannot take the longest journey. Who moan and weep against the huge adamant walls of life's exclusive city. A man like Houdini escaped death through his immortality. A shadowy durability for which we were not meant to live. A covenant of swords without the word. No doctor ever does the work of the carpenter if our nerve and ideologies die first.
      A dream has power to poison sleep. I dream of a duel between myself and old masters. The underground road are, as the dead prefer them, always dark and lonely. This is the sort of tableau of my doom. The death of the poet piqued the interests of his peers. It was then that he became what he admired. And from death he won the fame he would be known for. O the bullet can never **** the soul. O downpour of rain! O sad anthem, when will you end? This is the flesh we are but never to believe. The flesh that dies but in death we pity. Without me Adam would have fallen with Lucifer in his grand city, he would never have been able to cry, “O Felix Culpa.” And whoever walks a mile full of false sentiment, walks to the funeral of the whole human race. Was that why Macbeth murdered sleep? How O how could the scorpion sting itself to death!
      Awaken the leviathan of the heavy mind. What is death? A life disintegrating into smaller simpler ones. But in total emptiness, the sure extinction that we travel to shall one day be lost to us. Not here, not there, not anywhere, and soon nothing more terrible, nothing more true. I floated with the whole human family, those who are living, those who have died, and those who are not yet born. We passed into the chamber of the sleeper. We, who have died beyond the clock. Slowly the silence of the multitudes passed. Every artist must die when they sleep and sleep when they rise to face the living. Such, is the dream; you do not sleep, you only dream of your thirst for sleep. May you in your troubles not be ashamed of any suffering as ****** as it maybe, nor hear them like a hero in the grandest way.
      Let us hear poets recite their poems and tragedies to crowds of listeners. We, poets, thanks to a tongue deprived of so many inflexions, can very easily turn nouns, if we wish, into verbs. Those who say in verse what others say in prose. Because in dying is a drama. There is no quiet drama. As quiet and chaste as a poet's own life. It is the dead who need no moon to dream by. Death, in the dark, in the deep, in the dream, forever.

Cold is the night and full the moon,  
deathly silent,through a window I observe you.
I,a hunter and you, my prey,watching              
for when in your bed you will lay.              
I await with insurmountable patience          
the moment I shall have you in my presence.          
As the hours pass all grows still,            
I enter your bower and approach in silence,        
viewing your sleep and inhale deep,        
the scent of life emanates while you dream.        
Normally,my victim,already you would have been,
but,something detains me;imagining’s? maybe.                  
                  
In all the centuries of my existence                  
never had I felt this experience.                  
I enter with a singular objective                  
and full of intention,                  
the hunger besieges me                  
and your blood beckons.                  
Battling with my nature,                  
cautiously your slumbering body                  
I observe when in my direction you turn.                  
I realize once more,                  
the vitality at you core,                  
your blood I can almost taste                  
nearly knocking a lamp over in my haste.                  
I hear the blood running through your veins                  
and the beat of your heart which reminds me,                  
that mine, desiccated, will vibrate, never more.                  
                  
Even feeling thus something touches me;                  
could it be possible?                  
Incapable of tender feelings,                  
what is it that stops me?                  
This I do not understand,                  
observing you with curiosity;                  
what does he possess that stays my hand?                  
The humanity within illuminates him like firebrand                  
and I, a black butterfly attracted by the shine.                  
I do not wish to destroy that which,                  
within him glimmers,                  
I would prefer to be part of it,                  
but know not if I am worthy                  
for I have been a great sinner.                  
                  
I am a monster, for whom blood means life                  
yet a legend speaks of a possibility that love,                  
for creatures such as I, also exists.                  
Could it be that this fragile human                  
can be what my solitary existence                  
hath sought without knowing?                  
The choice, he will have to make,                  
without compulsion and born of the heart.                  
Being what I am, I could easily                  
make him love me, but it would destroy                  
his soul and be a lie I could not abide.                  
With all my faculties and supernatural abilities                  
I can only hope that he sees beyond my                  
despicable acts and my multitude of wrongs.                  
In my extended existence never, had I felt                  
this that now burdens me,                  
and, until this moment, had not known.                  
This feeling for a frail mortal                  
causes me trepidation, because surely,                  
this endeavor will never come to fruition.                  
                  
In the moment of this deep contemplation                  
the human awakes and observes me                  
with certain confusion.                  
His first questions are:                  
Who you are?  How did you enter?                  
Why have you come?                  
                  
I will not do you harm,I was only                  
observing your time of dreams.                  
I am called Mozelle, and I am,                  
to be sure, a terrifying                  
and bloodthirsty creature,                  
alas I cannot injure you                  
and that is somewhat perplexing.                  
What a novel sensation,                  
this feeling of refrain.                  
Something came to life within me,                  
when first your countenance, I did see.                  
Until this moment I knew not,                  
what was confusing me thus.                  
I came to clarify my doubts,                  
find the answers to the questions                  
that have plagued me with restless bouts                  
and, now that you are awake                  
I realize how much is at stake.                  
                  
From the first moment that I saw your face,                  
you introduced my dead heart to something                  
that could not possibly take place.                  
And now that the answers have come clear,                  
I will depart this place and lessen your fear.                  
I turned towards the window to exit…                  
(He whispers): "please do not go".                  
I hesitate; what must I do,                  
(I ask) to ease your mind?                  
It would easy to compel you not to fear,                  
but very difficult that you accept my love                  
and the eternity I wish to share.                  
This is a unique gift that I offer,                  
yet the decision is yours and,                  
your choice, sadly, I must obey.                  
But be warned to accept,                  
you should understand what it implies;                  
I will have to make you as I am,                  
to prolong your life. Together we will walk                  
through the passages of time,                  
discovering the intricacies of this love sublime.                  
She lowers her head in dread of the refusal                  
that surely she must come to expect.                  
                  
Finally he answers: "To wander in perpetuity,                  
a high price to pay for a love you                  
are not certain you can claim."                  
His heart races at the thought of her plight,             &n

It wasn't that long ago
we were saying our good byes
but I never got to say thank you
for all the things that you taught me
most importantly what forever means
at least when it came to me and you
It means until you're tired
and don't want to play anymore
or until I'm useless
and you've got all your kicks
Was it forever until you're quit
or forever until you're bored
So tell me the truth
did you ever really care?
Did you love that boy you held?
Did you just use him like the others?
And toss him when he was spent?
Now in the end I know
that it's all for the best
We're both much happier
and moving on with our lives
but still the questions linger
like a shadow cast long before
for the life of me I'll never understand
how forever can be so brief
just until you're hurting
just until it's not easy anymore
or until someone better comes along
Is it forever until I'm broke
or forever until you let it die?
But tell me the truth
did any of it matter to you?
Or was it just another cheap thrill?
Was everything you said a lie?
Just like happily ever after and forever.

I hit the floor hard, bruises on my feet
My heart pounds quickly, a steady drumbeat
A little bit of pain, boldness of perfection
Last chance now, one shot at redemption
Speed and agility, lightly on my toes
Swift in movements, we'll see how it goes
Sharp connections, light-speed thoughts
Tell myself repeatedly, give it all you've got
When the day is over, and the work is done
I'm proud to say, I really had fun
I didn't give up, through darkness or light
And in the end, I won the fight

The searing pain surrounds me
I have to be strong now
Ready to face the end
After all, I chose this path
My wrongs, my fault
If I never told a lie
Sacrificed for others
Thought less about myself
Never broke her heart
Never abandoned them both
Now I only see black
They're giving up on me
I can hear them still
My conscience tells me to fight death
But I don't have the strength
Within myself, I begin to fade
They're telling her to leave
Why did she come?
I didn't deserve her
Now I can't even say goodbye

The time soon comes for all to end
Only when you are left with naught
Shall the true test begin

Loneliness with haunt your steps
Hatred and sadness swirl in your mind
Pain racks your body mercilessly

If you can overcome it
If you can survive it
You have passed the devils game

When I was in the darkness
You led me to the light
When I was full of sadness
You made me feel joy
When anger was my companion
You calmed my raging fires
When I stood in the rain
You became my shelter
When I froze inside
You were my warmth
So many things you've done for me
So many I wish to do for you
You are my saviour
My knight in shining armour
The angel that appears
And chases away the dark ones
You are my life, my heart, my soul
And you have saved me from myself