If hell is engulfed in fire
as bright as the sun,
And heaven is lit
by a divine light,
Then I shall die with sunglasses.

Any fool can laugh
amongst the crowd.
Any blank slated
mind can learn to
be better.
Almost all the virgins
left in our world
will one day know
lust.
Theres not too
many who can cry
comfortably in the
dark.
There aren't very
many originals
anymore.
Not just any
one can grow
fond of fear.
There hasn't
been many men
who can take it
like Bukowski
did.
And there's little to
none of the openness
,the fondness one
can only create when
the mind collides with
the soul and pours it
all out with the
hand that holds
the pen.

Time burdens the wrist
With a watch always ticking.

Its gears and cogs fall into place,  
As the wearer falls out of time.

As if you actually owned any time
In a world of moments and memories.

Abbey of England
Built on bones of kings and poets
How dreary your gate looks today
But I fell for you, Westminster.

Your tower shinning pristine
in a light afternoon rain
There's something quietly mysterious about you
on a foggy London day.

Some boys with cheek play hide and seek within a house condemned
their faces gaunt reflecting want that’s hard to comprehend.

With veiled excuse an old recluse is waiting to descend.
His eye despairs above the stairs, he’s never had a friend
to talk about his hidden doubt of how his world will end -
to die unknown, forlorn, alone? No use a farewell penned!

And soon the boys chase phantom joys then, presto when they’ve gone,
the old recluse, with nimble noose and ****** features wan,
no longer waits upon the Fates but yawns his final yawn
(like Tinker Bell, he spins a spell, though fairy dust's withdrawn).  

With twisted brow, he’s tranquil now, he’s floating like a swan
and as he fades from life’s charades, the night awaits the dawn.